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The urgent tone of her voice makes me scramble for the TV remote. I turn it on and switch to a news channel. Shock roots me to the spot.
A reporter is standing in front of a huge warehouse, his commentary interspersed with footage of DEA agents and police busting into the warehouse and arresting what looks like more than a dozen men. Including Eddie Keller.
“The massive raid was conducted after a yearlong, multiagency investigation revealed Keller’s connections to the Venado cartel,” the reporter says. “Agents seized hundreds of pounds of methamphetamines, heroin, cocaine, marijuana, and several crates of counterfeit Oxycontin pills containing fentanyl, in addition to an arsenal of weapons and stolen cash. Keller was arrested along with four alleged high-ranking members of the Venado cartel and sixteen other men accused of trafficking drugs from…”
I sink onto a chair, both stunned and weak with relief.
“I know,” Selina says as if she can sense my emotions. “I almost can’t believe it either. They’re being held without bail, and by the sound of it, they don’t stand a chance against the evidence. It’s the largest drug bust in state history. They also raided Zodiac again and found Eddie’s stash. The club’s been shut down, and his properties seized. Kevin expects Eddie will get more than one life sentence, especially once they dig deeper into his personal operations.”
We watch the rest of the report, and my mother promises to keep me updated with anything she hears from the sheriff.
After ending the call, I feel like a heavy pressure has been lifted off my chest. The last thing keeping my mother—and, subsequently, me—living in fear has been cut off. She’s finally free.
With a new sense of lightness and hope, I go upstairs to get Mrs. Henderson’s terrier mix, Pookie. In exchange for me walking Pookie and occasionally dog-sitting, Mrs. Henderson takes a percentage off my rent.
“Hi, sweetie.” I hook Pookie’s leash to her collar as she barks happily. “Ready to go?”
She wags in agreement. We head out on our usual stroll through the neighborhood and around the pathways of a nearby park.
The late-September twilight is warm with a refreshing breeze. As we turn onto Bay Street, a burst of laughter comes from the backyard of one of the houses, along with the smell of grilling beef.
An image of Dane fills my head. He’s standing over the grill, arm muscles bulging, his dark hair falling over his forehead and his face set with concentration as he seasons and cooks the thick steaks.
My throat tightens. I should move on. I know that. He left without a word, an explanation, without even a goodbye. He cut off all communication. Hell, he ghosted me.
I shouldn’t give him another thought. He’s not the man I thought he was—the man I fell in love with. He’s a coward. A fake. A con artist.
No, he’s not.
The voice whispers right under my heart.
I may never know what happened to him, but I’ll also never believe he’s anything but steadfast, unwaveringly loyal, and honest to his core. I’ll never be able to completely stop loving him.
At home, I feed Pookie and give her fresh water, then return to my studio kitchen. I get out my gloves, pots, pitcher, and measuring cups as well as oils, lye, and molds.
Rather than obsessing over thoughts of Dane, I channel my energy into coming up with new soap recipes. For the next couple of weeks, I create products filled with Milk & Honey’s pure organic ingredients, but scented with masculine smells that remind me of my bounty hunter.
I make soaps with fresh fragrances like pine, cedarwood, spice, and leather. I use lemon oil and pumice for a citrus bar, and goat milk and musk for an extra-moisturizing body wash. I create spice masalas with clove and cinnamon, and I make complementary lotions and hand creams with the same scents.
I ask Sheriff Peterson if I can use his officers as guinea pigs, and the men are surprisingly game to try out the sudsy soaps and thick lotions. They give me valuable feedback, and I change up the recipes until the products have a near-universal approval rate.
Then I hire a graphic designer to create geometric labels with bold lines. I organize the products into six different lines for ease of mixing and matching. I call themBounty Hunter,Bodyguard,Fighter Pilot,Blacksmith,Mountain Man,andLumberjack.
Using my sharpened skills, I strategically advertise the new division of Milk & Honey—a line of bath and body products designed specifically for men called Scotch & Clover. I send out samples to influencers, contact the media, and begin to gather customers. Online sales start strong right out of the gate.
All in all, the growing success of both Milk & Honey and Scotch & Clover is more than I ever expected or could have hoped for. My business is modest in comparison to so many others, but I’m climbing the mountain.
Some days, I can even look up and see the snow-covered peak.
After my first month with both product categories well into the black, I make a trip into the city to have brunch with my mother. En route back to Berkeley, I stop at a wholesaler’s large warehouse to stock up on essential oils, bases, and dozens of fragrances.
“You need help with that, Hannah?” the cashier asks, eyeing the loaded box dubiously.
“No, I’ve got it.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and pick up the box. “Thanks.”
I walk out to the parking lot, squinting as the glare of the setting sun hits my eyes. Momentarily blinded, I lift my hand to shield the light just as my foot catches on a rock.
Alarm shoots through me. I stumble off balance, dropping the box to try to catch myself before I fall. The plastic jars and bottles spill over the asphalt.
