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“Duh, Lance,” Sailor said without looking up from herMy Little Ponycoloring book. “What do you think you make smores with?”
I bit back laughter and turned my gaze on her. “Wow, the girls are sassy around here today! Good thing I love you all.” I turned back to Crystal. “I will accept the terms of the deal.”
She got to work on the drinks, and I smiled at Indigo who was staring at me intently. Those blue eyes of hers only overshadowed by the pinkness of her lips. She had gloss on that made them shimmer and I wanted to take a taste. She started out as my best friend in elementary school, teased me by stealing my pencils in middle school, and continued to tease me now with her bewitching eyes and tempting lips.
The thought of what her soft hips would feel like under my hands as I held her to me in an embrace had me sticking my hands in my pockets, so I didn’t try it, just to find out if my imagination did her justice. It probably didn’t but I’d rather never know the real thing than have it once and never again. How on earth was I going to live with her for the next few months and keep my hands and lips off her?
You know how, Lance. Just remember that she doesn’t know the truth about your past or your future.
Like a bucket of ice water over my head, that thought took care of the problem immediately.
Crystal set our drinks on the counter and added lids, then pushed them towards us. “A brown bear and a s’more. Enjoy.”
“Thanks, Crystal,” Indie said, handing me the cup.
I held the cup up at Crystal. “Thanks for finding the guy who hates coffee something better to drink.”
Crystal laughed and pointed at me with disapproval. “You’re welcome, but one day, I’ll get you to like coffee!”
Drinks in hand, we waved goodbye to Crystal, and I promised Sailor pancakes one last time before we headed to the feed store. I sipped the hot chocolate and moaned low in my throat at the same time Indie did after tasting her honey pot.
Now there’s a loaded thought. Tasting Indigo’s honey pot would ruin me for all other women for the rest of my life. I was better off staying far, far away from Indigo Dickson. I couldn’t, though. Every time I tried; the universe brought her right back to me.
“Is it everything you’d hoped it would be?” I teased, licking marshmallow off my upper lip. “Because this should be illegal.”
Indie shot me a smile that would keep me going for the rest of the week. “Crystal makes a lot of drinks that should be illegal. My honey pot is the perfect balance of honey and cream.”
I moaned again, but this time, it had nothing to do with my drink. Thankfully, the feed store was just across the street from Crystal’s Coffee Bar, so I was able to distract her by holding the door open. She walked into the store, grabbed my hand, and dragged me to the back where the candy awaited us in old-fashioned wooden barrels.
Stepping into the feed store was a lot like stepping into yesteryear, which is what made it so special. Mrs. Beesweasel had a little bit of everything, just like you’d imagine an old-fashioned feed store to have. She got the people of Bells Pass through the long winters when it was too nasty to travel to Saginaw. I was grateful. Since I couldn’t drive, my choices were limited now that mom was gone. I either had to order everything and have it delivered, or shop in town. I preferred to shop in town and support the people I know and love.
At the diner, we ordered as much as we could from Mrs. Beesweasel and we were never disappointed. It’s always the smarter bet to shop local, because the favor is returned to you in spades.
Indie was vibrating with excitement while she eyed the barrels of old-fashioned hard candy, licorice sticks, and her favorite, the gumdrops. “This is like heaven in a barrel,” she squealed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “What should we get?”
“A little bit of everything?” I teasingly asked.
“I like the way you think, Mr. Garland,” she answered, taking another drink of her latte while she eyed the barrels.
“Hello, Lance and Indigo,” Mrs. Beesweasel said as she approached us from the front of the store. Known as Old Mrs. Beesweasel in the community, everyone expected a hunched over old lady who used a cane to move about, but that was not who she was at all. Mrs. Beesweasel was nearly eighty-five, sharp as a tack, and wore tennies and track suits. She wore her hair in a short bob and worked in the store nearly every day. She swears that’s what has kept her spry all these years.
“Hi, Mrs. Beesweasel,” Indie said, giving her a hug. “How are you doing? Getting ready for the holiday season?”
“Oh, you know how it is this time of year,” she agreed with a smile, “but it is the most wonderful time of the year.”
“That’s for sure,” I agreed.
Mrs. Beesweasel turned to slip her tiny arms around me in a hug. The last time she did that was at my mother’s funeral. “I know you and Michelle always loved the Christmas season. Please, don’t spend it alone this year. Michelle wouldn’t want that.”
“He won’t be alone,” Indie promised when I stepped out of the hug. “I’m staying at his house for the next few months while I wait for an apartment to open up.”
Mrs. Beesweasel smiled a sly smile. “I had heard that, but you know the rumor mill around this town. It’s not always accurate.”
“It is this time,” I assured her. “Indigo has been helping me get some of Mom’s things cleared out and keeping me company at the same time. She definitely came back into my life when I needed her most.”
“Well,” Mrs. Beesweasel said on a nod, “then it’s meant to be. What can I help you with this afternoon?”
I noticed Indigo’s eyes widen at Mrs. Beesweasel’s words right before a shiver went through her. I had no idea why and something told me it wasn’t smart to ask.
