Meant to Bee by Storm Shultz

Author:Storm Shultz [Shultz, Storm]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Honey Soul Press
Published: 2022-08-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Cordy

The bell I installed over my front door tinkles merrily as a new customer comes in. I’m filling the honey table with the last few jars I’d saved for myself, and finish my task before turning. I have plans to try to extract more honey this weekend, but for now, this will have to do.

In an attempt to keep my tables full, I spent all day yesterday baking bread, muffins, and cookies. Some of my herbs finally reached a good drying point too, so I have some lavender shortbread and rosemary bread, as well as small jars of dried herbs and a few tea mixes. The shop looks pretty good, even with the glaring absence of my usual honey.

“Good morning.” I turn to greet my customer and come to a stop. It’s Harold Smith.

He looks just as unpleasant as the last time we spoke. He eyes the shop before staring at me. “Are there any rogue goats in here today?”

Jack came over yesterday morning and helped me put together a little pen in the backyard for Go-go. I didn’t want her to get into the bees—or the shop—and that’s where she is now. Not that I appreciate Harold Smith’s tone.

“How can I help you, Mr. Smith?”

“I know you have no legal obligation to show me your credentials, Ms. . . .”

“Ms. Brown.”

“Yes.” Harold clears his throat. “As I was saying, you do not need to prove anything to me legally, but if there were a licensed health inspector, you’d be subject to his or her authority.”

Okay, I can’t stand this guy. He makes it sound like I’m some horrible woman who spit in his tea.

“I suppose I would,” I concede.

The smirk that flickers across Harold’s mouth puts me on edge. I assume he’s called some health inspector friend in, but I can’t be in much trouble. I put Go-go up, I am licensed, and I have a right to this shop. It’s my own house, for crying out loud!

“Well, my colleague will be coming around any minute. I’ll take my leave.” Harold turns toward the door as I stare at him. He came all this way to tell me he ratted me out and isn’t even going to stay?

“Former colleague,” I find myself saying.

The tips of Harold’s ears redden, but he doesn’t turn. “Good day, Ms. Brown.”

The door swings shut, the bells chiming cheerily again. I can’t believe the nerve of that guy. It was just a goat. If I have a pet goat in my home on a day when my shop is closed, who is to tell me I’m in the wrong?

Apparently Harold freaking Smith.

A knock at the door makes me stiffen. This has to be the actual inspector. With a sigh, I cross the room. Pulling open the door, I plaster a smile onto my face only to have it fall off immediately.

Malcolm?

It is Malcolm. Malcolm Carmichael II is standing on my front step. He looks as shocked to see me as I am to see him.

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