Honey
Lying on the bed in my holiday rental in the quiet town of Whisper Valley, I sigh as I hold the rainbow-colored stone up to the light. My brother's best friend, Jack, gave it to me at his wedding yesterday, and it’s the most unusual-looking rock I’ve ever seen. What makes it even stranger, is that he called it a 'soulwink stone' and swore it was the reason he and his bride, Jolie, found each other and fell in love. There was even a group of women at the wedding who assured me it had done the same for them—the stones, and the lake in which they found them, seem to hold some kind of magic. Color me a skeptic, but the journalist inside me deals in facts. I need to do a little digging.
I turn the stone side to side and watch the way it changes color with the light. While I can't deny the stone's uniqueness and beauty, I'm certainly unconvinced of the claims. I mean, do they seriously think a rock helped them find their soulmates? The whole idea is preposterous—especially coming from a man like Jack, who went to war with my brother and was the only one of the two to return home. Jack has seen more of the ugly truth in this world than any one person should, so it really surprises me that he’d buy into something so…outlandish.
Bringing the stone close to my face then stretching it a full arm’s length away to test if I feel anything from it. I’m so lost in thought that when my phone suddenly blares with the chorus to Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls—my personal anthem—I startle and the stone slips from my fingers, whacking me right in the eye.
"Ow!" I quickly sit and answer the video call with one hand, the other busy covering my soulwink-stoned eye.
"Hey, Jason," I say when the call connects, and my editor's face appears on the screen. He scowls and leans in closer to the screen.
"What on earth is wrong with you?"
"Me?" I rapidly blink my injured eye as I remove my hand and try to act normal. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
Sure, I could tell my boss I just dropped a rock on my own face, but that would just add to the unending collection of stories that float around the office about why Honey Parker can't land a man. And even though my bad luck with men is the very reason my column in the magazine is so popular—I write about my tried and failed attempts at dating as a twenty-five-year old, plus-sized woman in Sugar City—I can’t help but feel that even on a good day, I’m still the office laughingstock.
“Then quit pretending to be a pirate and talk to me,” Jason says, seeming distracted. “How was the wedding? When are you coming back to work?"
"Wedding was... interesting," I say, walking over to the window and looking out at the misty mountain side as beams of sunlight seem to dance in the air with the moving clouds. “I think there might be a story here though.”
“Please don’t tell me you hit it off with some mountain man and you’re now running off on me to live in a secluded cabin for the rest of your lives. I need you here. The magazine depends on you to make the regular girls feel seen.”
I grimace at his word-choice. “I don’t know whether to be offended or demand a raise.”
Jason chuckles. “You know I’m only joking. But seriously, when are you coming back? We need your next article by the end of the week, and I don’t want to have to chase you down. Especially through the mountains. Hiking and designer loafers don’t go together.”
“I’m sure.” I chuckle. “But fear not, I’ll be back in a few days. A week, tops. Like I said, there might be a story here. I want to do a little digging and see if it’s worth checking out.”
Jason purses his lips. “I don’t know about this, Honey. Your column is literally called Big Girl Dating in the Big City. I’m not sure your readers want to hear about your small-town wedding hookup.”
“This story is nothing like that. It isn’t even about a date—”
“Then it’s a definite no!”
“Jason,” I say, a slight whiny edge to my voice as my editor tries to put his foot down.
“Oh god. Please tell me you’re not getting upset.”
I tilt my head to the side and give an exaggerated pout. After five years working with Jason, I’ve learned that the man has zero resolve if he even thinks that someone might cry. And I’m not above using that tidbit of knowledge to my advantage.
“All right!” He caves, and I have to press my lips together to hide my smile. “But I want a proposal in my inbox ASAP. You got that?"
I nod, feeling triumphant in my victory as we end the call.
Sitting back on the bed, I pick up the soulwink stone again, and my mind races with possibilities for the story. I can already imagine the headline: Can a Rainbow Stone Help this Big Girl find Big Love in a Small Town? It's perfect.
Owen
Dappled light filters down through the canopy of leaves above me, casting misshapen shadows on the forest floor as I wander through the brush checking my traps. Living on the outskirts of Whisper Valley has its perks: peace, quiet, and the occasional animal for dinner. It may not be the life for everyone, but for me—a man who was once a big city surgeon in a busy hospital—it’s the kind of life I need. It’s the kind of life that feels right.
With a bag filled with foraged food, I wander down to the creek that cuts through my property in search of milkweed. I’m so focused on looking for signs of the pink, butterfly attracting flower, that I almost don’t spot her. But when I do, I quickly duck out of sight, watching from afar as a beautiful woman with honey-blonde hair and curves for days wanders along my creek wearing a red sundress that seems to ripple with her every step, a backpack slung over one shoulder as she stops periodically and studies the ground at her feet.
I move along with her, passing from tree to tree so I can just observe and not be seen. She’s like an exotic bird, a burst of red amid the vibrant greens and browns of the woods, and I’m captivated by the way she seems so at ease in the wilderness. Despite the odd choice of hiking attire, it’s like she feels at home here. Why on earth is she here? This isn’t public land.
As she crouches down beside the creek, the sunlight dances off the gold in her hair, casting a warm halo around her and making her look like some angelic creature. My chest aches and my dick gets just enough blood flow that I feel like a creepy peeping tom. I've obviously been alone up here for too long. But still, after thirty-eight years on this earth, it's been even longer since I've felt this kind of... attraction.
"Focus, Owen," I mutter to myself, shaking my head clear of the seemingly unending stream of dirty thoughts that have decided to take residence in my brain. Now isn't the time for infatuation. No. It's far more important I figure out who she is and why she's here. People don't just happen to find themselves in my neck of the woods. And normally I don’t let them stay long.
When she lifts a hand to the sky and examines something that glints in the light, my heart leaps in my chest. As much as I enjoy looking at her, I have to put a stop to this here and now.
"That's not yours," I growl, stepping out into the light and making my presence known.
The woman gasps at the sound of my voice, her eyes widening with surprise as she jerks her head up and finds all six-foot-four of me towering over her menacingly. I'm pretty sure I've scared the ever-loving shit out of her.
"I...I..." She tries to stand, but in her haste to scramble to her feet, she loses her footing on the slippery rocks lining the creek bed and stumbles backward, arms flailing in an attempt to regain her balance. "Oh!"
With her eyes locked on mine, she goes down with a thud, her jaw going slack as her eyelids flutter closed.
"Shit." With a few quick steps, I traverse the creek bed and crouch down beside her, my hand reaching around the back of her head and coming back stained red.
"God damn it."
My protective instincts kicking in, I check her pulse, her breathing and her pupils. She's blacked out cold, and there's no way I can leave her here when there's a storm brewing the distance. This area is known for its flash floods.
Slinging her backpack over my shoulder, I'm about to scoop her into my arms when I spot the stone she was inspecting not far from where her open hand is. I pick it up and roll it between my fingers, watching the way the light plays and creates varied colors in the shiny stone.
"Why were you up here looking for this?" I muse, glancing at her unconscious form before I let out a sigh and tuck the stone into my pocket. Whatever her reasons for being here, it'll have to wait until after I've tended to her. When she's right, this bright little bird and I are going to have a conversation.
She stirs as I carry her in my arms, steadily traversing the uneven ground on the long trek back to my cabin. I look down at her beautiful face as she lets out a soft moan, and my guts twist in a way that I'm not sure is because of nerves or pure want. This is definitely not how I imagined this interaction would go. At most, I thought I'd give her a fright and warn her not to trespass on my land. Now I've gone and given her a head injury and my stupid body is reacting to having a woman who's soft to the touch and smells like springtime tucked so close in my arms.
I'd be lying if I said that I didn't conjure up a few scenarios where I got to keep this sleeping beauty to myself. I've been without female company for so long that the temptation of her is almost too great. But that's not who I am, and not someone I plan on becoming. So as we reach my cabin, I shake my head and clear my mind of such thoughts. She's hurt, and she's vulnerable. And while I may not be a practicing doctor anymore, I have still sworn to do no harm, and I stand by that oath. My priority right now is to make sure she's OK and then figure out how to handle this situation.
Pushing the cabin door open with my foot, I carry her inside, her soft breaths tickling my neck as I navigate the cozy space. Gently, I lie her down on my couch, the worn leather conforming to her shape. My heart clenches with a mix of concern and something else—that same something else that I'm doing my damnedest to ignore.
"All right, let's get you patched up," I murmur, talking to myself as I fetch my medical kit from inside the bathroom. I work quickly, cleaning her wound before applying a proper bandage. A part of me can't help but marvel at how peaceful she looks, her golden hair framing her face like a halo of feathers. I keep thinking about how the only flashes of color I ever see in the forest come from the feathers of brightly colored birds. Just like this woman lying prone in front of me, I don't know how those birds got up here. They aren't native to the area. It's like they just showed up one day, and they've been here ever since. Will this woman be the same?
As I settle into my armchair, I pull the stone from my pocket and study it more closely, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through me as I do. It's as if this woman's presence has ignited something within me—a yearning for connection that I thought had died off the moment I decided to live so far away from society. Now...I'm not so sure it was ever really gone, and for once, I find myself eager for the unknown.
Honey
The instant I open my eyes, I know I'm not in my own cozy bed back home. The musty smell of damp wood and earth fills my nostrils, and rough blankets scratch against my skin. Where am I?
A crackling fire struggles to compete with the howling wind outside, casting eerie shadows on the walls. And as I blink away the last traces of sleep, I try to remember what happened to me. And more importantly, how did I get here?
"Ah, you're awake," a deep voice rumbles as I push myself into a sitting position. I turn my head and my entire world stands still. Across the room from me is a tall, bearded man with golden- brown hair that's pulled back from his face and secured at the base of his skull. He stands in the doorway, watching me with piercing eyes as he stirs something in a metal mug while looking like a hero from one of those steamy romance novels I'll never admit to reading. "You don’t have a concussion, but you were out cold for a while there."
"Where am I?" I croak, my throat as dry as a desert. He moves to crouch in front of me, handing me the steaming mug carefully.
"My place," he says with a slight grin, revealing dimples that make me want to run my fingers through his unruly beard and tug him closer to me. "You kind of passed out on the mountain trail."
"I passed out?" I wrap both of my hands around the warm mug and take a sip of the hot tea inside. "Did I fall?" Balancing the tea on my knee, I lift one hand and touch the back of my aching head.
"Yeah. That was kind of my fault. I startled you and you took a tumble. Didn't think it was wise to leave you out by the creek though, what with the storm coming."
"Storm?" My eyes widen at the prospect. "Oh, no, I have to get back down. I'm supposed to send an outline to my editor for approval." I move to pass him my mug and get up to leave, but he holds his hand up to stop me.
"Wait right there, little bird. It's far too dangerous for you to hike down now. You'll have to wait at least until the morning."
"Morning?" He takes the mug from me as I groan and put my head in my hands. "My boss is gonna kill me."
He sets the mug down on the small wooden coffee table. "I think your boss would prefer you alive than dead, don't you think?"
"You don't know my boss. Nothing gets in the way of that man and a story, and he’s really interested in what I’m writing right now." I scoff at his words as I look around the small cabin in search of my bag.
"Something wrong?"
"I had a backpack with me. My cellphone is in it. I'll give Jason—that's my editor—a call and let him know what's going on."
He immediately stands and fetches my bag from a small table, handing it to me. I immediately start riffling through.
"Everything's in there," he says. "Not sure what good your cell will do you, though. There's no reception up here."
A knot forms in my stomach as his words sink in. No reception? How am I supposed to submit my story outline and let someone know where I am? I don't even know who this guy is, and somehow I'm just supposed to trust I'm safe spending the night with him? I scroll through my phone anyway, hoping for a miracle. But he's right—there's no service, no way to contact the outside world. I slump back onto the sofa in defeat, feeling like a caged bird with clipped wings.
"Are you OK?" He kneels down in front of me again, his voice gentle and concerned.
I look up at him, my green eyes meeting his blue ones and finding nothing but reassuring calm inside his gaze. There's something about the way he's looking at me, something soothing and kind, something that makes me feel like maybe everything will be OK, that I'm safe here.
"You could probably tell me your name. That might help."
"It's Owen." He smiles, and I repeat his name to myself silently, committing it to memory. It feels like a significant moment, as if knowing Owen's name will somehow change the course of my life forever.
"I'm Honey."
His eyes brighten. "Honey?"
"I know. It's a dumb name. I've gotten so much shit about it my entire life."
"No. I like it. It's a great name. Suits you."
Owen stands up and walks over to the fireplace, taking a poker to the dying embers. I watch him hesitantly, my heart racing as I try to anticipate his next move. It's a strange feeling, being alone in the woods with a man I barely know. But Owen feels different from any other man I've ever met. Not only is he hot as hell, but there's something about him that sets him apart, something that makes me feel at ease in his presence.
He turns around and catches me staring at him, and our eyes linger on each other's as I slowly start to recognize the deeply personal connection growing between us.
There's something electric in the air, like a magnetic force telling me this man and I are somehow meant to be. That coming up here and meeting him is exactly how today was supposed to go.
"That's crazy," I whisper, laughing at myself and shaking my head, wondering if I hit my head harder than I thought.
"What was that?"
“Oh, nothing,” I say, taking a deep breath to clear my thoughts. “Just thinking out loud, I guess.”
"About?" Owen takes a step closer to me, his eyes never leaving mine. The heat between us is palpable, and I can feel myself getting lost in his gaze. My heart pounds so hard in my chest that I start to think that maybe I'm in a fever dream and none of this is real.
"Have you ever read one of those articles where a person gets knocked out and then lives an entire lifetime subconsciously in the time it takes the paramedics to revive them?"
Owen frowns slightly and shakes his head. "Can't say I have."
"It's fascinating reading. But also heartbreaking at the same time. One man reported having a wife and two children he loved dearly, and when he woke up...poof...they were gone. Ten years of a life that never existed just vanished, and he had to find a way to go on, mourning something his mind created. I just...I can't imagine how awful that must feel."
"Is that what you think this is?" he asks, moving to sit in the chair closest to me.
"I wouldn't know, would I?" I ask, giving him a nervous laugh. "The last thing I remember is finding a rock in a creek. And now I'm here." I gesture around the room. "I have no memory of how I got from that creek to this cabin. So it's entirely possible that this is all a dream."
"Perhaps. The human mind is capable of a great many things, but I have a memory of how you got from the creek to my cabin—I carried you—does that count for something?" He carried me? Something inside my chest flutters, and I suddenly wish I could remember such a thing. I've always been too big to even imagine a man could carry me without breaking his back. But I guess those mountain man romance books have one thing right—these men are absolute beasts.
"See, that's exactly what my dream man would say," I blurt before clapping my hand over my mouth and turning about ten different shades of red. "I wasn't trying to insinuate that you're my dream man or anything. That came out wrong. I was just—"
"It's fine, Honey," he says with a warm chuckle as he stands and heads into the next room. "You're my dream woman too."
Owen's words echo in my mind, and for a moment, I'm at a loss for words. My heart races as I replay what he said in my mind. Did he really mean that? He's only known me for a few hours—most of which I was sleeping—yet here he is, calling me his dream woman.
Giving my thigh a good pinch, I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh when it hurts. I'm not dreaming. This is one hundred percent real.
Owen
As I stand in my small kitchen, preparing the best meal I can scrape together for my gorgeous guest, I can't help but steal glances at her every now and then. She doesn't belong here, that's for sure. Just one look at her sitting on my worn-out couch in that dress of hers tells me that. She belongs in the limelight, living a life that's as big and bold as her personality. And even if she was interested in staying in a place like this, I'm in no position to welcome her. As I told her when she woke, she's only here until the storm passes. Then she needs to be on her way—without those stones.
Still, as much as I need to send her away, there's also something about her that draws me in. Maybe it's the way she carries herself, or the hint of mischief in her eyes. Whatever it is, I can't help the way my heart pounds faster every time she looks my way. It's a strange feeling, being so drawn to someone who's mere presence up here threatens to unravel the very secret I've sworn to protect. But at the same time, it's not so strange at all. There's magic in those stones she was collecting. And it's my job to find out how much she knows about them.
"You mentioned you were a writer," I say, carrying two bowls of venison stew and a plate of cornbread out into the living area, setting them on the small coffee table I carved from a fallen tree.
"I am," she says, picking up her spoon as we settle on the floor in front of the table to eat. "A journalist, actually."
"A journalist? So that makes you a professional busybody then?" I tease, eliciting a laugh from her.
"Guilty as charged," she admits with a grin. "But I do believe that everyone has a story worth telling, and I want to be the one to share those stories with the world."
"That's quite an admirable goal," I say sincerely, impressed by her passion for her work.
She turns her spoon over in the stew, stirring the meat and vegetables. "It would be if that's what I got to do."
"You don't get to tell stories?" I ask, breaking off a piece of cornbread and dipping it into the saucy meat.
"Not really. I write a column for a women’s magazine that focuses on dating as a plus-size woman in the city. It started as a funny little way to chronicle my way toward finding the love of my life, and maybe I hoped it'd be inspiring for other plus-sized girls out there hoping to find their prince amongst all the toads, but..." She shrugs and scoops a spoonful of stew into her mouth instead of finishing.
"There are just too many toads?" I offer, trying to finish for her, and she nods, a slight smile of amusement on her face as she chews. I have to stop myself from growling. I don’t like the idea of any other man being anywhere near her, even though I have no right thinking that way.
"So many toads." She laughs and scoops up another bite. "This is amazing, by the way. What is it?"
"Whisper Valley's finest venison stew."
"Really?" Honey's eyes widen with interest. "I've never had venison before. Did you catch this and cook it all yourself?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Her brow lifts. "I've never met someone who actually hunts their own food before."
"Part of the charm of living all the way up here, I suppose," I muse, loving the way she eats the food I've prepared with relished enjoyment. I don't get this often, and it's nice having someone enjoy the spoils of the hunt with me.
"Sounds fascinating," she says. "Maybe I should try it sometime. Although, I'm not trying to say I should live up here with you. I'm...shit. I don't know what I'm saying. I guess I just like the idea of living off the land. Even though I don't think I have the stomach for hunting."
"Perhaps not," I agree, chuckling. "But if you were really interested, I could always take you fishing or foraging instead. There are plenty of ways to enjoy the wilderness without getting your hands too dirty."
"I'd like that," Honey says softly, and a warmth spreads through my chest at her words. Careful, Owen. She can't stay.
I quickly shove some food in my mouth to stop myself from asking her to marry me or something equally ridiculous. You'd think I've never seen a woman before...
"And what about you, Owen?"
"What about me?" I ask around my mouthful.
"What do you do for work?"
I swallow what's left in my mouth. "I don't."
"What about before? Surely you did something before moving up here."
I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "It's not all that interesting."
"I doubt that," Honey says with a teasing smile. "Come on, tell me."
Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for the intrusive questions that usually follow once I reveal my past. "I used to be a doctor."
Honey's eyes widen, and she stares at me in disbelief. "A doctor? What kind of doctor?"
"A surgeon," I respond, the weight of my confession heavy on my shoulders. I rarely like bringing up my past, but there's something about Honey that makes me want to be honest. As if anything less would be an insult to her intelligence.
Honey leans forward in her seat, captivated. "Wow, that's incredible. Why did you quit?"
I shrug, the memory still fresh in my mind. "I didn't quit exactly. I just...my priorities needed to change."
Honey's hand reaches across the table and covers mine. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."
I shake my head. "No, it's OK. I just...I had a choice I needed to make, and this is what I chose."
Honey studies my face for a moment, her eyes filled with unspoken questions. I can tell she wants to know more, but my story isn't mine alone and it isn't something I can share without consequences. I’d literally have to lock her up if she knew. Although maybe that doesn’t sound so bad…
"I understand," she says finally, snapping me out of my ridiculous daydream. "Sometimes life takes us on unexpected paths."
I nod, grateful for her understanding but eager to change the subject. "And I'll bet you weren't expecting to go hiking when you woke up this morning." I look down at her bare legs and ballerina-style shoes.
"Not exactly the right shoes, huh?"
"I wasn't gonna say anything," I tease, giving her a smile as the tension seems to ease a little. "But I am curious to know what you were doing by that creek. There’s a bunch of ‘private property’ and ‘no trespassing’ signs up all over our land, so we don't get many people up this way."
She furrows her brow slightly. "We?"
"Me," I say quickly, mentally kicking myself. "I talk to myself so much I sometimes think there are more of me." Nice work, Owen.
"That must be hard."
"I'm fairly good company, so I don't mind."
When she smiles, I let out a slow breath, glad it seems she's letting that slip-up go. "Truth be told, I didn't see any signs," she says, reaching for her backpack and opening the front pocket. "I was too busy keeping my eyes on the creek bed, so I didn’t really realize where I was or how far I’d gone. But the reason for that is I was looking for these." She pulls out one of the rainbow stones, this one attached to a leather cord, before handing it to me. "Have you seen any before?"
I take it from her, running my thumb over the smooth polished stone while simultaneously feeling the weight of the one I found on the ground near her in my pocket. "Where did you get this?"
