“Thanks. We’re lucky to have one of the country’s best glassblowers in Quechee, and he may or may not be a relative of someone we know,” the woman said as she winked at me.
“Oh, that’s so cool. I’m not from here.”
A small giggle escaped her. “I could tell.”
“Oh,” I said, hanging my head.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. We win everyone over . . . we love newcomers. They typically stay. I meant the white shorts were a dead giveaway. A Vermonter would never wear those to the farmers’ market. One brush against a bushel of lavender, and they’d be . . . lilac. Or a taste of farmers’ fudge, and they’d have a huge chocolate-peanut-butter streak down the front.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. Now I’ll know for next time.” The warmth of a blush spread across my fair skin, and I hoped my hat shaded my face enough to hide it.
“Want a taste? The orange, ginger, and lemon combination is divine on its own. You can eat it by the spoonful. The citrus cuts the sweetness of the honey in just the right way, and it’s full of vitamin C.” She pointed to the bottles in front of her and I peered closer, noting that specks of something tangerine-colored speckled the amber honey.
“I’d love one. While stopping at the fudge stand sounds good, I actually came here to see you. I mean, I’m here to see Hunnie from Hunnie’s Honey.” I couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh at the tongue-twister of a name as it rolled off my tongue.
“Did you now? Someone recommend us?” She handed me a wood taster spoon filled with the golden liquid.
“Um, no. I saw they’re—you’re, whoever runs Hunnie’s—is looking for a social media intern, and I was curious about the position. Do you know the owner, or who I should speak to?”
“I certainly do. It’s me. I’m Hunnie. Well, my real name’s Margaret, but I never was a Maggie or a Margo or a Margaret. My grandma nicknamed me Hunnie, and it stuck. Granted, my family’s run a honey farm for more generations than I can count, so it wasn’t all that creative.”
Inside, I wanted to shrivel up and die a very quick death—she was the owner. My age, successful, cute, peppy, and content. All the things I wasn’t but should be.
No matter how broken I felt, I kept a smile on my face. “Oh, wow. Well, nice to meet you, Hunnie. I’m Murphy, and obviously not from here, but I bring a good amount of social media experience, and I’d like to share it with you.” I couldn’t help but wonder why she needed an intern for her farm stand.
“Pardon me for saying,” Hunnie said kindly, “but I’ve been known to blurt out whatever is on my mind. Why would you want to be an intern? It doesn’t pay much. In fact, I call it an intern but it’s more a glorified helper. If you have experience, you’d do better in a full-time gig. We’re just trying to tap into social media, widen our reach, sell more online, get in touch with . . . what do you call them? Role models? No, influencers, that’s it. We’re expanding our shipping.”
“I hear you,” I said. “It’s just, I’m looking to get involved here in Vermont. I’m not in New York anymore, and I need some experience here. I need to get my feet wet in this world. Like the thing with the white shorts. I don’t understand small town rules or whatever.”
Scanning the crowd, she said, “Hold that thought for one second.”
Still mentally cursing myself, I shut my mouth. Not entirely sure why I had to fully expose myself, I turned to see what Hunnie was doing.
“Hey.” Hunnie rounded the table, her short legs carrying her as fast as they possibly could. “Hey, Ben! Wait up.”
The person she was chasing turned around, proving that today was obviously my very, very unlucky day. Standing there in jeans and a white T-shirt, his muscular arms making him look more like a professional football player rather than a physician, was Ben Rooney.
Hunnie hurried up to him, talking a mile a minute. “Ben, did you have a chance to talk with your dad about the land? Don’t forget I called you, and you said you would. You promised. I’m still very interested, and if your dad wanted, we could go into it together. You know, the petting zoo would bring a lot of traffic to both places in the summer months. Local families looking for something to do on the weekend and tourists. It would be an awesome destination, and they could leave with syrup and cheese, and of course, honey.”
Ben shook his head. “Sorry, Hunnie. I haven’t seen him. I’ve been busy with work and Branson, but I’m supposed to have dinner with my parents next week.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been inching further to hear their conversation, until Ben looked up and I was standing right next to him.
“Oh, this is Murphy.” Hunnie grabbed my hand and pulled me next to her. “She’s here about being my intern. See? We’d have an intern too for the petting zoo. Think Instagram. And sales. Posts and likes or loves on Facebook.” She looked at me, her eyes begging me to agree. “You could help with all this, right? You said you know what you’re doing.”
Before I could even respond, she turned back to Ben. “Murphy’s from the big city but lives here now.”
“Is that right?” He cocked an eyebrow and stared me down. “Actually, I know Murphy from the Bean. Are you sure she’s not trying to steal trade secrets?”
Hunnie scoffed. “For who, Zara? Never. Audrey uses my honey to drizzle on her cinnamon monkey bread. We support each other. Stop trying to make trouble, Ben. Always up to no good when it comes to regular life in
