Honeytoon Novels & Stories

"Poor baby." "I'm delicate." He retorted. "It takes a strong man to not only be a founder but an owner of a top company." Yeah yeah, I didn't reply to that. There was no need to rub it all in my face. I'm not jewoiys before y'all say I am..... I'm just joking. The food arrived thirty minutes later, the delivery guy handing over bags that were warm and fragrant. The smell of basil and lemongrass filled the penthouse, making my stomach growl.

Absolutely divine. The owner—this sweet lady with kind eyes—recommended a lavender honey tea to go with my treats. And let me tell you, it was a game-changer. I took one sip and felt like I was floating in a field of flowers, with little bees buzzing around me. I’m officially obsessed with it now. Who knew lavender and honey could make such a magical combo? It was like drinking a hug. I’m already planning my next visit.

His ego is big enough already and doesn’t need more inflation. We drove in silence to Andronikos’ penthouse. It was already evening and I was exhausted. Today had been filled with meetings and my throat could use a break. When we get to Andronikos’ house, my first priority would be finding some warm water and honey to soothe it. Surely, there’s honey hidden somewhere in that fancy apartment of his. He might be a demon but I doubt he’s taste buds are that bitter. He loves Greek yoghurt, my brain supplied. Eww. Okay maybe he doesn’t have honey.

Momma Bertha said this is normal, and I didn’t believe her at first, but now I do. Honey is laughing and talking a mile a minute to everyone, and is also playing with Brutus. I look at Stone, and he is just baffled as he watches her. But then I call him over. I received a text when I was at the appointment with Honey. It’s not great news. “Wow, how much sugar did she have?” He asks, and I chuckle.

he tells me. Hmm, I guess that may work. Though I do detest being called hunni. Honey is something you put on toast or use in cooking, made by bees. Not a name I wish to be called by a man trying his hardest to make me want him. Is that where he feels we are at, pet names? “Ok. I guess we could do that, but I do have other meetings arranged while here, so it will have to fit around me I am afraid.” I said, hoping to restrict the time I have to spend with him.

"Oh, my Honey." I watched as Honey's tiny arms wrapped around his grandpa's neck before she kissed him on his face. "Hello grandpa, nice to see you," she said pulling away. "Don't cry grandpa, you're getting ugly." she wiped the tears away from Mr. Yoon's face making him laugh aloud. "Grandpa, can you let us in so that I can see dad because this witch here blocking us from getting inside."

She was aided by the revelation that locally grown honey was being touted as an allergen-resistance builder and for its many healing properties—on and on the good luck went, it seemed. When she mourned her own husband’s death (miserable, unreliable S.O.B. that he was), the bees had mourned along with her. She had draped all the wooden hives with black crepe for veils, lifting these only after Good-Time Larry’s burial to share sweets with them, and other foods brought to the funeral feast. Such were the ways of rural folk.

Loretta says, removing everything from her trolley. That's an awful lot of popcorn, miss. What's the occasion? "No occasion, sir, just feeling like it." "You kind of remind me of this lady that nearly wiped out all of the honey in the honey section, all because she didn't know what to have for dinner." "Now that's just excessive, isn't it?" Loretta says, rejoicing a little inside, that he remembers her. "I'm not being excessive, it's true." He continues, "We ran out of honey the next day, because, surprisingly, a lot of people like honey. I know I should be thankful that I sold out that much, but that was just weird. "

Tiffany nodded. “That White Moonlight of yours, I’m afraid that he’s an employee at Jackson’s company. His name is Beckett Hushman. That explains why he chose ‘Hush’ as his online nickname. He’s shady. You probably shouldn’t talk to him again.”

On the side of the carton, bold red letters caught my eye: HOT SAUCE. I frowned. We had never used this brand before. It looked expensive and premium. What were we going to use it for? Maybe for the fried items, burgers, or the new spicy sandwiches? I shook my head and kept moving. “Hey, Yvonne,” I said when I caught up with one of the older workers. “What’s all this about? We’ve never had this many cartons before.” Yvonne wiped sweat from her forehead and smiled. “Our boss won some kind of prize in the company competition. They gave him a thousand dollars’ worth of this hot sauce. Lucky us, right?”