Vivacious Honey Novels & Stories

“Wake up, bro. Kid isn’t even here for you to claim lack of sleep for your slacking.” I shook my head and focused on stringing up the white and yellow streamers that went with the honey bee theme Pam and Hana decided on. I don’t think Hana gets the joke the same way I do. In the last decade, Pam has commented more than once about Winnie the Pooh and his bottomless hunger for honey compared to my hunger for her. Let Hana and everyone else think it’s just a cute baby thing or that Pam’s number on pregnancy craving has been honey. She puts that shit on everything… and I mean everything.

My standard vanilla honey aroma started to bleed through the cracks, sweet and heavy, filling the small space. But it was not pure honey anymore. Deep within the sweet scent, a radical, primitive shift was happening. A foreign note had entered the air, something rich, milky, and deeply grounded, like fresh earth after a heavy rain. It was an ancient biological signal, a scent that did not belong to a lone Omega athlete. Orion froze.

I had learned, through everything that had brought me to this study in Washington with the rose on the windowsill and Julian in the doorway and the baby four months along and the framework expanding and Adaeze's seven names in a notebook on the fourth floor of the federal building three blocks away, that the right pace was the right pace. And this one was exactly right. I closed the document. Julian was still in the doorway. "Dinner?" he said. "Yes," I said. "What did you get at the market this morning?" "The good bread," he said. "And the amber honey from the vendor on the east side." I looked at him. "You found an amber honey vendor," I said. "The rooftop hives are everywhere if you look,"

"Just a classic? For the VIPs?" "Not classic," Harper replied, her voice leaving absolutely no room for debate. She was already in motion, her hands flying across the premium spice rack. Her fingers wrapped around a delicate glass jar filled with vibrant, dried culinary lavender. Next, she retrieved a heavy jar of rare, dark forest honey. "We are using lavender. Wild forest honey sourced directly from Provence. And we will torch the sugar canopy until the surface cracks with the exact texture of shattered glass."

I’m tired of speculating. Is there honey, or not??

I was going to give him a meal that ensured nobody would be speaking for a very, very long time! I reached into the back of the pantry, past the organic honey and the Himalayan salt, to my "Specialty Chemistry" shelf, the one the head chef didn't know about. I pulled out a jar of Ultra-Grade Manuka Honey and a concentrated extract of Marshmallow Root and Xylitol Glue. "You want to trap me, Julian?" I muttered in my real voice, a low growl that would have sent my board of directors running for the hills. "Let’s see how you handle the silent treatment."

He whispered . " I will " I spoke slowly , " I know " He whispered back . But his eyes kept me captive , I was breathing heavily , my stomach doing weird flips . " Why are doing this ?" I asked . My hand was grabbed swiftly while I was turned around , My back now pressed tight against his chest , his hand on mine while I held my on hand with the knife to my neck . " I can't let you leave Eve " I struggle but I couldn't . I stepped on his foot but he didn't budge . I elbow his stomach making his hold on me loose but he grabbed my waist in no time pulling me into him again .

“You already figured that out about me, huh?” “Of course.” I then tasted it. The sponge was light and airy, the walnuts adding just enough bite, the honey warm and comforting. My eyes widened despite myself. “It’s… really good.” Delight shone in Viv’s eyes, her smile almost girlish. “I’m so glad you liked it.” I gave a small smile. “Please, you should all dig in.” Michael and Nathaniel began eating theirs, murmuring sounds of satisfaction. Viv was still focused on me. “Wonderful to know that you love honey. I’d like to get to know more about you… if you’ll allow me.”

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.

Eliana was on the floor beside a chair, laughing and holding her sides. “Oh! Stop Izzy! Do stop! If you continue making me laugh we will have to remove my corset. I can’t catch my breath!” Eleanor saw him first and smiled. “Did you know, husband, that aquae vitae is not nearly so hard to swallow if you warm it a wee bit and dissolve lots of honey in it?” He looked around the room and saw small glasses on every table. “You’ve been experimenting I see.” “Oh yes. Honey is the best so far, but we’ve got the berries soaking in a glass over there and that is promising too. The results after sitting the afternoon were reasonably pleasing, but I thought we would try the rest of them tomorrow.”