Meg laughs while Seth shakes his head. “Lemme guess . . .” he starts.

“Now he wants you, right?” Meg snorts.

“He didn’t want to believe me about the dating, he’s so arrogant, but this morning, he sent me five texts – the five stages of jealousy.” Thessaly reads from her phone in a deep voice. “I love you. We belong together and I was stupid for not seeing that sooner. We have a history and a future. No prick is good enough for you. I won’t wait for you to change your mind.”

Meg’s jaw drops as Seth whistles.

“Wow, that’s some lame shit,” Meg says flatly.

Seth grabs Thessaly’s phone and insists, “Don’t text him back! I want to see how far this goes.”

Standing from the island, Thessaly yanks her phone out of Seth’s hand. “He won’t give up.”

“Maybe you need a sexy farmer with a hankering for ice cream to kick his ass,” Meg suggests with a smile.

“Maybe so.”

Using the iPad to research Shelter Island weddings, Thessaly quickly checks Pinterest to gather a few ideas. She always tries to stay away from cheesy puns when it comes to using her products as gifts, and the best way to avoid clichéd phrases is to show an elegant bride how overused that crap really is.

Aware that her two o’clock appointment arrived early, Thessaly watches as they wander around the store. Overhearing their remarks about the gorgeous packaging of the confections and the exquisite modern design of her shop, Thessaly takes the opportunity to approach the ladies.

“Hello, welcome to The Hive. I’m Thessaly Sinclair.” Extending her arm and motioning toward the island, Thessaly adds, “We can chat over here.” As the women sit with their designer handbags and remove their iPads and folders, Thessaly signals to Meg standing near the register. Taking her cue, Meg heads to the kitchen to retrieve the glorified refreshments.

Smiling and arching her Botox-ridden eyebrows, the wedding planner exclaims, “Thessaly, it is so nice to meet you – I’m Mindy Hollis-Klein. We’re absolutely in love with your shop!” Tapping the island in front of the bride, she adds, “Heather and I were discussing how your honey and jams are like little pieces of art.”

“Thank you,” Thessaly replies, sitting down across from the two women. “I take great pride in my family’s farm – it was only right to share it with the Seaport.”

Meg arrives at the island carrying a wicker tray of warm cornbread, and a sampling of jams and honey. Thessaly places a small plate in front of each woman with a smile. “I hope y’all are hungry.”

Heather’s eyes expand with horror, terrified of ingesting unwanted calories before her wedding. “It smells delicious, Thessaly, but I’ll just have a water with lemon.”

Mindy uses the serving tongs and places a small portion of cornbread on her plate. “Think of this as a tasting, Heather. Jam or honey?”

Suggesting something lighter, Thessaly offers, “Try the peach-infused honey, Heather. No added sugar and the taste is phenomenal. I also have sugar-free strawberry jam you could spread on a low-fat rice cake.”

“No, please don’t bother – I’ll rely on Mindy’s impeccable taste. Does the honey come from your family’s farm? I’m so fascinated with the subject.”

“It does! I receive raw, harvested honey shipments every few months and then I package it in my shop.” Thessaly opens a photo album on her tablet and shows the ladies previous examples of custom products. “Mindy will direct me as to what you’ll want during your reception – from there, we can create almost any flavor and personalized packaging specifically for your wedding.”

In a hoity voice reserved for the Manhattan elite, Mindy reveals, “Heather’s fiancé owns a lovely property on Shelter Island. Since family and friends from all over the country will be attending, they’re graciously hosting a destination weekend wedding. Every detail is important, as I’m sure you understand.”

Heather opens an album on her iPad and scrolls through the pictures of the white and blue beachfront estate. “Dennis and I want our guests to enjoy a weekend getaway while attending our wedding. The rehearsal dinner will be outside featuring a feast of an autumn harvest. We’ve planned a pancake breakfast the following morning, lunch in town, boating activities, a trip to the winery, and then on Saturday night, a reception that will impress Julia Pierce. Nothing over the top or pretentious though – Dennis and I want the wedding to mimic an upscale bed and breakfast.”

“Oh, Heather, it looks amazing – will Julia Pierce be there? I love her columns,” Thessaly adds, glancing in her periphery as a burly delivery man enters her shop.

“She’s doing a two-page spread!” Heather beams.

Rising from the island, Thessaly asks, “Two pages? Can you excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course, dear. I’ll just be sampling this strawberry jam.”

Joining Meg as she tries to answer the silly questions of a young couple, Thessaly nudges her hip. It never ceases to amaze her that honey and jam can bring so much debate.

“Hi, you will love the light and fragrant taste of the lavender honey. I’ll have Meg bring you some tea,” Thessaly offers.

“What’s up?” asks Meg when the couple leaves.

“Can you bring the wedding chicks some water with lemon? There’s a delivery guy here unloading crates, but I didn’t order anything.”

Meg glances at the door and shrugs her shoulders. Plodding to the kitchen, she mumbles, “Water and tea.”

Walking to the front of the store, she watches as a large, hairy man wipes sweat from his brow. “Can I help you?” Thessaly asks with a polite smile.

“Tess Sinclair? I got your order of white peaches – one bushel.”

“I think there’s a mistake! I would never order that many peaches.”

“I only deliver, lady – and I don’t get paid if I don’t deliver. You wouldn’t do that to me, would ya?” Sweat runs down his cheeks like dejected tears while he continues to unload his dolly.

“But, I, where did they come from?”

The delivery man stacks the crates of peaches in the front corner of the shop, moaning as he stretches from his rolling cart to the short tower of wooden crates. “Brooklyn Soil.” He pulls out a crinkled slip of paper from the pocket of his plaid shirt and drops it into the top crate. Wiping sweat from his upper lip, he smiles quickly and then scurries out the door before Thessaly can stop him.

“I didn’t order peaches,” she mutters to herself. Lifting the folded invoice from the top crate, Thessaly reads silently. If you have a dispute with your order, please call Levi Jones.

Fighting a smile, Thessaly walks toward the kitchen. “I’ll be right with you, ladies,” she says as she passes Mindy and Heather.

Returning a plastic smile, Mindy replies, “Take your time, dear.”

As Thessaly enters the kitchen, Seth looks up from the pyramid of stacked jars and frowns. “Tess, you’re flushed,” he teases.

“Hey, can you give me a minute?” she asks.

“Sure – but don’t mess with my Jar Jenga.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she promises.

When Seth leaves, Thessaly removes the business card she stashed in the canister with her candy. Dismissing the three new texts she received from Mason, she starts a casual text to Levi. Mid-thought, Thessaly takes the plunge and dials the number to Brooklyn Soil.

After the third ring, a familiar, gravelly voice answers the call. “Hello, Brooklyn Soil.”

Her throat dry, Thessaly crackles, “Hi, um, may I speak to Levi Jones?”

A brief pause is followed by a snicker before he replies, “Levi Jones is currently at a tent revival sacrificing the baby carrots. Can I take a message?”

Knowing that she’s speaking to Levi, Thessaly decides to play along. “Yes, please leave him a message. Tess Sinclair would like to know what she’s supposed to do with a bushel of peaches.”