“Levi would probably ask why you speak in third-person.” Pausing for effect, he adds, “And then he’d ask you to dinner.”

Chapter Six

Ms. Sinclair, CEO, The Hive:

The patent office has received your trademark request for the name, Sinclair Wild Honey. As you are aware, we go to great lengths to secure trademark applications within a timely manner. However, please allow six months for the request to be approved.

Best of luck in your new venture,

Christopher Reinhart, Patent Officer

Cheering quietly and closing her laptop, Thessaly dances to the bathroom to finish primping for her date with Levi. Humming a U2 song and shaking her hips, she removes the loose towel from her head and pats her hair dry. Her golden curls are somewhat limited in styling, but her hair looks amazing when it dries naturally with just a dab of Bumble and Bumble Curl Conscious Defining Crème.

She scrunches segments of her layered bob while singing the chorus to Wild honey.

Leaving the bathroom and twirling through the kitchenette, Thessaly makes her way to the small closet. Fishing out a tangerine dress with a price tag, and a sexy pair of turquoise pumps, she commits to being bold by ripping the Nordstrom tag off in a swift yank. She would never wear such a vibrant color with Mason – in fact, he didn’t like her in anything other than the sophisticated classics of black, navy, and a touch of pale pink.

“Wild honey,” she says, stepping into the dress.

She tugs at the side zipper and then slides her hands over the curve of her hips. Pleased with her reflection in the floor-length mirror and shocked that she’s a different person with just a dress, she chuckles. Stepping into her pumps and grabbing a small floral clutch, she switches on the overhead fan to cool her apartment, and then locks the door behind her.

Outside on Pearl Street, the man with the peacock feathers waves in her direction. Feeling confident and bold, she makes her way to his alcove. Keeping a small distance from his impending cynicism, she asserts, “Love is bold.”

The man smiles, sparkling white teeth rarely seen on the face of a vagrant New Yorker, but then he pulls out his journal and begins to write.

Slouching her shoulders, Thessaly frowns. “Ugh, what a fucking riddle,” she mutters, turning to walk away.

Summers in Manhattan mean casual dinners and cold drinks, so Thessaly is meeting Levi at a Seaport pub known for their New Zealand-inspired menu. Although she’s not a fan of lamb burgers or vegetables, or any establishment that doesn’t offer dessert, she’s excited to try a new restaurant on an actual date. But as she walks the three blocks to the pub in a dress the color of a traffic cone, Thessaly fidgets uncomfortably – slouching her shoulders and crawling back into her sweet shell of sugary honeycomb.

“Tess!” shouts Levi.

Following the sound of his deep voice, Thessaly crosses the street to find Levi rakishly leaning against a parking sign. Contrary to Thessaly’s loud attire, Levi’s dressed in a black T-shirt and dark denim jeans. Other than his expensive Tag Heuer watch and barber-fresh shave, Levi Jones is every drop of rugged masculinity.

Levi runs his eyes over the curve of Thessaly’s slender hips, watching as her body sways like an African daisy in a field of Manhattan gray. Uncrossing his arms and walking toward her, he thinks, wildflower.

“Hey!” Thessaly’s raspy voice is perkier than usual.

Reaching in for a kiss on the cheek, Levi says, “Our table is ready. Do you like kale?”

Faking a smile, Thessaly replies, “So, so good.”

Levi places his hand on the small of her back and leads her through the large opened door to the restaurant. “You lie,” he whispers behind her ear.

They arrive at a crowded table flowing with IPA beer bottles and buckets of peel-and-eat shrimp. Thessaly’s shoulders drop and her smile fades when she’s met with a group of seated urban farmers staring up at her – three men and two women, all dressed in the same quirky Brooklyn Soil T-shirt. The table holds six chairs, and Thessaly makes seven, so Levi steals an unused chair from the bar and offers it to Thessaly.

Sitting at least three inches higher than the rest of the group on an elevated stool, Thessaly shrinks in embarrassment.

Aware that she’s uncomfortable, Levi thinks, she’s wilting. So he leans into her and hums, “You look amazing.”

The stress on the letter z buzzes through her ear and sends a cold surge down her neck. And whether it’s the sensual vibration of Levi’s voice, or the hope she may escape the lamb burger, Thessaly relaxes with a smile.

“Guys, I’d like you to meet Tess. She owns The Hive on Fulton.” Levi’s friendly yet authoritative voice hushes the group.

After a few hellos and I love that place from the table of urban farmers, Levi turns into Thessaly, causing the rough denim of his jeans to scrape against her bare legs. “So yeah, it’s a fairly monumental week for the rooftop farm – we needed to celebrate.”

“Levi, I understand.” Thessaly nods, glancing over the drink menu placed in front of her. “I just assumed we were on a date,” she adds shyly.

“Hey,” Levi interrupts.

As soon as Thessaly looks up from her menu to answer Levi, two waiters approach the table with platters of lollipop lamb chops, grilled chicken wings, and stir-fried kale. They refill the water glasses and remove the buckets of shrimp exoskeletons.

The shorter waiter hovers near Thessaly and asks, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Oh, a pear cider would be great,” she answers.

When the waiter leaves, Levi gently places his hand on Thessaly’s knee, allowing his pinky finger to trace small circles on her thigh. “Hey.”

Overwhelmed by the heat of his touch and the intense gaze of his indigo eyes, Thessaly utters, “Ha-eye.”

Locking eyes and counting the shared breaths between them, Levi finally emits a low growl. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggests.

“But I didn’t get my cider, or the yum-my k-ale,” she says flatly, each syllable choppier than the last.

Smirking as he stands from the table, Levi offers Thessaly his hand and then turns to address his employees. “Tess and I have plans.”

“Levi, thanks for dinner, man,” the chubby, bearded hipster on the far left mumbles.

“Thank you, boss!” the two women chime in unison while filling their plates.

“Yeah, yeah. This dinner does not mean you get to come in late tomorrow. Eight a.m., folks.” Levi nods and then tugs on Thessaly’s hand. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she replies, tucking her clutch under her free arm. Turning to look over her shoulder, Thessaly adds politely, “It was nice meeting y’all.”

Levi leads Thessaly back toward the large door, stopping by the hostess stand to sign the credit card tab. “Can you email me the bill?”

“No problem, Mr. Jones. Enjoy your evening,” the hostess proffers while returning Levi’s American Express card.

Thessaly and Levi walk along the crowded sidewalk as a couple completely in sync. It’s a comfortable gait for both, moving to the sounds of the City while dissolving into the blanket of humidity. At the next block, Levi pulls Thessaly in the direction of a shaved ice truck and laughs.

“What would happen if we ask for every flavor of syrup?”

“Other than it probably being brown in color? We would experience the tastiest shaved ice on the planet!” she chirps.

Joining the long line, Thessaly shifts her weight every few minutes, smiling through the pain of blisters forming from her unforgiving pumps. “We’re next,” she says in relief.

“Do you like shuffleboard?” Levi asks randomly.