“Tess! Get over here,” the woman urges, arms wide open and ready for a hug.

Standing almost a foot taller, Thessaly embraces the woman and closes her eyes. “Junebug, I’ve missed you! How was your Fourth?”

June giggles as she takes a step back to study Thessaly’s appearance. “Stayed up at the cabin and fished – ended up grilling hot dogs for dinner.” June winks. “Oh my, you’re so thin. And your clothes! Tess Sinclair, you’re a New Yorker.”

Blushing, Thessaly replies, “Junebug, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“C’mon, Tess. Let me show you the first batch of wildflower honey – such a pretty shade of pale yellow.”

June takes Thessaly’s hand and leads her into the warehouse. Actually, warehouse is an industrial term – the cottage is more like a modern kitchen with shelves of bottled honey and jam, baskets of fresh fruit and herbs, and walls lined with family photos and honeybee watercolor canvases. The familial feeling inside the warehouse reaffirms the importance of capturing nostalgia within the business. In fact, the Sinclair success comes from excellent products packaged and branded to mimic southern traditions.

“God, it smells delicious!” Thessaly runs her hand along the stainless steel counter of the work station, stopping at a large copper pot lined with Teflon.

“That’s your daddy’s special request,” June whispers between pursed lips.

Thessaly nods and says, “Ah, nectarine honey with Stevia.”

“Yep. Smells divine, tastes like shit. But your daddy is determined to put the agave folks out of business with this sticky goop.” June scoops a ladleful of the cooling orange liquid and grimaces.

“It is pretty nasty,” Thessaly teases, leaning against the counter. “So, Junebug, how’s the summer supply? I need a fairly large shipment this month.”

Replacing the large spoon in the pot, June replies, “We’re busy as bees, Tess!” That joke never retires on a farm. “The warehouse is expecting so much honey this summer that your mama was looking into some new buyers – natural skincare products, I think.” June wipes her hands on her blue apron and moves to a small desk. “Fill out the form so I can set your order aside.” June taps the page of her puppy wall calendar and adds, “Percy is scheduled for the fourteenth of July. Is that a good delivery day for you?”

“Yes, it should be.” Thessaly instinctively stirs the congealed liquid in the cooling pot. “I have three more restaurants on the rotation now, and several event planners have scheduled meetings.”

“That’s wonderful, Tess! And how’s your cute little shop – The Hive?”

Thessaly moves to the desk and takes out her phone. She grabs one of the yellow and black striped pens from a utensil crock, pausing to study the framed family photo displayed on the desk, and then opens the inventory app on her phone.

“It’s been more fun than I could’ve ever imagined! I love going to work, and I love knowing that a piece of my family is always with me.” Thessaly checks off ten gallons of raw honey to be used in the store, ten crates of the eight-ounce honey jars to be labeled and sold, and three dozen, thirty-two-ounce jars for vendor services. “I also have a side project I’m launching and I need a different packaging. Can you get the four-ounce jars that are cubes?”

“Of course – clear or blue?”

Thessaly signs the order form and then scans the paper with her phone. “Clear, please. And black lids, not gold.” She stands from the desk and replaces the pen. “Thanks for coming here today, Junebug. I wish I could stay longer but I’m behind on getting everything sorted. And that wedding last night nearly killed me – honey whiskey shots are not my friend.”

“Oh Lord, the stories I could tell you involving a night with Mr. Beam. And the honey doesn’t make it less hairy, does it?” Giggling, June drops the order form in a file marked Priority. “Honestly, Tess, I needed to get away from the cabin and Murray’s complaining. The flies were biting more than the fish.”

“Junebug, can you do me a favor?”

Placing her hands on Thessaly’s arms, June replies, “Just ask.”

“Send Mama away if she comes near the warehouse or the apiary.”

“I’m one step ahead of you, Tess. I hid her bee suit last week.” June winks.

Mary Alice Hanson likes all things vintage. Clothes. Cars. Cocktails.

And men.

“Tess!”

“Mary Alice!”

The excited shrills of old friends can be heard throughout the lobby of the Grove Park Inn. Actually, Mary Alice and Thessaly are more like sisters, each with only brothers, the two women have a twenty-year friendship that defies time.

Taking in Thessaly’s slim black pants, sleeveless black top, and designer black espadrilles, Mary Alice exclaims, “Chic and sexy, as always!”

Thessaly grabs Mary Alice’s hand and twirls her around, sending her mid-century, full-skirt to flounce and wave like a spinning top. “Elegant and charming, as always!”

After completing a full rotation, Mary Alice pats her stomach and exhales. “I ordered a round of Moscow Mules – come meet Bennett!”

The two women continue through the lobby of the historic inn, past the creepy elevator hidden in the fireplace, and then outside to the Sunset Terrace overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains. The Grove Park Inn hosts spectacular views, with hues of blue and green converging into a landscape painting of natural splendor. Even F. Scott Fitzgerald found inspiration with a bottle of whiskey and this particular view of the mountains.

Reaching a small table near the outdoor bar, Mary Alice squeezes Thessaly’s hand and clears her throat. “Bennett, sugar, this stunning creature at my side is my best friend in the whole wide world.”

A silver-haired gentleman with olive skin and lapis-blue eyes looks up from the table and grins. Dressed in a white dress shirt and pale-blue sport jacket, he stands to greet Thessaly. Bennett isn’t the oldest guy Mary Alice has dated, but he’s definitely the most dashing.

“Tess Sinclair,” his voice deep and velvety, “it’s an absolute delight to finally meet you.” Bennett extends his arm with an inviting smile, but Thessaly furrows her brows when she spots a shiny gold ring on the fourth finger of his left hand.

“Mary Alice?” Thessaly snaps.

Confused by Thessaly’s snotty reaction, Bennett drops his hand to the back of a nearby chair. He slides it out and waits for Mary Alice to sit.

“What?” Mary Alice asks, scooting her chair into the small table.

Accepting the other chair Bennett slides out for her, Thessaly sits down at the table while glaring at Mary Alice. “Did you get married without me?”

Bennett sighs in relief as he claims a chair, realizing that Thessaly is in shock and not ridiculously rude. “Tess, it’s my fault,” he apologizes, sliding his chair closer to the table.

“Nonsense!” Mary Alice reaches across the table to take Bennett’s hand, flashing a giant rock on her ring finger. “Sugar, you’re such a gentleman – so, so sexy,” she whispers while biting her lip. Turning to address her friend, Mary Alice continues. “Last week we were in Memphis . . . there were Elvis impersonators officiating weddings at Graceland . . . the weather was nice . . . I happened to have a gorgeous, white 1963 Valentino dress just hanging in my garment bag . . . it was fate.” Mary Alice tilts her head and frowns. “Tess, are you upset we didn’t get married in the bee barn?”

“Bees don’t live in the barn. And I never expected you to get married on the farm – that’s not your style. But I really thought I would be next to you, holding your bouquet as you exchanged vows.” Thessaly leans in to ask, “And what about your family?”

Mary Alice’s eyes flutter as she blinks rapidly. “Oh, they don’t know yet. You’re the first!”

An attractive waiter approaches the table carrying a tray of copper mugs, a bowl of cut limes, and a platter of tomato and mozzarella drizzled with balsamic dressing. After placing the items on the table, the waiter looks over Thessaly with a cocky smirk. Engaging in the flirtation, Thessaly arches an eyebrow and smiles – unable to ignore a man with exposed, muscular forearms and a fitted dress shirt.