Page 12 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)

Ben

Had to be Fifi.

It was… a lot.

The air was warm but not hot. The sunlight filtered through the trees in long, dappled beams. Birds trilled in the background, and the path was soft underfoot and well-maintained, clearly cared for.

Sienna and Fifi hadn’t been lying.

Wildflowers were everywhere.

Soft pinks, yellows, and blues spilled out from the edge of the trail like nature had gone a little overboard in an Etsy mood board. Lupines, daisies, something that might’ve been Indian paintbrush. I didn’t know the names. I just knew it was pretty.

If a person were into that.

I wasn’t.

Obviously.

I wasn’t walking this trail because it was scenic, charming, or cathartic. I wasn’t doing it for the fresh air or the exercise or the wildly soothing scent of blooming honeysuckle that kept catching on the breeze.

I was trying to obtain some semblance of calm since I arrived in the middle of nowhere.

I was doing it to get Fifi out of my head.

Which, of course, meant I thought about her every step of the way.

She would’ve loved this trail. She would’ve stopped every few feet to point out a flower or a weird-looking pinecone or a cloud shaped like a goat.

She’d have told some story about Sienna falling into the lake or how their mom once got into an argument with a duck.

She’d have talked until the trail looped back around, and it wouldn’t have felt like time had passed at all.

Instead, I had silence. Trees. Flowers. My own thoughts were bouncing around like a bunch of wired squirrels in a wind tunnel.

And still, it was… nice.

About a mile and a half in, the trail curved around a particularly thick grove of firs and opened into a clearing. There was a wide log bench nestled off the path, sun-warmed and weathered smooth by time.

And sitting on it, legs crossed, foot tapping like a ticking clock, was Fifi.

My steps slowed.

No.

No, that wasn’t…

But yes.

She looked up at the sound of my boots on the path. And when she saw me, her whole face lit up.

She stood.

Beamed.

“And here I thought you stood me up,” she said, mock offense in her tone.

I stopped walking, confusion tightening in my chest. “What?”

She cocked her head, smile faltering. “You know… for our hike.”

My brows pulled together. “What do you mean, stood you up ?”

The expression on her face shifted instantly from playful to puzzled to downright panicked.

“Oh no,” she muttered, her eyes widening. “Oh no. ”

Then, like a curse whispered into the wind: “ Sienna. ”

I blinked. “Everything okay?”

“Define okay,” she said, dragging a hand down her face.

I slowly walked closer, not wanting to spook her like a woodland creature caught in a lie.

She was still flushed, with her cheeks flaming red and her shoulders stiff with embarrassment.

“Sienna told me…” Fifi started, voice tight, “that you’d called the lodge. Said you wanted company. Said you asked if I was free to be your guide.”

My mouth opened. Closed. I stared.

“I never—”

“I know!” she said quickly, mortified. “I mean, I didn’t know know. But I figured it out real fast when you looked at me like I was a bad hallucination.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed, just a short, surprised sound erupted from nowhere.

She groaned and flopped back onto the bench. “This is so on brand for my family. Manipulate the universe into giving me a love life. Subtlety? We don’t know that word.”

I sat down beside her, careful to leave space but not too much.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “You didn’t sign up for this ambush. I swear I wasn’t trying to sneak-attack you with a meet-cute. I honestly thought—” She broke off, looking even more flustered. “Ugh. I feel like a walking romantic moron without a script.”

I looked at her, truly looked.

She wasn’t just embarrassed.

She was vulnerable.

And something inside me twisted all sharp and protective.

I didn’t like seeing her like that.

I didn’t like that someone made her feel small, even if it was just her well-meaning chaos goblin of a sister.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, quietly but firm.

She looked over at me, brows drawn, lips slightly parted.

“And you’re not ridiculous. Or pushy. Or a…” I added. “Well, maybe a little.”

That got the tiniest smile out of her.

“I didn’t mind finding you here,” I said, surprising myself.

Her eyes lifted with hope and curiosity.

“I was thinking about you the whole hike,” I admitted. “Not on purpose. Believe me, I tried not to.”

She laughed a soft, disbelieving sound. “You did?”

“Yep.”

“And what were these completely not wholesome thoughts?”

“I didn’t say they were unwholesome ,” I said, dryly. “Just… persistent.”

Her smile bloomed again, slower this time.

I stood and held out my hand. “You’ve already done half the trail. Want to walk the rest with me?”

She blinked up at me. “Actually, I just took a shortcut that shaves off a mile.” Then she took my hand.

I helped her up, and she stayed close. Just a little closer than she needed to.

“We could grab coffee at the end,” I added, like it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was.

Her fingers were still wrapped around mine when she said, “You’re bribing me with espresso?”

“Desperate times.”

She nudged my shoulder. “You’re not what I expected, Ben Jensen.”

“And what did you expect?”

She gave me a once-over. “More grunting. Less hand-holding.”

I arched a brow. “You saying I’m soft now?”

“I’m saying you’re full of surprises.”

We started down the trail, side by side, boots crunching softly on the path, and I never let go of her hand after helping her off the bench.

For the first time since I’d arrived at the Honey Leaf Lodge, my thoughts weren’t fighting me.

They’d gone quiet.

Which, I realized, might be the most dangerous thing of all.

We hit the last bend in the trail just as the trees began to thin. Ahead, the town of Buttercup Lake came into view. Its postcard charm was on full display.

From here, it looked… peaceful, and I finally let go of her hand.

Main Street curved in a lazy loop around the square, lined with flower boxes and shopfronts that looked like they’d been plucked from a Hallmark set. The bakery’s striped awning fluttered in the breeze. The cozy coffee shop, Buttercup Java, was already buzzing, both literally and figuratively.

Fifi walked beside me, her steps light but unhurried. Her fingers brushed against mine once. Then again.

The third time, I took the hint.

Our hands tangled together like it was no big deal.

It was a big deal.

“Alright,” she said, breath slightly winded in that cute, not-out-of-shape-just-talking-a-lot way. “Honest review time. What do you think of Buttercup Lake?”

I glanced around, pretending to weigh it all. “Well. A goose hasn’t mauled me, so that’s a plus.”

“Give it time.”

“The buildings are charming. The trail’s suspiciously well-kept.”

“You haven’t mentioned the people,” she teased.

“Still evaluating.”

“Oh?”

“There’s this one girl,” I said. “Keeps showing up everywhere. Talks a lot. Smells like lemon and danger.”

She laughed, and the sound cracked something open in my chest that was too bright, too easy, and too good.

She nudged me with her elbow. “And?”

“And she has questionable taste in shoes but excellent judgment in soap.”

Fifi grinned like she’d just been handed a trophy. “You’re funnier than you look.”

“I get that a lot.”

She squeezed my hand once, then asked, “Serious question. Do you have a caffeine addiction?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Oh, I definitely do,” she admitted, eyes gleaming. “This morning required a triple shot. Minimum. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

That got my attention.

I glanced sideways. “Why not?”

“No reason.”

“You look great.”

Her nose scrunched. “Only because makeup covers so much, but mine barely did the job. I looked like I got in a bar fight. Two black eyes, minimum, when I stared at myself this morning.”

I stopped walking.

She paused, confused. “What?”

I turned to face her fully, letting my eyes sweep over her face slowly and deliberately.

“You don’t look like you were in a fight.”

“No?”

“No.” My voice dropped a little. “You look like you wandered out of a dream I wasn’t ready to wake up from.”

Her breath hitched. Just slightly. But I caught it.

Fifi’s gaze locked onto mine, and the air changed between us like the gravity had shifted. Like we were leaning too close to something sharp and intimate and dangerously new .

“You say things like that,” she murmured, “and I forget how to walk.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re almost there.”

She blinked. “Where…oh.”

Buttercup Java was just ahead, the scent of espresso and sugar wafting out like a promise. The front door was propped open. Inside, the low buzz of conversation, clinking cups, and one of those overly chipper indie playlists poured into the street.

We stepped up onto the stoop.

“I usually order something with honey,” Fifi said, her voice still a little breathless.

“Of course you do.”

She smiled, about to reply, and then she stopped.

Frozen. Mid-step.

Like someone had hit pause on her frame, so I followed her gaze.

Inside, near the counter, a spritely older woman stood talking animatedly with the barista. Short white curls. Lavender sweatsuit. Pearls. She looked like a walking ball of sunshine and cinnamon, like she belonged on a greeting card for grandmothers who bake and judge softly.

Fifi’s hand slipped from mine.

Her posture shifted, straightened, and stiffened. Her jaw tensed.

I turned to her. “Hey. You okay?”

She didn’t answer at first.

Then, voice quiet: “Define okay.”

I searched her face.

The flush was gone. Replaced by something tight and guarded.

“Who is that?” I asked.

She didn’t respond right away, but her eyes never left the woman.

“Fifi?”

She blinked slowly, like snapping out of a spell. Then muttered under her breath, low and furious: “Sienna, I swear to God...”

It took me a second, but then I got it.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

This wasn’t a chance run-in.

Someone had orchestrated this, and Fifi looked like she was about to come unglued.

My eyes flicked to the woman by the counter again. She was short and sprightly, white curls neatly in place. She was talking the poor barista’s ear off, gesturing wildly with a stirring stick.

“Do you know her?” I asked.

Fifi made a strangled noise in her throat.

“That’s Millie,” she muttered.

I raised an eyebrow. “And… Millie is...?”

“The president,” Fifi said with dread, “of the Sunshine Breakfast Club.”

I waited.

She looked at me, eyes wide.

“You’re not from here, so you don’t get it. But the Sunshine Breakfast Club is not just about breakfast. Or books. Or sunshine. It’s a matchmaking operation disguised as a charming group of women who meet over scones.”

“Matchmaking,” I repeated slowly.

“They see a single person and immediately go into ‘find them a spouse before lunch’ mode,” she whispered. “And Millie is their fearless leader. She’s probably got a spreadsheet somewhere of all the hopefuls.’”

I blinked.

Then looked again at Millie, who now had the barista, who looked approximately twenty, laughing like they were old drinking buddies.

Fifi rubbed her temples. “If she sees us together, she’s going to—”

Too late.

Millie turned.

Her gaze landed on us like a drone locking onto a target.

And then she beamed.

“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee,” Fifi muttered under her breath. “Here we go.”

Millie crossed the café like a woman on a mission, voice rising as she neared. “Well now, well now , Fifi Bell, you didn’t tell me you were finally bringing someone interesting into Buttercup Java.”

I glanced down at her, my lips twitching. “Fifi Bell?”

“Not. A. Word.”

Millie stopped in front of us, hands clasped in front of her, practically glowing with mischief.

“And who might you be, handsome stranger?”

“Ben,” I said.

“This is Ben. He’s staying at the lodge. Just a guest.” Fifi tried to clear things up.

Millie’s eyes twinkled. “A guest, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded, unconvinced. “Nice of you to personally escort him into town, dear.”

I held back a smile. “She makes a good trail guide.”

Millie’s eyebrows shot up like that comment confirmed all her suspicions. “Oh, she does, doesn’t she?”

“Millie,” Fifi said, dragging out the name like it had personally betrayed her. “We’re just getting coffee.”

“Of course,” Millie said sweetly. “Isn’t that how all great romances start?”

Fifi groaned.

I leaned in, stage-whispered, “You were the one who told me to try the espresso.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You know what? Let’s get the drinks to go. ”

Millie practically purred. “I’ll just add this to the club notes.”

“What club notes?” Fifi asked warily.

Millie winked. “Teasing, dear.”

Fifi dragged me to the counter, muttering under her breath.

And I had to admit I was already enjoying Buttercup Lake a lot more than I planned.