Page 3 of Sweet Deal (Honeysuckle, Texas #4)

The rough wood of the park bench felt grounding beneath Rachel’s fingertips.

They’d walked the short block from A La Mode in a surprisingly comfortable silence, the ice cream cones a relic of their easier, younger days.

Now, sitting here under the shade of a sprawling oak, the real world, with all its current complications, seemed miles away.

Beside her, Jimmy attacked his pistachio ice cream with a focus that made her smile.

They had been such good friends. Ever since Ben Fabio had intentionally tripped her in the hallway in eighth grade and then a few feet down the hall, Jimmy had nonchalantly stood by his locker, stuck his foot out at just the right moment and sent Ben tumbling to the ground landing with a loud splat against the linoleum floor.

Smiling at her as she brushed herself off, he winked, made her giggle, and from that moment on, she and Jimmy had been best buds.

“So,” Jim leaned back against the bench, “catch me up on the Sweets.”

Rachel laughed. “How long have you been back in town?”

His gaze dropped to the dripping ice cream cone in his hand. “Today is my first full day. I got into town late yesterday afternoon.”

“Mm hm. And you mean to tell me that your mother hasn’t caught you up on all the comings and goings in Honeysuckle?”

A deep chuckle rattled in his chest. “Well, maybe a little.”

“How little?”

“The aunts are doing great with Corn Hole Heaven and doing more than their share to keep Honeysuckle on the tourist map. Three of your brothers have recently gotten married.”

“Correct.”

“Like within a few months of each other.”

She nodded.

“I have to ask—did someone spike the well water?”

This was one of the things she missed about Jimmy—Jim. He could always make her laugh over the simplest of things. If only he knew. “Something like that.”

“I hear everyone’s moved back to the ranch?”

Once upon a time they’d told each other almost everything, but that was a very long time ago.

Now, she debated how much to tell him. A loyalty to forever ago friendship won the debate.

“We lost our foreman several months ago and we all agreed to move home and help Mom. It was hard on all of us losing Dad, but running the ranch alone is too much for her.”

“I’m sorry. Mom told me when Charlie passed. I sent a note with flowers. Wanted to call, but,” he sighed, “something always got in the way of my good intentions.”

“I got the letter. It was lovely. So were the flowers.”

For a long moment, they licked the ice cream and sat in the somber silence.

“I meant to stay better in touch,” he blurted. “I don’t know what happened. What is it they say: life is what happens while we’re busy making other plans?”

“Sounds like something my Grandma Davis would have said.”

“It’s true.” He crunched on the end of his cone. “I really am sorry. I should have made the time to call, to—”

“Hey,” she put her hand on his arm, “I didn’t do any better. Not after the first year or so.” She’d missed her friend so much back then. They’d talk often at first, then the calls grew distant; soon she hadn’t even noticed that they weren’t coming at all.

He tossed the napkin into a nearby trash can. “Mom says you’re still doing social work.”

“I am.” Her cheeks pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m gathering from that wide grin that it’s turned out to be all you’d hoped it would?”

“For the most part, yes.” She took a quick nibble at the edge of her cone. “Folks like me live for the next crisis, the next problem to solve. We love fixing wrongs.”

“And when you can’t?” The man really did know her too well.

“That’s the not most part. It’s hard. Sometimes more than others, but any social worker knows going into a situation, we can’t save everyone. We can only do our best.”

“But you like your job?”

There were also people, kids, and families, that she couldn’t help, others like the Bensons that broke her heart, but that didn’t change the facts. “Love it.”

He studied her with an intensity she didn’t quite understand.

Years ago, she would have known exactly what he was thinking, but not anymore.

The tall lanky kid who had been her partner in crime had left town a long time ago.

This man in front of her, with broad shoulders, subtle strength, and a killer smile that made his blue eyes sparkle like the Caribbean on a sunny day, was practically a stranger.

The distant sounds of children playing and birds calling in the trees above filled the quiet air that had settled around them.

“So,” she ventured, “how long are you staying in Honeysuckle?”

Jim tilted his head, considering. “I don’t know yet.”

“When do you have to be back to work?”

“I don’t.”

She felt her brows slowly ride high on her forehead. “You lost your job?”

He shook his head.

“Then you must have one heck of a great boss.” Though she didn’t know why that statement made him chuckle.

“That depends.” He shrugged, still smiling. “I’m the boss.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “I don’t remember your mother mentioning that. Though I admit, we don’t talk often.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t shout from the rooftops every time I moved up the corporate ladder.”

“She might have if I’d still been living in town, but I only moved back recently, like the others, to help Mom.

” There were so many things she wanted to ask him, so many years she wanted to catch up on, and yet, sitting here side by side, even though she didn’t have a clue what was going on in his life, somehow, she felt as if no time at all had passed. How was that even possible?

Jim watched Rachel finish her ice cream cone, the tip of her tongue catching a stray drop of butter pecan.

He had to physically stop himself from leaning closer .

Love it . The simple conviction in her voice when she spoke about her job resonated deep within him.

Until recently, he would have said the same thing about his work.

The risks, the challenges, the triumphs, and, of course, the profits.

He doubted that Rachel would wake up one day and feel her work was all—superficial.

Thinking back, the passionate streak he could hear in her voice had always been there.

The desire to fix things, whether it was a wobbly birdhouse in her backyard or, apparently, the more complex problems of the families she worked with now.

It was admirable. It was… Rachel. “Takes guts dealing with the tough stuff day in and day out.”

She shrugged, though a faint blush touched her cheeks. “Comes with the territory. You learn to focus on the wins, however small.” She crumpled her napkin and aimed for the nearby trash can, missing by an inch. “Almost,” she muttered, getting up to retrieve it.

He chuckled. “Some things never change. Remember trying to teach you to skip rocks at the creek? You had more enthusiasm than accuracy.”

Rachel sat back down, laughing. “Hey! I got pretty good—eventually. Unlike some people who insisted on trying to build a raft out of driftwood and nearly floated halfway to Miller’s Creek before Garret lassoed them back.”

“Okay, first,” Jim held up a finger, grinning, “that raft was structurally sound, mostly. Second, Garret only showed up because you tattled.”

“Did not!” She swatted playfully at his arm. “I merely expressed concern for your safety to the nearest responsible adult-adjacent person, who happened to be my brother with a rope.”

“Semantics.” He laughed, the sound feeling easy and unfamiliar in his own ears.

How long had it been since he’d felt this light, this unburdened?

Sitting here, trading childhood stories with Rachel Sweet, felt more real, more right, than any power lunch or boardroom meeting ever had.

He’d come home seeking… something. He hadn’t expected that something might be connected to the place he’d tried so hard to escape.

In passing, she casually mentioned having missed their friendship.

He had too, until this very moment, more than he’d realized.

“You know,” his tone turned slightly more serious, “leaving Honeysuckle felt like the only option back then. College, career… it all seemed to point away from here.” He looked around the familiar park—the ancient oak spreading its branches, the worn patches of grass where countless kids had played, the faint scent of honeysuckle drifting on the breeze.

“Funny how you can achieve everything you thought you wanted and realize the view from the top isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Sometimes the things you run away from are the things you needed all along. ”

Rachel studied him, her green eyes thoughtful. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Not much to tell. Didn’t take me long to figure out that in the world of finance, hedge funds was a prime sector for making money—serious money. I set out to do just that.”

“Judging by those loafers you’re wearing, and that you mentioned you’re the boss, looks like you succeeded.”

“So it seems.” He’d packed a single bag with the most basic casual attire he owned, but if he didn’t want to be judged by his shoes, it might be good for him to get some new duds.

“Or maybe success, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.” And looking at her, seeing the genuine warmth in her smile, the intelligence shining in her eyes, he had a sudden, startlingly clear idea of how petty his interpretation had been.

His gaze drifted over her shoulder towards the dedicated corn hole courts at the far end of the park, bustling even on a weekday afternoon.

He remembered the town’s obsession, the tournaments, the endless summer evenings spent tossing bags with his brothers.

It was part of the fabric of this place, something he hadn’t thought about in ages, maybe not at all.

A shout from across the park caught their attention. A golden retriever had stolen a Frisbee from another dog and raced in victory circles around the grass, both owners in pursuit.

“Five bucks says the retriever makes at least three more laps before they catch him,” Jim challenged, grateful for the distraction from his inner thoughts.

Rachel’s competitive spirit flashed in her eyes. “You’re on. I say they grab him before he completes two.”

They both leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching intently as the canine drama unfolded. The retriever darted between a young couple having a picnic, sending a bowl of chips flying, then sprinted toward the playground with both owners in pursuit.

“That’s one lap.” Jim grinned.

“Just wait,” Rachel countered. “See the kid by the swings with the hot dog? Ten seconds and that dog is stopping for a snack.”

Sure enough, the retriever skidded to a halt beside a young boy holding a hot dog. The boy’s mother snatched the food away just in time, but the pause was enough for the retriever’s owner to dive forward, missing the dog but managing to grab the Frisbee.

“Ha!” Rachel crowed as the retriever, without his prize, circled back to his owner’s side. “Less than two laps, as predicted.”

“Technicality,” Jim protested. “They caught the Frisbee not the dog.”

“Nope. Rules are rules, Henderson.” She held out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Pay up.”

Laughing, Jim dug into his pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill, pressing it into her palm. Their fingers touched, and for a brief moment, neither moved. Pulling in a deep breath, he drew his hand away and shifted in place. “You always could read a situation better than me.”

Her expression unreadable, she folded the bill carefully and tucked it into her shirt pocket. “Social worker, remember? Reading people is my superpower.”

“And fixing them your kryptonite,” he teased, remembering how even as kids, she’d always tried to solve everyone’s problems.

“And that, Mr. Henderson, is why I love what I do.”

“I can see that.” He smiled and children’s laughter reached his ears, sparking an idea.

“You know, I haven’t played a decent game of corn hole since I left Texas.

” He stood up, offering her his hand. “How about we see if either of us remembers how to actually get a bag on the board? And maybe,” he smiled wider, “I might even win back my five dollars.”