The Honey Stand Promise
Chapter One: The Matchmaking Table
Claire Prescott fluffed the yellow gingham tablecloth for the third time, even though it was already perfectly straight. Her honey jars sat in neat rows, each one wrapped in twine and labeled in her own loopy handwriting: Lavender Gold, Wildflower Dream, Cinnamon Sunrise. A little chalkboard sign read, Local. Pure. Sweet as can bee! with a cartoon bumblebee smiling at the corner.
"Looking good, Claire-bear," teased Melody Turner, her best friend from the worship team, as she passed by balancing a tray of heart-shaped cookies.
Claire grinned. "Thanks. I’m hoping the sunshine brings out the sweet tooth in everyone."
Melody smirked, tilting her head toward the far side of the church lawn. "Sunshine might help. But you know what’ll really bring them in? The matchmaking booth."
Claire gave an exaggerated groan. "Don’t remind me. I still can’t believe Pastor Jim said yes to that idea."
"It’s genius!" Melody said. "Church fundraiser meets small-town romance. People sign up, fill out a little survey, and the committee pairs them for a five-minute coffee date. Harmless and adorable."
Claire raised a brow. "Says the girl who’s running the matchmaking booth."
Melody wiggled her eyebrows. "And proud of it."
A familiar deep voice cut through the air. "Tell me this isn’t real."
Claire turned, already smiling. "Hey, Eli."
Eli Walker stood with his arms crossed and a permanent frown carved into his face. He wore his usual uniform—worn jeans, boots, a dark flannel shirt rolled to his elbows—and that signature gruff expression that had somehow only deepened with age.
"You’re here," Claire said, pleasantly surprised.
"Grandma June signed me up. Said it was either this or let her set me up with her dentist’s niece who lives in Tucson."
Claire giggled. "Well, it’s good to see you, even if you’re being emotionally blackmailed."
He shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing at the crowd milling around the churchyard. "What’s the deal with this matchmaking thing anyway? It’s not speed dating, is it?"
"Nope," she said cheerfully. "Just coffee, five minutes, and some lighthearted questions. All for a good cause."
"I don’t want a good cause. I want to go home and fix my tractor."
Claire leaned on her honey stand, smile mischievous. "You afraid you’ll meet your soulmate?"
He narrowed his eyes. "I’m afraid of wasting my Saturday."
She laughed, reaching for the blank survey cards from the table behind her. "Tell you what. I’ll help you fill out your form. You answer honestly, I’ll make sure you don’t end up with someone who talks through every movie."
"Like you?"
Claire gasped. "I do not talk through every—okay, sometimes. But I also bake amazing cinnamon scones, so balance."
Eli took the card reluctantly. "Fine. But only if you promise not to make this weird."
She held up three fingers. "Scout’s honor."
He grunted. "You were never a scout."
"No, but I did sell twice as many jars of honey at the church fair three years running. That should count for something."
They sat side-by-side on the bench near her stand, Claire reading the questions aloud and writing down Eli’s answers in her neat script.
What qualities do you value most in a partner?
Eli shrugged. "Kindness. Loyalty. Someone who doesn’t need to be the center of attention."
Claire glanced sideways. "So, the exact opposite of Melody."
He smirked. "Exactly."
What’s your idea of a perfect Saturday?
"Working outside. Something quiet. Maybe fishing. Or helping Grandma with the garden."
Claire’s hand paused. "That’s sweet."
"Don’t tell anyone."
Favorite Bible verse?
Eli hesitated, then mumbled, "Be still and know that I am God."
Claire looked up. "I didn’t know you liked that one."
He shrugged. "You don’t have to talk much to believe something true."
She nodded, something soft blooming in her chest.
Last question—what are you really looking for?
He stared at her, then down at his hands. "Someone who already knows me… and chooses me anyway."
Claire’s pen stilled.
She looked up, and for a second, his gaze caught hers—steadier than she’d ever seen it. Something passed between them then. Unspoken. Unsettling. Unavoidable.
Melody’s voice called from across the lawn. "Claire! We’ve got your first match ready!"
Claire blinked, breaking the stare. "Right. Coming."
She stood quickly, smoothing her dress. "I’ll turn this in for you. I’ll make sure you’re matched with someone… nice."
Eli nodded, but his jaw was tight.
"Thanks, Claire."
She offered him a smile—bright, brave, maybe a little too quick—and walked toward the booth, the paper trembling slightly in her hands.
And behind her, Eli sat alone on the bench, wondering why telling the truth suddenly felt like the worst kind of risk.
---
Chapter Two: Coffee and Cinnamon Scones
Claire carried Eli’s survey to the matchmaking table, trying to ignore the little tremor in her chest. She blamed it on the spring breeze.
Definitely not the way he’d looked at her after that last question.
"Back already?" Melody asked, twirling a pen between her fingers. "Let me guess—you filled it out for him."
"No! Well, kind of. I asked the questions. He answered. I just wrote it down."
Melody smirked knowingly. "And?"
Claire handed over the paper and forced a casual shrug. "He’s actually… sweet. Under all that grumbling and plaid."
Melody flipped through the form and raised her eyebrows. "Claire."
"What?"
"This is—this is basically you. These answers are you."
Claire grabbed the paper back. "What? No, it’s not—"
"Someone who values loyalty and quiet afternoons and bakes cinnamon scones—Claire, he described you without saying your name."
Claire folded the form in half and gave Melody a tight smile. "Just match him with someone. Someone who isn’t me."
"Why?"
"Because," Claire said, cheeks warm, "he’s Eli. We’ve been friends since we were nine. That’s not how it works."
Melody’s voice softened. "Maybe it could be."
But Claire was already walking back to her stand, pretending not to hear.
Later that afternoon, Claire checked her honey jars and handed a sample spoon to a customer when a familiar, tentative voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Hi. I’m looking for… Eli Walker?"
Claire turned to see a petite woman with shiny brown curls and perfect posture. Her floral dress looked like it had never seen a speck of farm dust. The kind of girl who used real napkins at home and probably owned a label maker.
"Oh! You must be his match," Claire said, voice chipper. Too chipper.
The woman smiled. "I’m Rachel. I sing in the choir."
"Of course. He’s over by the apple cider table."
Claire pointed, and Rachel offered a polite "thank you" before heading that way.
Claire watched her go. Watched Eli stand up straighter as she approached. Watched him shake her hand and even—laugh—at something she said.
"Huh," Claire muttered. "So he does smile."
She turned back to her jars and started organizing them again. For the third time.
"Need a hand?"
Claire glanced up to see Mr. Dobson, the church janitor, standing beside her with a weathered grin. He nodded toward the honey.
"I’ll take a jar of that cinnamon stuff. My wife says it’s the reason I’ve stuck around this long."
Claire smiled and handed him a jar, her eyes drifting again toward Eli and Rachel.
They were walking now, coffee cups in hand, toward the picnic tables.
Claire's stomach twisted. Just a little.
After the fundraiser ended and the booths came down, Claire found a folded slip of paper under the edge of her stand—one of the matchmaking forms that had slipped loose.
She recognized her own handwriting.
It was Eli’s.
She started to fold it back up, but her eyes caught the last line at the bottom—the one she hadn’t read before.
What are you really looking for?
Someone who already knows me—and chooses me anyway.
Claire's breath caught.
She sat down slowly on the edge of the stand, paper clutched in her hand.
Was he talking about… me?
A breeze rustled her hair. The smell of fresh-cut grass and leftover coffee lingered in the air. And somewhere nearby, she heard Eli’s voice again, deep and steady, talking to someone who wasn’t her.
For a moment, all she could do was sit there, heart thudding like a drum in her chest, wondering if she’d just helped the only man she’d ever loved fall for someone else.
---
Chapter Three: The Bracelet
The Monday after the fundraiser dawned quiet and gray, with soft clouds rolling over Hope Springs like a wool blanket.
Claire stood in her tiny kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug of lemon tea, staring out the window at her hives. The bees were already buzzing, faithful and focused, like they always were.
Unlike her brain.
She hadn’t slept well.
Not because of the fundraiser cleanup or the fact that she still had twenty jars of Cinnamon Sunrise stacked in her pantry.
But because of that note.
That one quiet sentence from Eli.
Someone who already knows me—and chooses me anyway.
She hadn't told anyone she kept that slip of paper. Folded it carefully, slid it into her recipe box behind the scone card. She told herself it didn’t mean anything.
And she almost believed it.
Until someone knocked on her door.
Claire blinked.
No one knocked on Monday mornings.
She padded barefoot to the front door, tightening the belt of her cardigan, and peeked through the curtain.
It was Eli.
Her heart jumped.
She opened the door slowly. "You know it’s not Saturday, right?"
He held up a small paper bag. "I brought scones. Yours are better, but I tried."
Claire laughed, stepping aside. "I’m touched. You only bake when someone’s mad at you or your truck breaks down."
Eli walked in, awkward as ever in her cozy kitchen. He placed the bag on the counter and looked at her.
Really looked.
Claire shifted under the weight of it. "How’d the coffee date go? With Rachel?"
Eli scratched the back of his neck. "Fine. She’s nice."
Claire nodded. "Good. That’s… good."
"Too nice, maybe. She asked me if I like interpretive dance set to spoken word poetry. I didn’t know how to answer that."
Claire blinked. "Wait—what?"
He lifted a shoulder. "I thought it was a riddle at first."
She covered her mouth, laughing. "You don’t like interpretive dance set to spoken word?"
"I don’t even know what it means."
They both laughed, the sound easy and familiar, until it settled into a soft silence.
Then Eli cleared his throat. "Also, for the record—my truck’s running fine. And I don’t think I managed to tick anyone off yesterday. That I can remember."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "So why the scones?"
Eli reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out.
A frayed bit of braided thread. Blue and yellow, faded from sun and time.
Claire’s smile faded into something deeper. "Is that—"
"You made it," he said quietly, "when we were twelve. Said I wasn’t allowed to take it off unless I promised to be your best friend forever."
Her throat tightened. "I remember."
"You tied it to my wrist with a double knot. Said it was a ‘forever friendship oath.’"
Claire smiled faintly. "I was very into oaths that summer."
"I kept it."
She looked at him. Really looked.
The scowl was still there, sure. But his eyes—those steady gray eyes—were soft. A little scared. A little stubborn. Exactly the way she knew him.
"You didn’t have to keep it," she whispered.
"Yeah," he said. "I did."
There was a beat of silence.
Then he took a breath. "Claire, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot at the booth. I didn’t even know I’d written that last line until after. But it’s true."
She felt something shift inside her.
"And I know you’ve been trying to help me find someone, but the truth is—" He stepped closer, voice low, sure. "You’re the only person who’s ever really seen me. And I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I want to choose you, Claire. I think I’ve already been choosing you for a long time."
Her breath caught.
The room went still.
"You don’t have to say anything," he added quickly. "I just… thought you should know."
Claire stared at the bracelet in his hand.
A symbol of something innocent and old.
But maybe… it wasn’t just a childhood promise anymore.
Maybe it had always meant more.
---
Chapter Four: Sweet as Can Bee
Claire watched him go.
The door clicked shut, and the room felt strangely quiet in his absence, like even the air was waiting.
She stood for a moment, the paper bag of still-warm scones in one hand and the faded friendship bracelet in the other.
But I want to choose you, Claire. I think I’ve already been choosing you for a long time.
His words buzzed in her head like bees in spring—soft but persistent.
She set the scones on the counter and sat down at the kitchen table, cradling the bracelet between her palms.
Twelve-year-old Claire had braided it with clumsy fingers and way too much enthusiasm. She’d made matching ones—his in blue and yellow, hers in pink and green. Hers had fallen apart by junior year, snapped clean in two when she’d tried to swat a horsefly near the stables.
But Eli had kept his.
All this time.
That meant something… didn’t it?
Her eyes drifted to the recipe box near the stove. Without thinking, she opened it, sliding out the scone card. Behind it, tucked neatly, was the matchmaking form.
She unfolded it.
Read the answers again.
Quiet days. Loyalty. Someone who prays before speaking.
And at the bottom:
Someone who already knows me—and chooses me anyway.
Claire pressed her hand to her heart.
She did know him.
All the pieces Eli thought made him hard to love—his quiet, his blunt honesty, his deep loyalty that ran so deep he sometimes forgot how to show it—they were the very things she’d always counted on.
Every time she needed help with the hives? He was there.
When her dad got sick two winters ago? Eli had been the first to bring her groceries and chop her firewood.
And when she cried over a broken engagement three years back, Eli sat on her porch in the cold and just let her cry. No advice. No fixing. Just presence.
He’d always been there.
And maybe—just maybe—so had her heart.
Claire stood suddenly, a nervous flutter rising in her chest. She grabbed the bracelet, shoved it into her coat pocket, and bolted out the door, hair still damp from her morning shower and slippers still on her feet.
Eli was out behind the barn, stacking a small pile of chopped wood. He didn’t see her at first.
Claire hesitated, heart pounding. Then she called out, voice small but steady.
"Hey, stranger."
Eli turned. His eyebrows lifted just a little. "Are you wearing bunny slippers?"
Claire looked down. "Desperate times."
He set the axe aside and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Didn’t expect to see you so soon."
"I know." She took a breath. "But you came to my kitchen with a bag of scones and a friendship bracelet, so I figured the least I could do was return the gesture."
He nodded slowly. "Okay."
Claire stepped closer and pulled the restrung bracelet from her coat pocket.
"I think this still belongs to you. But if you don’t mind…" She took his hand and began gently tying it back around his wrist, the way she had all those years ago. "I’d like to renew our forever friendship oath."
Eli raised an eyebrow. “So… that’s it? Just a friendship oath?”
His voice was light, laced with dry humor—but his eyes searched hers like he was bracing for a no.
Claire looked up at him, nervous and sure all at once. “I mean… unless you had something else in mind.”
He gave a half-shrug, trying not to look too hopeful. “Well, I didn’t bring you scones because I missed being pen pals.”
She smiled, heart fluttering. “No?”
“Nope. And if I was gonna give you a speech about how I’ve been quietly in love with you since the ninth grade, I wouldn’t have done it while wearing my best flannel.”
Claire laughed, breath catching on something else—something real and wide and bright.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because I've been in love with you since I was nine.”
Eli looked at her, brows lifting just slightly, and then—finally—he relaxed. That half-smile returned, slow and sure.
He glanced down at the bracelet, then back at her with a half-smile. “So… forever, huh?”
Claire tilted her head, eyes bright. “Well,” she said, tugging lightly on the ends of the knot,
“maybe you should take me out first.”
Eli chuckled, low and warm. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”
---
Final Chapter: The First Real Date
Two days later, Eli stood in front of Claire’s porch in a blue button-up shirt that looked suspiciously like it had been ironed. He had a picnic basket in one hand, and a nervous crease between his brows that said he was seriously rethinking the whole idea.
Claire opened the door wearing a sundress and a light sweater, her curls pinned up in that loose way he liked—like she hadn’t tried too hard but still looked beautiful anyway.
"Wow," Eli said.
Claire smiled. "Wow, yourself. Look at you—button-down and everything."
He glanced down, sheepish. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to dress like a date or like myself. So I panicked and went for both.”
She laughed. “Well, it’s working.”
He lifted the picnic basket. “Dinner’s in here. Made it myself.”
Claire raised a brow, teasing. “Did you, now?”
“Don’t look so surprised. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”
She stepped onto the porch and slipped her hand into his. “What kind of reputation? Mysterious mountain man who secretly watches cooking shows at night?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
The lake shimmered in the late afternoon sun, soft ripples lapping at the shore. Eli laid out a blanket, then started pulling out the contents of the basket.
Claire blinked. “Wait… is that rosemary chicken?”
“With lemon and honey glaze,” he said casually, unwrapping a small container.
She leaned in closer. “And these?”
“Roasted sweet potatoes. Maple glazed.”
“Eli Walker,” she gasped. “Who are you?”
He handed her a neatly packed container of homemade dinner rolls. “A man who knows the way to a beekeeper’s heart is through carbs and roasted root vegetables.”
Claire laughed, delighted. “This smells amazing. Why didn’t you ever tell me you could cook?”
He shrugged, a little pink in the ears. “Didn’t want you falling for me too fast.”
They sat side by side, the food warm and rich, and Claire made an embarrassingly happy sound after the first bite.
“Okay, this is officially the best first date meal I’ve ever had.”
“Low bar?”
“Shockingly high. But you cleared it with style and thyme.”
He groaned. “Was that a cooking pun?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
When the food was gone and the sky turned dusky pink, Claire leaned back on her elbows. “You know what I realized today?”
Eli looked over at her, the soft light catching the gold in her hair. “What’s that?”
“I’ve been trying to find you a match for weeks. But I think… I was really just trying to figure out if I was the one who belonged next to you.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he reached for her hand and held it like he meant it.
“You were. You always have.”
Claire smiled, heart full.
“I still have that honey stand sign in my garage,” he added casually.
“Oh yeah?”
“Was thinking of changing it.”
“To what?”
He looked down at her, eyes soft.
“The Walker Family Honey Stand.”
Claire’s brows lifted, warmth blooming in her chest. “That sounds dangerously close to a proposal, Eli Walker.”
He nudged her gently. “And what if it was?”
She tilted her head, grinning. “Well, then I’d want to know if you’re really asking.”
Eli looked at her for a long second, the corners of his mouth curling.
“Someday soon,” he said softly. “I will be.”
As the sun dipped below the hills and the crickets began to sing, Claire rested her head on his shoulder and smiled to herself.
Because some love stories don’t come with fireworks or fanfare.
Some come softly—like sunlight through trees, or bees returning home—quiet and steady and sweet as can be.
----- The End -----