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Chapter One
“Ready all? Row!” I read the morning episode of Aunt Maxi’s article in the newspaper called the Daily Siftings. “It was a sheer delight sitting in the cox box of the shell with the megaphone during one of the collegiate rowing practices yesterday on our very own Lake Honey Springs.”
“She did what?” Bunny Bowowski asked as she moseyed, and I mean moseyed, on over from the Help Yourself Tea Station at the far end of the counter. Her thick-soled orthopedic shoes squeaked across the freshly cleaned floors of the Bean Hive Coffee Shop.
“She reached out to one of the teams in the competition and asked if she could do an article on them and the competition for the Daily Siftings,” I said, holding up the copy. “I even got to go along and take a photo with my new camera Patrick gave me for Christmas.”
I was not a photographer by far, but I did enjoy trying to figure out how to use the new fancy camera, along with the several attachable lens he’d also gotten me. Since I hadn’t been able to use it much, I thought the big collegiate rowing competition taking place on Lake Honey Springs would be a great time to try it out. The weather had turned full-on spring, and Mother Nature was showing off her gorgeous touches on our Kentucky foliage.
“See,” I continued to hold the paper up for Bunny to see. “I even got how gorgeous the lake looks this time of the year.”
As Bunny walked closer, she put on her rhinestone reading glasses that were dangling from the chain around her neck. Her silver hair, cut to chin length, framed her face while she eyeballed the photo.
“She looks pitiful sitting up there,” she snorted. “Why does she do that to her hair?”
“What?” I turned the paper back around. “Her pink hair? Or all the Aquanet hairspray that holds it up like that?”
“Yeah,” Bunny tsked. “I don’t know why she is always doing that with her hair. Crissy Lane oughta be ashamed doing that to Maxi. It’s gonna fall out one day.” Bunny turned to walk off. “That’ll learn her.”
“She’s always been this way,” I said, looking closer at the photo then brushed off Bunny’s observation. It wasn’t like I’d expect anything different—Bunny and Aunt Maxi had never been each other’s favorite. But Aunt Maxi had always been my favorite. Hair and all.
“But it’s a good photo, right?” I asked, referring to my photography skills. Or lack thereof. “I mean of Lake Honey Springs?”
“Mmhmm.” Bunny waved a hand as she made her way back over to the tea station, where she continued to pour real cream into the ceramic cow pitchers.
“Now, I had originally planned to observe from the safety of the dock, wearing a tasteful linen ensemble and offering moral support from a respectable distance. However, when one of those darling young athletes looked at me and said, ‘Ma’am, would you like to sit here?’ well, I knew immediately that leadership was being requested of me.” I continued reading the article aloud.
“I thought you said she contacted the team?” Birdie called from behind the counter, where she was taking the freshly homemade dog biscuits off the cooling tray and placing them into the dog-treat jar for our special four-legged friends.
“Yeah, she lied,” Bunny said, and when she looked over to me, she spilled some milk on her hand and rubbed it down the polka-dotted apron she’d brought from home. The rest of the staff, me included, wore aprons with the Bean Hive logo.
“She’s writing an article,” I shrugged, making all the excuses for her. “It needs to be a little, um, flowery.”
“Is that what we call lies nowadays?” Bunny asked, but she didn’t want an answer.
“That is how I found myself seated in what they call the cox box. Let me tell you something, there is nothing ‘box’ about it. It is a position of authority. A throne, if you will. A place where decisions are made and destinies are shaped,” I continued to read about Aunt Maxi’s adventure. “They placed a megaphone in my hand. And just like that… I was in charge.”
Bunny harumphed and excused herself. Birdie glanced at me and smiled. She’d had many a front-seat view of Aunt Maxi and Bunny going at it. Mind you, it was all words, but still, it made for pure enjoyment.
I waited until Bunny was through the swinging door of the kitchen and out of the coffee shop before I continued to read more out loud.
“Now, I will admit, the terminology took a moment to settle in. But as someone who has chaired more committees than I can count (and improved every single one of them), I picked it up with ease,” I read. “‘Ready all, row!’ That, dear readers, is how you begin. And begin we did. Those young people moved as one, slicing through Lake Honey Springs like a well-organized church potluck line.”
Birdie and I both burst out laughing—Aunt Maxi’s words did tickle our insides. She might’ve embellished the story a little, but it was a good article and very entertaining. While I continued to read the rest of the article, Birdie had joined me, bringing with her a fresh cup of coffee she wanted me to try.
“It’s what I’m calling Coxswain Cortado,” she said with a smile.
I picked up the mug and took a sip.
“Okay, hear me out,” Birdie said, not even waiting for me to answer. “The coxswain is the one steering the whole boat, right? Where Aunt Maxi is sitting.” She pointed to the photo I’d taken in the article. “They don’t row, but they’re in charge of everything.”
“Just like Aunt Maxi said in her article,” I said, pointing to the photo.
“So this is like that,” she continued. “It’s small, but it’s strong. You don’t need a giant drink when you know what you’re doing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re comparing coffee to leadership now?”
“I’m comparing it to control,” she shot back. “The espresso is the power, the milk smooths it out so it’s not too harsh, and the honey vanilla gives it just enough sweetness, so people don’t make a face.
“And the cinnamon?” She pointed at the top of my mug. “That’s the part that makes people remember it.”
I took another sip.
“Well?” she asked.
“I like it.” I nodded slowly. “That’ll sell.”
“Yes! It’s basically the boss of the menu.” She grinned then looked at the article while I drank the Coxswain Cortado.
“You really took this photo?” she asked.
“I did,” I nodded, hiding my smile behind the cup because the limestone-rich soil had really brought out that faint blue tint in the grass that gave Kentucky bluegrass its name.
In the photo, you could see the island in the middle of Lake Honey Springs where the Bee Farm and the Bee Happy Spa were located.
Trees that had stood stripped through the winter had pushed out new growth, starting with branches dotted with swelling buds that that had slowly opened into leaves the color of soft lime, and finally deepening into the brighter green that made the perfect background for the rowing team’s boat. Aunt Maxi sat in the back of the boat with her bright pink hair and that megaphone up to her mouth.
“You got the perfect photo of the dogwoods and redbuds.” Birdie pointed to them in the photo. Their blooms added touches of white and rosy purple, adding a bit more color to the already colorful photo.
If someone were to look a little closer, they’d notice daffodils in shades of yellow, pink, and cream, while crocuses pushed up in small clusters of purple and gold. Wildflowers filled in the spaces between, lining trails and lake edges with color.
But truly it was Aunt Maxi who had stolen the limelight of the photo, and that was exactly why I’d taken it.
“Oh, there she is,” Birdie said as she pointed out the window and down the boardwalk. “Louise said she’d be here right at opening.”
“With the new adoptee?” I asked, since I’d yet to hear what the new pet of the week was. With Louise, you never knew what was going to come in the coffee shop doors. Since Birdie Bebe had become my manager, I’d recently let her take charge of the Pet of the Week program.
The program had started as one of those ideas that felt small at the time, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Louise Carlton and I had put it together after I adopted Pepper from Pet Palace. She ran the local no-kill shelter, and I owned the Bean Hive, so it made sense to work together. The goal was simple—get the animals out of the shelter for a few days and let people see them in a real, everyday setting.
I’ve always believed animals showed their true personality when they felt comfortable, and there wasn’t any place much more comfortable than the coffee shop. They curled up in a cozy bed near the fireplace or climbed onto the cat tree by the windows, and before long, customers were stopping mid-sip to reach down and pet them. Conversations started over coffee and somehow ended with someone asking about adoption paperwork.
It hadn’t been easy getting it approved. The health department had made sure of that. I’d filled out more paperwork than I cared to remember and agreed to every rule they gave me. The biggest one was that no animal ever stepped foot in the kitchen. Not once. I didn’t bend that rule, no matter how tempting it was when a puppy came trotting in with those big hopeful eyes.
Louise handled the logistics. She brought a folder for each animal and kept it behind the counter. It had everything in it—medical records, background, adoption forms. All anyone had to do was ask. And right next to the register sat the donation jar with the sign that read, Help Pet Palace, Every Dollar Helps. People dropped money in there without thinking twice.
What I hadn’t expected was how well it would work.
Every single animal we featured found a home.
Pepper had been the start of it all, even if I hadn’t known it at the time. Then came Sassy, who Patrick swore he wasn’t going to adopt—until he did. Clyde, the bright green parrot who had been waiting at the shelter for five years, finally found someone who saw past his attitude. Camey and Walker adopted Felix for their granddaughter. Espresso, a cinnamon-colored ferret with more curiosity than sense, didn’t stay long either. Sweet Pea strutted through the Pawrade in a sunflower tutu and won over the entire town. And Norman, a white pug with more stomach problems than patience, somehow ended up living with Sheriff Spencer Shepard.
The Bean Hive wasn’t just a coffee shop anymore. It was a place where people came to slow down, to talk, to connect. And sometimes, to take something home they didn’t plan on.
Birdie walked over to the door, flipped the sign to OPEN, then unlocked it, letting Louise inside with a little carrier.
“Hi,” she greeted us, stepping inside like she’d just come from a Southern boutique catalog instead of a rescue run. Her sleek silver bob sat just right despite the early hour and her bracelets chimed softly on her wrist as she balanced the carrier, the light catching the large, jeweled ring on her finger. “I’m sorry Lollipop and I are here early, but I’m going to Lexington for a couple of rescues and I thought I’d get her here first.”
“A bunny?” Birdie bent down to look into the cage and squealed.
Louise smiled in that calm, polished way she had about her, setting the carrier gently on the floor. The moment Birdie unlatched it, a pair of long, velvety ears lifted up like they had their own personality.
“Well, now,” Louise said, crouching beside her. “This here is Lollipop.”
The little rabbit didn’t rush out right away. She sat there for a second, her nose twitching quickly as she took in the smell of coffee, pastries, and people. Her fur was the softest shade of caramel, and the patches of creamy white along her chest and paws looked like someone had dipped her in sweet cream and stopped halfway. Her ears were long and slightly darker at the tips, drooping just enough to give her that gentle, sleepy look, though her bright little eyes told a different story.
From across the room, I heard the soft thump of paws hitting the floor. Pepper had jumped down from his spot on the couch near the unlit fireplace, ears perked and tail already wagging as he made his way over. He slowed when he got close, lowering his head just a little. He was curious but polite, like he knew this was someone new.
Lollipop froze for a second, her nose twitching even faster as she studied him.
Pepper gave a small, hopeful wag and leaned in just enough to sniff, his motions careful and gentle.
“Well, look at you,” I said under my breath at the precious bunny.
“She’s a Holland lop mix,” Louise said, watching the two of them with a smile. “About six months old,” she continued, reaching in to stroke Lollipop between her ears. “Sweet as she can be, but a little cautious at first. Once she warms up, she’ll follow you around like a puppy.”
Lollipop finally hopped forward, one careful step at a time, her tiny paws barely making a sound on the floor. She paused again, lifted her head, and gave a small sniff in Birdie’s direction.
Birdie didn’t move. “I think she’s judging me,” she whispered.
“She’s deciding if you’ve got snacks,” Bunny said from behind the counter.
“She does love a good treat.” Louise laughed. “Fresh greens are her favorite, but she won’t turn down a carrot if she thinks you’re not looking.”
Lollipop gave one more cautious hop, then another, her little cotton tail barely visible as she moved. She stopped right at Birdie’s shoe, stretched her neck out, and nudged it gently.
“Oh my gosh,” Birdie gasped and scooped Lollipop up.
“That’s it,” Louise said. “All her paperwork is in here.” She pulled out a folder from her bag and handed it to Birdie. “Do y’all need anything from me?”
“I think we are good,” I told her. “Let me get you a coffee to go.”
“I’ve already got it for her,” Bunny said, holding up a cup at the counter, where she was planted. It looked like she wasn’t going to bring it over to Louise.
“Thank you,” Louise said gratefully, walking over to Bunny instead. Birdie was at the counter too, still snuggling Lollipop.
“Two bunnies?” I asked, glancing between the little one in Birdie’s arms and the one standing behind the counter.
Bunny didn’t miss a beat. She planted her hands on her hips and looked right at me. “Well, I’ll tell you this,” she said. “At least one of us is house-trained.”
Birdie snorted.
I took a slow sip of my coffee and shook my head. ...
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