Excerpt One
“Ma’am?”

Honeypie Sweetwater stared out the window of her condo. The rain was coming down in sheets, which was fitting for her current financial situation. Unwillingly, she turned her head to face the stern woman sitting across the table from her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Steam, I—”

“It’s SIStine, like the chapel? And I’m Ms.” She twitched her nose just like the old television show with the witch. Also fitting.

“This is your copy of the documents for the foreclosure on this property.”

“It’s my home. We’re not talking about a lemonade stand. I raised my son here and started a business—”

“And that failed too, didn’t it?”

Honeypie dug what was left of her fingernails into her palms, doing her level best not to lose her cool. “You just look at the numbers. You don’t have any idea what my life has been like, or what it took just to put food on the table for my kid some months.”

After a brief stare-down that Honeypie felt confident she’d won, the banker leaned back, causing the wobbly wooden chair to creak in protest. She flopped an arm over the back of the chair and stuck her tongue in her cheek before delivering the next blow.

“There is also the matter of your inheritance. The land and property in Washington State will also become our holdings after you sign the paperwork.” She shuffled through her papers containing a collection of colorful stickers. “I hear great things about the museum in Misty Cove.”

“The Chewseum? I didn’t realize that was still open. It’s a food museum. Kinda cheesy, get it?”

Ms. Sistine ignored H.P.’s attempt at humor and shoved the documents in front of her. 

“Please sign on the lines I’ve highlighted.”

Her inheritance. Her childhood. Everything that made her the woman she was today.

Excerpt Two
She found a twenty-dollar bill in a coat pocket that morning. Honeypie Chiffon Sweetwater took that as a sign that it was time to come clean with her son. This surprise money would buy her a dozen raised glazed peace offerings to soften the blow.

“Nosedive” was the term she’d used when explaining to Dex that they’d have to leave California. A skinny kid, Dexter Jenkins had his mother’s thick, wavy hair, except his was chestnut in color, his father’s deep blue eyes and a smirk that was all his own. 

Dex sat hunched at the table in his vintage t-shirt with his dark curls drooping over his eyes. It was hard to tell whether he was mid-morning or mid-evening because of his perpetual state of wrinkle.

“So, like I was saying, we’re going to move to Washington State. I found a bunch of skateboard parks.” Honey shoved a rumpled paper in front of him. She had to give her electric can opener to their upstairs neighbor in exchange for two printed pages, which didn’t seem like a fair trade. 

“Those are in Seattle.” He shoved the papers back towards her and slouched against the back of his chair, folding his thin arms across his abdomen. “NOT in Misty Cove.”

H.P. bent down and kissed the top of his head, drinking in what was left of his little boy smell. 

Ever since fourth grade, when his best friend went through a growth spurt, Dex smelled like a combination of Axe body spray and his lunchbox when he’d forgotten it in his backpack during spring break. Definitely rancid, but with sweet undertones. 

“Don’t!” He shoved her hand away.