Sunflowers and Honey: Modern Mail Order Brides, #13

By Olivia Gaines

Symphony Willis wasn't about to let her big sister have all the fun. Placing a call to Melody, she asked the question everyone wanted to know, "where did you meet Lakota?"

Following the directions sent via text, Symphony walked into the offices of Perfect Match to start a journey that opened not only a lot of doors, but her heart to understanding what it truly means to be family.

Saddle up as we head West to a family farm in Oklahoma that specializes in Sunflowers and Honey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Davonshire House Publishing
• Release date: Oct 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201210922

Olivia Gaines

Olivia is a USA Today Best Selling and multiple award-winning author who loves a good laugh coupled with some steam, mixed in with a man and woman finding their way past the words of “I love you.” An author of contemporary romances, she writes heartwarming stories of blossoming relationships about couples not only falling in love but building a life after the sensual love scene. 2015 Swirl Award Winner, Best Erotic Romance, Thursdays in Savannah. 2017 IRAE Award Winner, Best Contemporary Romance, Wyoming Nights 2019 IRAE Award Winner, Favorite Series, The Men of Endurance 2019 IRAE Award Winner, Reader's Choice Award 2019 Nominee, Top Female Authors, The AuthorShow.com When Olivia is not writing, she enjoys quilting, playing Scrabble online against other word lovers and spending time with her family. She is an avid world traveler who writes many of the locations into her stories. Most of the time she can be found sitting quietly with pen and paper plotting more adventures in love. Olivia lives in Hephzibah, Georgia with her husband, son, grandson and snotty evil cat, Katness Evermean. Learn more about her books, upcoming releases and join her bibliophile nation at www.ogaines.com Subscribe to her email list at http://eepurl.com/OulYf Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/olivia.gaines.31 Twitter: https://twitter.com/oliviagaines Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/gaines.olivia/

Book preview

SUNFLOWERS & HONEY

Olivia Gaines

A Modern Mail Order Bride- Book 13

Davonshire House Publishing

PO Box 6761

Augusta, GA 30916

THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

© 2021 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

Copy Editor: Teri Thompson Blackwell

Cover: Covers in Color

Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography

ASIN: B08TVYFDZS

ISBN: 9798488630000

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever.  For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

Printed in the United States of America

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  10  9  8

First Davonshire House Publishing October 2021

Symphony & Jaimie

LaKeith Jaimie Young, Farrier, former JAG Officer, USA Army, Ret

Co-Owner,  Young Family Farms

Hydro, Oklahoma

Age 48, Attorney at Law, West Point

Symphony Willis, Entertainment Lawyer

Age 38, Brooklyn, New York

Also by Olivia Gaines

The Blakemore Files

The Delgado Series

Killers

Yunior

Becoming the Czar

The Technicians Series

Blind Date 

Blind Hope 

Blind Luck

Blind Fate

Blind Copy

Blind Turn (Coming Spring 2021) 

Love Thy Neighbor Series

Walking the Dawg: A Novella 

Through the Woods: A Novella 

Life of the Party: A Novella

Modern Mail-Order Brides

North to Alaska

Montana

Oregon Trails

Wyoming Nights

On a Rainy Night in Georgia

Bleu, Grass, Bourbon

Buckeye and the Babe

The Tennessee Mountain Man

Stranded in Arizona

Maple Sundaes and Cider Donuts

Moonlight in Vermont

Sunflowers and Honey

The Zelda Diaries

It Happened Last Wednesday 

A Frickin' Fantastic Friday 

A Tantalizing Tuesday 

A Marvelous Monday 

A Saucy Sunday 

A Sensual Saturday 

My Thursday Throwback 

Slivers of Love Series

The Deal Breaker 

Naima's Melody 

Santa's Big Helper 

The Christmas Quilts 

Friends with Benefits 

The Cost to Play 

A Menu for Loving 

Thursdays in Savannah 

DEDICATION

For Kim Gaines- we share more than just a surname.

A great friendship is all about compromise.

"Easy reading is damn hard writing."

-  Nathaniel Hawthorne

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To all the fans, friends, and supporters of the dream, as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired, and moving forward.

Write On!

A Note on the Modern Mail Order Brides ™

THE MODERN MAIL ORDER Bride Series ™ is a fun series about sophisticated city women, tiring the rigamarole of a fast life, opting to slow it down and get back to nature. Most of the time, it is with hilarious results.

The men are doers, handy with their hands. They live off the land and most times off the grid, but can bring home dinner even if they have to catch it themselves.

One thing I love most about the series is naming each book.

Initially when I started out, I played around with a few things like North to Alaska, Wyoming Nights, Oregon Trails, using the play on words with historical references or local colloquialisms. As I get further into the series, I’m visiting more states or in some cases, revisiting a state to find the bread and butter of what goes on the dinner table. In this case, Oklahoma offers some fantastic sunflower fields and farms. Of course, where there are sunflowers, there are bees which create a medium shade of yellow, mildly flavored honey. Prepare for a tasty read as you turn the page on this journey to love.

Also, I’m truly looking forward to our next journey as we heading back west to Kansas to catch up with Katie Mae.

Stay tuned for more fun. Moonlight in Vermont is Available, the other two, no set release dates as of yet.

Welcome to the Young Family Farms.

Hey, come on inside. Grab a seat on the couch, coffee is on, and our happy couple will be inside shortly.

We’re glad to see you, get comfy, and let me tell you the story of how these two became man and wife.

Contents

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A Note on the Modern Mail Order Brides ™

Welcome to the Young Family Farms.

Chapter One- Agreement

Chapter Two- Concession

Chapter Three- Terms

Chapter Four - Accommodations

Chapter Five - Equality

Chapter Six - Balance

Chapter Seven – Covenant

Chapter Eight – Composition

Chapter Nine – Compact

Chapter Ten – Composition

Chapter Eleven – Understanding

Chapter Twelve- Negotiation

Chapter Thirteen - Adaptability

Chapter Fourteen - Half-Way House

Chapter Fifteen – Modus Vivendi

Chapter Sixteen – Harmony

Chapter Seventeen – Settlement

Chapter Eighteen –  Deal

Epilogue – Harmony

Chapter One- Agreement

SYMPHONY WILLIS DECIDED this morning to walk down 21st Street from her home in Chelsea to the office of one Dr. Lena Purgo, the woman who called herself a therapist. Of course, the head shrinker’s office walls were littered with certificates and degrees outlining Dr. Purgo’s accomplishments in the classroom, yet she knew nothing about people outside of textbook descriptors. The only reason Symphony continued as a patron of the head shrinker was to throw her off and rattle the cage of all the things about humans that the good doctor thought she knew. After three months of weekly visits, in Symphony’s mind, the relationship had run its course. She told the woman so.

Symphony, you seem to be holding back vital information that could be instrumental on your mental breakthrough, Dr. Purgo said, looking over the rim of her wire glasses. I would like to discuss your feelings about growing up in your sister’s shadow.

This was the third time the therapist had broached the subject and the primary reason Symphony planned to terminate the relationship. Sighing deeply, Symphony flecked off a piece of lint from the soft crème colored cashmere cape she’d purchased just last season in Paris. Symphony crossed her legs, showing off a pair a dirty sneakers she often donned when walking through the city. An expensive pair of designer heels waited patiently inside of the Hermes shopper she carried for their turn to make the woman stunning.

Again, Dr. Purgo, I have explained to you that I didn’t grow up in my sister’s shadow; I was her shadow, Symphony stated.

I’m not understanding what that means, Dr. Purgo said. Recently, your sister won a Grammy for a children’s album, which she bragged to the world was created at her kitchen table. How does that make you feel?

Symphony scowled at the therapist, You are rather obtuse, aren’t you?

No, I want to dig down in the resentment that you harbor for your sister’s success as a cause for you being here, Dr. Purgo said with pursed lips. The smugness on her face made Symphony want to reach out and smack the licensing out of the lady.

Believe it or not, I harbor no resentment towards my sister. She is my best friend, Symphony corrected.

Yes, but she just won another Grammy, that has to make you feel some kind of way, I mean, with all that success, Dr. Purgo added.

Lady, if you check the official records, she won the Grammy for the Album of the Year and Song of the Year, and I sang on the album and the song, which correlates to me also receiving the same Grammy awards; which, I may add, were not my first time at the rodeo, Symphony said. I also have several Grammys.

Oh, you sing as well?

Yes, and I am a classically trained pianist, a violinist, and a damned good guitarist, Symphony said. Unlike my sister, I also am an Entertainment Lawyer, and I not only represent her, but also several other A-Listers. And for the record, since you can’t seem to get off the Grammy angle, I’m not here to talk about my damned sister!

Anger. Anger is good, Dr. Purgo said, looking up to see the back of Symphony’s cape as she made her way out the door. Wait. Please, Ms. Willis. Come back.

Why should I? In the last three months, all we have talked about is your obsession with my sister. I’m here to figure out my next steps and get some guidance, and instead all I’ve gotten from this is you wanting to have me spew hatred towards my sister. I love my sister; she’s everything to me, Symphony said.

I’m sorry, Dr. Purgo said. Usually, there is so much hidden animosity between siblings, especially one as accomplished as your sister.

See. There you go again with your sibling rivalry bull crap. I’m accomplished. Very accomplished on levels you can’t even start to comprehend, but this is not...never mind. Have a nice day, Symphony said, heading towards the door.

Ms. Willis, wait one moment. I have an exercise I want you to try before our next session, Dr. Purgo added. I want you to create a playlist of five songs each morning to soundtrack your day. Can you do that?

Why?

I think it will help you get a grip on those underlying emotions you don’t wish to speak about. Everyone has a soundtrack for their life; I’m asking you to make one for each day. I’ll see you next week, Dr. Purgo said.

No, you won’t, but I’ll do the exercise, Symphony said and made for the exit. Outside the building, the warm air hit her face, providing a gentle reminder of the imminent changing of the seasons. Everything around her was changing and blossoming, and Symphony believed she was the one bud on the tree yet to sprout. At times, she felt like Charlie Brown’s sad little Christmas tree with stunted branches unable to reach their full potential. Sighing, she wanted help but didn’t know exactly what to ask for nor whom to ask.

Halfway down the sidewalk, she took out her phone and dialed her big sister. Melody Willis Simjak, a famous pop star who had recently married a wilderness outfitter and moved to Maine, was expecting her first child. Well, children, based on what she’d told the family. Weekly, Symphony checked in with Melody to touch base, share a laugh and keep in touch.

Melody answered, sounding as if she’d hummed through better mornings. Hey, Sissy. How are you?

The question is, how are you? You sound awful, Symphony added.

Morning gas and these children are killing my uterus. Are you leaving therapy?

In more ways than one. I’ve had it with that woman, Sis. I want to be happy and find my way through the wilderness of my next leg of this stupid journey, but I don’t want to travel the road alone, she sighed into the line. My fear is that I may once again get desperate and go back to that fool who likes to motorboat my bootie hole. Hey, speaking of buttholes, how did you meet Lakota? You never did say.

The line was quiet, and suddenly her phone beeped. Symphony pulled the phone away from her ear to see the text. It was from her sister. She questioned what the message meant, and Melody told her in a rush of words.

Go to that address. Don’t think about it, just go. Tell her I sent you, Melody said. I have to go; I’m going to blow a gasket and ignite my house. Good luck.

Sis! Wait! Hold up a minute, Symphony called out, but Melody was gone. The text provided an address. Nothing more, just an address. Shoot, I might as well.

Currently, she stood on the corner of 6th Avenue, and the address Melody had sent was within three blocks of her office in Midtown. Hailing a cab, she rode the 18 blocks to the address on Avenue of the Americas. Uncertain of what she was looking for since there was no placard on the building, she double checked the address and made for the door. The scents of warm scones mixed gingerly with flowery tea and the aroma of star anise welcomed her through the door.

Inside the office was only one desk, a couch, and three computers facing the wall. Symphony opened and closed the door again, looking around for a shopkeeper or a store owner. A woman, brunette with dazzling green eyes appeared, it seemed out of nowhere, making Symphony nearly jump.

Hold up! Where did you come from? I was just looking over there and nobody was there, and I turned around and there you were! What in the hell? Symphony said, reaching for the door handle to leave the establishment.

Why, Symphony Willis, I’ve been expecting you. A year ago, but better late than never, eh?

SYMPHONY DIDN’T LIKE the lady. Immediately, her hackles were up, and she was ready to leave. It wasn’t as if she had difficulty trusting people, but experience had taught her that most people simply could not be trusted. The woman’s green eyes almost sparkled with mischief, and Symphony knew beyond a reasonable doubt, it was time to call it a day.

I have fresh scones, a few crumpets, and tea. I have the best tea, so please, come sit and join me as we talk, the woman said with a warm welcoming grin. My name is Coraline Newair and I’m the owner and proprietor of this establishment. Welcome to Perfect Match.

Mmm, hmm, Symphony said, looking closely at the framed photos on the wall. Each frame held a photo of a woman and a small girl. Every mother in the photos looked exactly alike as well as the children. Squinting, Symphony looked more closely at the last image on the wall. This is you and your mother.

Yes, it is. The next image is my mother with my grandmother and so forth, Coraline said, turning her back and pouring two cups of steaming hot tea. The mint and herbs scented the room as the warm brew filled the delicate cups.

I don’t see any men in these photos. Don’t look like the men stayed around for this Perfect Match business. Curious, is there a man in your life?

Of course. He’s standing behind you, Coraline said, and Symphony turned to see a thin black man who resembled every stereotype in every movie about the African American side kick of a nerd. He’s my assistant. My career keeps me busy, you know making matches and ensuring the continuity of the happily ever after in the cosmic thread of life and time. You know...simple stuff.

Symphony didn’t often get rattled, however, the uneasiness settled around her throat nearly making her panic.  She didn’t see a door that the man had come through, nor did she see any cracks in the wallpaper for a hidden entry. Looking around, the hairs on her arms began to rise up.

Relax, Ms. Willis. He came in the door behind you, Coraline said. Meet Rudy, assistant extraordinaire.

Pleasure, Symphony said, walking slowly down the wall of imagery, inhaling what was being presented while synthesizing what the proprietor was not saying. So, how does this work? This Perfect Match thing?

Simple, you tell me what you’d ideally like in a mate, I plug it into the computer, then you take an exam and hit the button, and it matches you with four potential husbands, Coraline explained.

How much do I have to pay for this service?

The potential husbands-to-be have already paid the fees; however, if your intended lives across country, then it is on your dime to get your life here relocated to there, she said, offering the smile again with the twinkle in her eye. The good news is that in an hour or less, you could be matched with your ideal husband.

Not likely, Symphony scoffed. I think my ideal man is a unicorn, so to speak.

Ooh, I do so love a challenge, Coraline said, rubbing her hands together. Come on and sit down. Let’s make a list. I bet you a twenty and the autograph of one of your famous clients that I mentally match you to the ideal man and the computer will match my choice.

Yeah right.

Pull out a twenty sister, and let’s play, Coraline said with a wink. She pushed the teacup over to Symphony, who also accepted a scone. Let’s start with the basics—age, race, religious affiliation, height. Height is always a factor.

Let’s not, Symphony replied, How about we start with their penises? I don’t want to get all excited and end up with a man with an ugly wanker. I truly don’t believe that women factor in the attractiveness of a penis when they’re deciding on a mate. I most definitely don’t want to spend my life with a penis with a hook in it or a skinny little sausage that is uncircumcised, and every night, it’s waiting for me like a burglar in a turtle next sweater. Stick ‘em up! Your coochie is about to be burgled! Nope. Not having it.

Coraline did one thing she hadn’t done in years in response to what Symphony said: she opened her mouth and laughed. She laughed hard and loud, wiping away tears as she looked at the perfectly coiffed woman in designer heels. In all her years of match making, she knew, this one was going to be a good deal of fun.

Good grief, you are a breath of fresh air, but I don’t take photos of penises, Coraline assured.

Damn shame, it is. I bet a lot of your clientele probably want to ask the same thing, but are afraid to, she said shaking her head.

I’ll keep that in mind, so please, let’s start your list.

Symphony knew the list in her head, and she knew the list by heart. She’d scratched out, added to, removed, rearranged and reordered the list time and time again, matching what she wanted against what she usually got that went nowhere. Mr. Motorboat was a fluke even though he had a pretty penis, but she was not about to spend her honeymoon wiping slobber from between her butt cheeks. This, too, she explained to Coraline, who once more, burst into laughter.

I want an African American husband. A black man, Symphony said. My father is a black man and I want black children.

Coraline was frowning, another thing she rarely if ever did, but she needed to explain a small detail to Symphony. You’re a black woman, so any child you have will be black.

Yeah, yeah, the one drop rule and all, but I don’t want cute little café au lait children. I want the mocha brown baby dolls with thick course hair and full lips and big feet, she said, finding herself smiling at her own description. The women that get my boys will come to bed at night happy for their contribution to the world.

Coraline again found herself chuckling. Okay keep going.

He needs to be older, somewhere between eight to twelve years older than me, fifteen is too many because in fifteen years, I may have to change his diaper as well, Symphony said. My man also needs to be accomplished, have traveled some and seen the world and often fondly recalls this perfect little Patisserie in Paris to grab beignets and coffee.

What about where he lives?

A farm! I would love a working farm with horses. He needs to ride a horse, so he came come home from the meadow with a handful of fresh flowers he picked just because he thought of me, she said, looking down at her hands.

Do you ride and wish to have a horse yourself?

"As a wedding gift, I would love a horse, but I might have to forgo the horse for some real horsepower in the form of a car; I don’t own one