Peaches & Honey

By Imogen Markwell-Tweed

Matt’s come a long way from the hyper-masculine jerk he was fifteen years ago. He never expected to love his step-son so fiercely, or to agree with his now ex-wife that divorce was the right choice for both of them. He should be less surprised that he’s happy he moved back to his hometown of Blue Bell and sells homemade pies at the local farmer’s market. So when his first impression with his neighbor completely tanks, Matt’s determined to be cordial.

Heath is surly and distrustful of Matt at first, but their mutual interest in baking grows into friendship. Matt loves Heath’s playful and relaxed nature, the way his eyes sparkle when he talks about his bees. Matt’s never looked at a man the way he looks at Heath, or has felt so comfortable around anyone. Confused by his thoughts and more of his new friend, unsure and falling hopelessly in love with his neighbor, Matt doesn’t know what to do. Caught off guard by his growing feelings for Heath, can Matt keep from ruining the best friendship of his life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Jul 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094422428

Imogen Markwell-Tweed

Imogen Markwell-Tweed is a queer romance writer and editor based in St. Louis. When she's not writing or hanging out with her dog, IMT can be found putting her media degrees to use by binge-watching trashy television. All of her stories promise queer protagonists, healthy relationships, and happily ever afters. @unrealimogen on Twitter and Instagram.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Ask anyone who has ever met him — Matt Wilson loves pie.

He’s a pie fiend, some might say. Some had said. He would eat slice after slice when he was a kid, until he got so full he’d be bloated and sick, and even then, it would only be the careful and judgemental redirectioning of his Uncle Terry to get him to stop eating.

According to his therapist, it’s a tangible way to hold onto the emotional connection he had with his mom, who died when he was only four years old.

According to his brother, it’s a way to disgust everyone around him with a puffy-cheek grin.

According to Matt himself, it’s just that pie is fucking good.

It’s still hot, Matt warns, handing the thin paper plate across the wooden table. His booth at the Farmer’s Market is full of different types of pie, all fresh-baked that morning in his house, and even though he’s only been set up and selling for half an hour, a third of the tins are empty.

Benny, his latest customer and oldest friend, scoffs at his warning. It could be on fire, buddy, and I would still eat it this fast.

As if to prove his point, Benny pinches the crust off the pie and tosses it in his wide open mouth. Matt watches, waits, and grins when Benny’s eyes widen and his jaw drops as he fans cool air into his gaping mouth.

You’re an idiot, Matt says, just this side of affectionately, and Benny waves a hand dismissively. And you owe me three fifty.

Benny glares at him but it’s mostly for show as he passes over a five-dollar bill. He takes a bite of the pie, this time from the tip with the filling, and chews obnoxiously as Matt counts his change. He hands it back before looking pointedly at the tip jar. Benny throws a quarter in and Matt bows in thanks.

Tell me you have blackberry. The town sheriff comes over with her wallet already out. Matt grins, passing over a wrapped slice that he had set aside that morning, and Jane beams gratefully at him. He laughs and insists she takes her change when she pays with a ten-dollar bill. Benny gives her the side-eye and accuses him of playing favorites, which Matt readily agrees he is.

As he chats with Jane, who is eying the selection of pies to decide what slice to take home to her wife, a small line forms behind her. Matt waves to them, trying to be friendly even as he rushes through the orders.

When Matt moved back to Blue Bell, he never thought that he would start baking pies for the local farmer’s market to the point that he had consistent and loyal customers. He had baked the first one for his Uncle Terry, who had traded a slice of it for some fresh bread when he’d forgotten his wallet. The whole thing spun out of control after that, and now, six months later, Matt has his own booth and a good chance at winning this year’s County Fair Bake Off Competition.

If someone had told the Matt of fifteen years ago, when he first moved away from Blue Bell, that he would be here in a frilly apron baking pies for a bake off, he probably would have decked whoever said it. He had been a surly, hypermasculine asshole, and he was truly grateful as hell that the people who had known him then — like Benny and Jane Thomas — were good enough to forgive him for all that when he’d come crawling back after his divorce.

Have a good day! He waves to the family leaving, grinning as the baby smashes his tiny hands into a now-cooled piece of pie. He’s smearing the gooey apple insides all over his small face and his parents are none the wiser. Matt laughs as they turn the corner, toward the vegetable stalls.

Any luck scoping out the competition? Benny asks from where he’s moved over by the edge of Matt’s booth. The line has petered out for now, just a few browsing customers who aren’t interested in buying, and Benny’s plate has disappeared. He’s eyeing the slices like he’s going to take another and Matt preemptively slaps his hand away when he reaches out.

Oh, rude, Benny says, shoving his hands under his armpits.

Matt laughs. He holds out a hand and, reluctantly, Benny offers him two dollars. Matt gives him a slice that would have cost five and he perks up. He starts chewing immediately and Matt waits for him to give him a thumbs-up, indicating that his newest recipe is good.

"Like I’ve had time to scope out the competition, Matt says, rolling his eyes. He hands over a fork, sighing when Benny shakes his head at it, and Matt is forced to watch his best friend eat another pie slice like a barbarian. I’ve been busy."

Too busy trying to be the best to see if you already are? Benny shakes his head. A sorry shame, brother.

I am a dedicated pie maker, Matt says, ignoring the embarrassed thrill he feels from saying that sentence out loud. "I do not need to snoop on the other baking stalls to know that I’m good."

Benny’s expression softens. Good point, he concedes. Though, with his mouth stuffed full of peaches, it sounds more like goo pon.

Matt watches the foot traffic move around the park for a moment. He loves the Farmer’s Market just for the people-watching. People, families, dogs, they all look so happy here in the early morning sunshine. Matt knows he’s a bit of a sap but, damn, how can he be sad about things like divorce when he’s part of so many other people’s joy, even just one bite at a time?

"Besides, the County Fair is open to non-market bakers. Even if I am the best one here, which I’m not saying I am, but if I was, that wouldn’t mean I’m the best in the county. Plus, this is just the Saturday crowd — there’s a whole new group of people here on Fridays and Sundays."

Well, you are the best, Benny says firmly. Matt rolls his eyes again. But I see your point.

The ringing of Benny’s phone draws both of their attention. They both stiffen. He pulls it out and smiles at whatever he reads. No baby, he tells Matt.

Matt sighs, relaxing. Good, it’s too early.

Benny nods as he types back. I need to get going, though.

Wait, Matt reaches behind the register to pull out an apple empanada. It’s wrapped carefully in butcher’s paper and tied with a string. He hands it over to Benny. For Alex. I’ve already told her about it so don’t even think about eating it on the way home.

Benny’s expression is caught halfway between offended and amused. I would not steal the food from my pregnant wife’s mouth.

Matt doesn’t say anything — lifting an eyebrow, he waits.

Benny sighs. Not if she knew, at least.

Matt laughs. She’s over six months in and left me a tearful voicemail last night about how much she wants this. I think she’d murder you.

Benny nods solemnly. I would deserve it. He sidesteps past the family arguing about which pie to buy and Matt waves a little as he weaves through the crowd.

Matt waits until he sells out of all his pies — twelve full, ten by the slice, plus another dozen minis — and then packs up the booth. As much as he loves baking itself, he finds a particular type of comfort in the building and unbuilding of his little booth. It is honest, easy work that pulls on his muscles and gets a layer of sweat along his forehead and the back of his neck, and he feels a bit closer to the person he wants to be as he’s loading the bed of his pickup truck and waving to his regulars.

He gets all the way home when it dawns on him. Terry — he doesn’t remember if he needs to stop by his uncle’s today. Ever since the heart attack that led to Matt moving back to Blue Bell, he’s done his best to help out at his place. Sighing, he pulls into the driveway and gives Terry a call.

Hey, man, he says, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel. He watches as the neighbor across the street overwaters their flower garden. Matt winces in sympathy for the drenched plants. Am I seeing you today?

I don’t know, Terry says slowly, as if Matt is the one who forgot to tell him something. Is this a setup for a joke?

Matt rolls his eyes, holding back a laugh. I can’t remember if I’m coming over. Need anything done today?

Huh. Hold on.

Matt nods, though Terry can’t see him, and waits. He squints as someone he doesn’t recognize comes by with a giant wicker basket. They stop in front of his neighbor’s house. He’s never met the people that live there, despite being here for six months.

He considers getting out to say hello when he sees them sigh heavily and throw the basket down. Then, they glance over their shoulder, and cross over to the window.

Matt blinks. The person — clearly not his neighbor, if the way they’re shooting furtive glances over their shoulder has anything to say — wiggles the front window open. Matt watches as they break into the small house, uncaring, and snap the window shut behind them.

Matt hangs up on Terry. He’s dialing the local police number without looking away from the crime scene.

Hey. It’s Matt Wilson. I think there’s been a break-in.

At your place? The officer sounds surprised. Matt thinks that’s nice, that she thinks no one would want to break into his house.

My neighbor’s. Saw the person climb in the window.

The officer sighs. I’ll be there soon, I’m patrolling right now.

I’ll keep an eye out in case the owner comes back, Matt tells her. His phone beeps as soon as he’s hung up and he curses, answering the call immediately.

Terry’s gruff voice chastises him. Hanging up on me? When you’re the one who called me?

Matt squints at the figure moving behind the curtains. Sorry, Terry. There’s a break-in.

At yours? Terry sounds more worried than surprised. Affection blossoms warmly beneath Matt’s chest and he clears his throat twice to even it out.

Nah, he says, shaking his head. At my neighbor’s. Don’t worry, I called it in.

Terry huffs, as if that is not good enough, and Matt bites his tongue to not remind him that he’s a thirty-five-year-old man.

Get inside, Terry says. Matt rolls his eyes but obediently climbs out of the truck. The order at the hardware store is done, if you could pick that up and bring it.

Ah, Matt says. He sticks the phone between his shoulder and ear before grabbing a basket full of dirty pie tins. I’ll get it as soon as his pie’s done. Old geezer at the store won’t give up anything without a full one.

He’s as old as me, boy, so watch your mouth, Terry says and Matt does laugh this time.

Sorry, Terry. He’s a very young geezer.

Shut up, Terry grumbles. Bring me pie, too. And then he hangs up.

Matt laughs again. He gets the first load of dishes inside the house, dropping his keys and phone in a bowl by the door, and as he’s about to

Reviews for Peaches & Honey

[Annie · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

What actually happens in this book? The characters are flat, the dialogue drags on. The story takes place over the course of two months and the end is as dull as the beginning. I would pass on the audiobook completely. The narrator sounds like a robot with a mild British accent.

[Demmy Ijimakinwa · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In the famous words of 김 지수, Not bad but not good. I enjoyed the story but it felt eh in places. Was going to rate it two stars but the recipe at the end really bumped it up ?

[Kelsey Laurent · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book was so sweet in more ways than one. These characters find each other and happiness in small town life and finally get the happy ending they both deserve. I loved every second of this book! Such a fun and funny story perfect for summer reading.

[Jen DuBay · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Heath needs to grow up and seek therapy for his defensiveness and snotty attitude. He shouldn’t be in a relationship, he should be in middle school.