Norwich Nectar
"Beekeeper Oluchi sells the sweetest honey in Norfolk. When customer Graham helps her with a delivery, she shows him that honey isn't the only sweet thing on offer."
Graham had been buying honey from Oluchi's farmstand for two years. Every Saturday, without fail.
"Just for the honey," he told himself.
It was a lie. The honey was excellent, but so was Oluchi—thick and glowing, with skin like the amber liquid she sold. She had a laugh that made his chest ache and a way of looking at him that suggested she knew things he didn't.
"You need help with that delivery today," he said one morning. "I've got a truck."
She tilted her head. "Do you now?"
"And nothing better to do."
That wasn't true either. But for Oluchi, he'd make time.
The delivery was to a restaurant twenty miles away. They drove through golden Norfolk countryside, talking easily.
"You're not from here," she said. "Your accent."
"London, originally. Came for the quiet."
"Found it?"
"Found something better." He glanced at her. "Found the best honey in England."
She smiled. "The bees do most of the work."
"And what do you do?"
"I keep them happy. Same principle works for most creatures."
"Is that so?"
"Mmm." Her hand landed on his thigh. "Works especially well on lonely Londoners."
They made the delivery. On the drive back, she directed him down a side road to her farm.
"Let me show you the hives. You've been buying my honey for two years and never seen where it comes from."
The farm was beautiful—rolling fields, neat white hives, a cottage that looked like something from a painting. She led him past the bees to the cottage door.
"Cup of tea?"
"Please."
Inside was warm and honeyed-smelling. She handed him a cup and sat very close.
"I've been watching you, Graham. Every Saturday. Waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to be brave."
"I'm being brave now?"
"You drove me twenty miles and back. That's pretty brave." She set down her cup. "But I think you can do better."
She kissed him, tasting like honey and something floral. Her thick body pressed against his, warm and soft.
"I've wanted this since the first time you came to my stand," she confessed. "This proper Englishman with his polite manners and his hungry eyes."
"I tried not to stare."
"I know. I wished you would." She took his hand and led him to the bedroom. "Stare all you want now."
Her body was abundant and golden, like everything on her farm. He explored every inch, marveling at the softness of her, the warmth.
"You taste like honey," he murmured against her skin.
"Occupational hazard." She gasped as his mouth found her center. "Oh—yes—just like that—"
She came sweetly, shaking and crying out. Then she pulled him up and wrapped those thick thighs around him.
"Your turn. Give me everything."
They made love slowly, then fast, then slowly again. The afternoon light shifted through her windows as they explored each other.
"Stay for dinner," she said afterward. "I make excellent jollof rice."
"And after dinner?"
"Stay for that too." She kissed his chest. "Stay as long as you want, Graham. I've been alone too long on this farm."
"What about the bees?"
"The bees will manage. They always do."
Graham never went back to London. He moved into Oluchi's cottage, learned about beekeeping, spent his days helping her tend hives and his nights helping her with other things.
"Best honey in Norfolk," people would say about their stand.
They didn't know the half of it. Some sweetness couldn't be bottled and sold.
"Happy?" Oluchi asked him one evening, watching the sun set over her fields.
"Beyond measure."
"Good." She pulled him close. "Now come help me check the evening hives."
The hives could wait. But he'd learned that with Oluchi, everything was sweeter when you took your time.