Honey worked her way through the crowd, her tray full of dirty dishes held high so that she didn’t accidentally crash into anyone. The turnout for Finney’s opening indicated a success. Finney, a short, roundish, red-haired man, dressed in all black, animatedly spoke to someone sitting in one of the upholstered arm chairs the café provided. Honey couldn’t tell who it was. She could see dark hair but no other identifying features. Finney threw his head back in a raucous giggle. The man speaking to Finney rose, also laughing. Honey noticed it was the tall man from the other day.

Previously, she had noticed his height, but she hadn’t really appreciated how tall he stood until she saw him towering over Finney. She noticed he had cleaned up some. He wore another plaid work shirt, but at least this time it was tucked into clean pants and not the dirty cargos he had been wearing. His hair was incredibly unfashionable. He either needed to cut it all off or grow it out more, and it looked like he tried to shave with a rusty razor. His chin was still covered in stubble, and his sideburns were dangerously close to resembling muttonchops.

Finney caught her eye and waved to her. She nodded in acknowledgment. She worked her way back to the kitchen with the dirty dishes then returned to the front. Finney approached, dragging the tall man with him. “Honey, Honey, Honey. Where ever did you find Morgan? He’s delightful. He actually knows something about art.”

“She found me right about here.” Morgan smiled.

“You actually came?” she asked incredulously. She seriously had not expected him to show up, figuring he had used up all his art knowledge trying to show off to Lana. She had heard everything he said through the headphones, even if she hadn’t acknowledged it.

Morgan seemed to carefully study her face. “Your coworker did invite me, and it gives me a chance to properly meet you.” His gaze lingered on her lips. He had warm hazel eyes that sparked with glints of glowing amber and were framed by ridiculously long and thick dark lashes. Something in his gaze left Honey breathless and unable to look away. She leaned on the counter; her knees didn’t want to support her weight anymore.

Honey, taken aback by the intensity of his gaze, gave a nervous smile. “Well, yes, Lana did say you seemed rather insightful regarding Finney’s work.”

Lana had actually said a whole lot more than he had insight to Finney’s art. Lana could sense people, read their intentions, and Honey learned that Lana’s intuition was worth following. Lana had said there was something very trustworthy about this guy, that he would be worth Honey’s time.

“We haven’t officially met, have we, Honey?” Morgan’s voice, smooth and deep, felt almost like a caress. That made Honey a bit nervous. She didn’t know if she wanted that kind of particular attention from him. Morgan was not her type. Honey preferred prettier men with more refined features. Morgan wasn’t pretty. He had a strong, square jaw with a cleft dimple in his chin that she could just make out under the bad shave job. With a distinct, broad brow and wide cheekbones, he wasn’t bad looking, just not pretty. Rugged, Honey thought. He was more rugged than refined. It also made her nervous because she felt like closing her eyes and leaning into the sound of his voice. After Bryce, she had no intention of falling for another guy anytime soon, regardless of how he made her feel.

“No, we haven’t. I’m Honey Gould.” She stuck out her hand and braced herself for commentary on her name. She felt certain Morgan would have some asinine thing to say. Most people did. She certainly didn’t expect him capable of a witty pun. Inwardly, she flinched. She knew she was judging his intellect by his clothing and shave, and not for the first time. She had to stop that.

Morgan engulfed her hand in his large and warm one. Honey noticed the long tapered fingers were rough from use, but the skin on the back of his hand was smooth and his nails were clean and decently manicured. Those small personal grooming habits were the type of detail Honey always focused on.

“Morgan Palatine,” he said.

“Morgan…” Finney grabbed the taller man by the elbow, “…I have some friends you have to meet.”

As Finney steered Morgan back into the throng, Honey grinned. It was obvious Finney had a bit of a crush on him. As she watched the two men thread their way through the crowd, she realized Morgan hadn’t said anything about her name. Honey couldn’t remember the last time some guy who had been ogling her hadn’t. They all seemed to think they were original, and that she would find it hysterical. She had heard all the lines, from being asked if she was sticky or easy to spread, to being called Golden Grahams after the cereal. She never found the name games to be witty, let alone to be hysterical. Morgan not commenting on her name was a notable relief.

Honey continued to clear away dishes, and fill orders as the night progressed. The majority of the crowd left by nine-thirty, a time considered fairly late around Cannery Row. Honey’s gaze drifted over the front of the coffee shop. A few patrons stayed, gathered into cozy conversation groups. Finney still had Morgan cornered, and Morgan really didn’t seem to mind. Her gaze settled on Lana and her wife Maggie, who seemed to be lost in each other’s eyes. They looked at each other with such fathomless depths of love that it made Honey’s heart ache. She completely understood why they loved each other. Lana was so witty and strong, a real business wiz, completely beautiful even though she didn’t really focus on her own looks. She clearly adored Maggie. A local vet who spent most of her free time working with rescue animals, Maggie had a big heart and room enough for everyone she met. She naturally nurtured people and animals. She was amazingly beautiful inside and out.

Honey sighed. She wanted to love someone that way. To be content staring into each other’s eyes for hours. She thought she had once, but he hadn’t been kind or loving. Since then, she hadn’t found anyone worth loving. Then again, she realized she hadn’t been looking at who people really were. That’s how she had ended up as an accessory for a vain, sadistic man. She had only paid attention to his exterior. He had turned out to not only not be loving, but to be someone to be afraid of, someone to run away from. She knew she had fallen into her old habit of looking at what people looked like, and how she perceived them to be. The last two men she dated had been exteriors only, well-groomed, pretty men who drove German phallic symbols. They dressed well, ate at the right restaurants, had the right job titles, and were complete assholes.

Lana had told her she needed to get over herself more than once. Honey needed to stop judging books by their covers. Read the first chapter, find out whether it was intriguing or not. After all, Honey realized, she wasn’t that great of a book cover anymore herself. On the outside, she didn’t look like a promising high-fashion model anymore and never worked as a museum curator, but inside she knew she was funny and had the capacity for love. No, she reminded herself, she wasn’t a failed curator as some people might judge her; she just managed a different space than she had expected. In fact, everything in her life was much different than she had expected. She played with the charm at her neck. Much different.

Her gaze locked with Morgan’s. She’d been aware that he had been watching her for some time. He smiled. It was a lovely smile, Honey thought, broad and full of gleaming white teeth. Now, this guy was not an exterior. Admittedly, he had a painful sense of fashion, but a girl could change that. His hair was positively a mess, but underneath the mess, he did have nice bone structure and friendly eyes. And, Honey noted, he was taller than her. When a girl stood one inch less than six feet, the height of one’s date was a serious consideration. She knew she was being judgmental thinking about his looks, but what spoke to her, what made her think she maybe should give this guy a chance, wasn’t just Lana telling her she should talk to him, but his actions. He had spent the entire evening chatting with Finney and others. He didn’t comment on her name. He had spent time in discussion with Lana and Maggie. He spoke knowledgeably about art. He did seem to understand it. Abstract expressionism was tough for a lot of people, yet he actually seemed to get it. A straight man who knew art—now that was intriguing.

Honey knew she needed to stop being so judgmental. Maybe she would practice on Morgan. See if she could do it. Get to know the person underneath the exterior. He seemed nice enough, and Lana had said he was a good person. Hell, he could be the best person to come her way in a long time and she would never find out because she wasn’t impressed by his clothes or the fact that he did manual labor. Hmm. The next time he started to flirt, she would flirt right back. After all, little flirting never hurt. It gave the ego a boost.

* * *

Lana locked the café doors then headed back to the kitchen with the last tray of dishes. Maggie had pulled the register drawer and began counting the evening’s receipts in the back office. Finney and his small group, including Morgan, were still ensconced in the overstuffed chairs in the middle of the café. Honey worked her way around the edges of the room cleaning towards the center, wiping down tables, and setting chairs on the table tops so she could mop. One of the chairs clattered to the floor.

“Crap,” she bit out. She stood looking at the offending chair, wishing it would rise up and replace itself on the table. Her telekinesis mind powers worked in the form of Morgan. He picked up the chair and replaced it for her.

“Bad chair,” he scolded.

“Thanks,” she sighed.

“We should get out of your way. You’re trying to close up, aren’t you?” Finney stood up and motioned to the small group he always traveled with to begin gathering their things to head out. “Hey Morgan, we’re going to head over to Pat’s place for some wine. Care to join us?”

Finney’s suggestion was chorused with a variety of good idea and you are totally welcome.

“Thanks, but maybe next time. I think I’ll stay here and help with the heavy lifting.” Morgan stood, holding a chair waiting for Honey to finish wiping down the table in front of them.

“You totally don’t need to do that. It’s my job to take care of it,” she said.

“Think of it as a thank you. I haven’t been in town that long. This was my first invitation out to something and I enjoyed myself.” Morgan grinned at her. Something in his expression told her he enjoyed her company.

Finney air kissed her on both cheeks “Well, all right, Morgan. It was a pleasure, Honey. Delightful as always.” She unlocked the doors and let him and his entourage out.

“He’s quite the character,” Morgan stated, watching Finney and his group walk up the sidewalk. “I think I got his whole life story.”

“That’s Finney. Sometimes I wonder when he finds time to paint. He loves people and he’s a chatterbox.” Honey returned to wiping down tables with disinfectant. Morgan followed behind and placed the chairs on each tabletop. She sighed. How to do this? Maybe Morgan wasn’t her ideal of a good looking book cover, but she had to get an inside glimpse before she made any judgments. How to read Morgan’s first chapter? What should she ask him? She thought about things he’d said, picking up on anything she could to ask about.

“So, you said you’re new in town? Did you move here or just visiting?” Definitely, a good question to start a conversation.

“I’m only here for a few weeks—maybe six. Two months tops.” Morgan explained. “I’m working on the new hotel about three blocks up on Wave.”

“The one that’s really a big hole in the ground right now?” Honey knew there had been a lot of community angst and anger over the hotel originally intended to be a high rise that no one wanted in this part of town. There had been lots of petitions and town hall meetings over it. In the end, the owners and architects modified the design to fit both local architectural styles and height specifications.

“That’s the one,” Morgan confirmed. “We’re installing the foundation. Making sure everything is sound and as earthquake-proof as possible. A strong foundation means a strong building.”

Honey paused. She could do this. A construction worker was a trained professional, not a mindless grunt worker. I will not judge him by his cover. I will not judge him by his cover. She repeated this mantra to herself several times. Though she had to admit, the more she talked to him, the more he seemed worth talking to.

“So tell me, Morgan, how does a construction worker know so much about Abstract Expressionism?”

Morgan laughed. “My family believes art is what makes us civilized. We always went to museums as kids. My parents taught us to appreciate art, even if we didn’t find it appealing. I had to do projects on Abstract Expressionism since it’s my least favorite. I really came to understand it.”

“Your parents had you do projects? That almost sounds like you were homeschooled.”

“Something like that. Small private school my parents helped to teach and run. Art is important. Too bad funding for it gets cut so frequently. When art is valued, the predominant culture is richer.”

Honey had paused to watch him as he spoke, impressed with the views his parents had instilled in him regarding art and culture. If this is what Morgan had in his first few pages, maybe she should continue to read.

Lana rolled the mop out from the behind the counter. “Honey, mopping is all that’s left to do. Why don’t you go and head on out.”

“You sure?” Honey asked as she reached behind her to untie her apron.

“Yeah. Maggie is almost done, so this is it for tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Lana.” Honey disappeared into the back and returned with her bag and jacket.

“May I walk you to your car?” Morgan asked.

“Okay, sure.” She unlocked the front door again, and they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Honey rooted in her bag for her keys and waited for Lana to lock the door behind her. She waved her keys at Lana and headed up the hill to the parking lot.

Morgan nodded at Honey’s fist. “You always do that or is that for my benefit?” She had positioned two of her keys to stick out between her clenched fingers. They made a handy weapon. With enough force, the keys could puncture skin and scrape up an attacker, if needed, when used in self-defense.

“No, that’s called force of habit. I used to have to take the train home at night when I lived in the Bay Area. Keys you don’t have to explain away. Carrying a knife, you could get into trouble for that.”

They didn’t walk far when they reached her car, an old Japanese sedan. Honey liked its reliability, and as an older car, she didn’t have to worry about computer parts failing her. Most importantly, she could actually take care of the basic maintenance herself.

“This is me.” She unlocked and opened her door.

“Thank you for an interesting evening, Honey. I’ll see you around.” Morgan waited for her to slide into the driver’s seat then closed her car door before backing away.

Honey started her car then watched him walk back down the hill in the direction they had come. She realized he had walked out of the way for her. Honey couldn’t remember once when any other man had done something as considerate as that. He was definitely becoming more interesting.