The Two Honey Stalls

Jorge had sold honey at the Saturday market for eleven years. His stall was small, but he knew most of his customers by name. Then, one spring morning, a new stall appeared right next to his. It sold honey too.

The woman who ran it was called Xenia. She had a blue tent, neat rows of jars, and a sign saying "Fresh from the hills." Jorge looked at his own sign, which was old and a little crooked.

For weeks, the two of them competed. When Jorge lowered his prices, Xenia lowered hers. When she offered free samples on tiny wooden spoons, he painted a new sign covered in bees. They said good morning to each other, but nothing more.

Jorge told himself that he didn't care. Still, he went home tired every Saturday. He had begun to wonder whether the market was big enough for two honey sellers.

One afternoon in June, the sky turned grey, and the rain came down hard. People ran for cover while the sellers rushed to protect their tables. Then a strong gust of wind caught Xenia's tent. One pole snapped, and the blue cloth fell over her jars.

Jorge didn't stop to think. He ran across and held up the broken pole with one arm. "Bring the jars under my tent, quickly!"

Together they carried every box to his side. Soon they were standing in a small, dry space, wet through and out of breath.

"I thought you hated me," Xenia said.

"I thought the same about you," Jorge answered, and he laughed for the first time in weeks.

While the rain drummed on the roof, they tried each other's honey. Hers was pale and flowery, from the hills. His was dark and strong, from the orchards in the valley.

"People think all honey tastes the same," Xenia said. "If they could try both side by side, they would see the difference."

"We could sell them together," Jorge said slowly. "A little box with two jars."

The next Saturday, a new sign hung over the two stalls: "Two Farms, One Tasting Box." Xenia had painted the letters, and Jorge had painted the bees. By noon, half the boxes were gone.

"Same time next week?" Xenia asked, counting the coins.

"Same place," Jorge said. "But bring a stronger pole."