He Called Me Hon, Then Stole My Heart

Author: Franklin Rasmussen

Chapter 3: Snack Street Fame & Rivalries

When I got to my cart, the line was already more than ten people deep. The lemonade guy next door looked like he was about to cry.

He’d started bringing a little speaker, playing sad country songs. I almost wanted to hug him.

No matter how far, someone always shows up for “hon.”

I felt like a local celebrity. Even the campus squirrels seemed to be eyeing my cart with respect.

“Hons, please wait a bit—the cart’s opening soon!”

I shouted it out, waving my spatula like a baton. The crowd cheered.

Today, there were male customers, too.

Some looked nervous, like they were waiting for a pop quiz. Others just grinned, ready for their dose of carbs and affection.

“Hon, what sauce do you want?”

I had a new lineup—buffalo, ranch, classic cheddar. The works.

“Your mac and cheese is ready, hon.”

Each hand-off felt like a tiny celebration.

I handed orders out smoothly.

I was in my element, the queen of cheesy goodness.

“Next hon, please!”

I called out, scanning the crowd. Suddenly, everyone went quiet. I looked up, and—yep, it was him again.

A guy stepped up to the cart.

He stood there, arms folded, looking way too cool for school.

No one said a word for a while. I looked up. It was Jesse again.

He gave me a look that said, "Miss me?"

Is this guy addicted? He even cut in line.

A few people grumbled, but nobody dared say anything. Jesse just smirked.

Facing Jesse always made me nervous—honestly, I was scared he’d hit me.

He had that vibe—dangerous, but oddly protective. Weird combo, right? My hands shook as I grabbed a new container.

“How many do you want today, hon?”

I tried to sound casual, but my voice squeaked at the end.

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Why do you have so many hons? Are you running a daycare or selling mac and cheese?”

He said it deadpan, but there was a glint in his eye.

Huh? “I don’t really get what you mean, hon.”

I played dumb, hoping he’d go easy on me.

“How many are left? I’ll take them all.”

He glanced at the containers stacked behind me, sizing up my whole operation.

Luckily, after yesterday, I was prepared. I put up the ‘limit five per customer’ sign.

I’d printed it in big, bold letters and taped it to the cart. It felt like putting up a velvet rope at a club.

Jesse’s eyes darkened. “Fine, five then.” He sounded almost disappointed. But rules are rules. Sorry, big guy.

Phew, good. I was honestly afraid he’d smash my cart in a fit.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Crisis averted.

“Hon, your mac and cheese is ready. Hon, hon, hon, hon.”

I handed him the containers, counting out the “hons” like a magic spell.

“Hmph.” Jesse grabbed his order and stormed off.

He stalked away, but not before shooting me a look over his shoulder. I couldn’t tell if he was mad or just playing around.

The next second, I saw him sitting on a chair, with two buddies fanning him. He was jotting something down in a little notebook, his eyes glued to my line of customers. Everyone was so scared, they didn’t dare come up.

It was like he’d set up his own personal throne room, right in the middle of Snack Street. His buddies looked like bodyguards, and the notebook? Probably a list of "hon" infractions.

I decided to confront him. “Je—uh, hey, could you stop staring down my customers? It’s not great.”

I walked over, trying to sound brave, but my voice wobbled. The crowd watched, waiting for drama.

Jesse glanced at me, looking dumbfounded. “Why?”

He genuinely looked confused, like he didn’t see the problem.

Why? Isn’t it obvious? You’re scary!

I wanted to say it, but the words stuck in my throat. How do you tell a guy like Jesse he’s terrifying?

“Well, it’s just…” I stammered, too scared to spell it out.

I fiddled with my apron, avoiding his gaze.

Jesse snapped his fingers. His buddy immediately brought over a box—a giant frog mascot suit. Jesse put it on right in front of me. “Better?”

He slipped into the suit with surprising grace, the giant frog head bobbing as he stood up. The crowd burst out laughing, tension broken. Only in college, right?

“….”

I had no words.

Day five: closed early.

I packed up before sunset, still shaking my head at the image of Jesse in a frog suit, waving at passersby.

By now, my cart was getting popular. When I arrived, there were over twenty people in line. I even saw Jesse keeping order. “Hey, don’t cut! Go back to the end!”

He barked out commands like a drill sergeant, but the girls just giggled. It was chaos, but the fun kind.

“You, quit crowding the girls. Move back.”

He pointed at a couple of guys, giving them the look. They shuffled back, no questions asked.

He’s actually kind of… sweet. Who knew? I could cry tears of joy.

As soon as I opened, Jesse was at the front. “Five orders.”

He was nothing if not consistent. I handed him his usual, and he gave me a quick nod.

“Okay, hon.”

I made sure to say it loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Hon, yours is ready. Hon, hon, hon.”

I handed him each container, counting out the “hons” with a little flourish.

Jesse took the bag. “Let’s make a group chat. That way, you can send updates.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I hesitated, but the crowd cheered.

Great idea. “Let’s make it right now.”

I pulled out my phone, and in minutes, we had a group chat going. People were already spamming it with emojis and inside jokes.

In no time, fifteen people joined.

It blew up so fast, I could barely keep up with the notifications.

Jesse glanced at me. “Which one’s you?”

He scrolled through the list, trying to match faces to names.

“The one named ‘MacQueen Maddie’—that’s me.” My voice trailed off.

I cringed a little—maybe the nickname was a bit much. But hey, go big or go home.

Shouldn’t have changed my name—now it just feels embarrassing.

I made a mental note to never let Jesse see my old screen names. Some things are better left in the past.

For the first time, a faint smile appeared on Jesse’s usually cold face. “MacQueen Maddie, keep selling your mac and cheese.”

He said it like it was an order, but there was warmth in his eyes. I felt weirdly proud.

“You can just call me Maddie or boss. No need for the screen name.”

I tried to sound cool, but my cheeks burned. I fiddled with my phone, pretending to check messages.

Jesse lounged in his new rocking chair—he’d upgraded from a regular seat—and even grabbed a megaphone to help me hawk. “Mac and cheese from MacQueen Maddie—don’t miss out!”

He was relentless, shouting like a carnival barker. People stopped just to see what the fuss was about. Showman of the year.

“Day six, professional mac and cheese, guaranteed quality, fresh and delicious.”

He even made up a jingle. I had to admit, it was catchy.

He’s killing me. Can he stop yelling? I’d like to keep a little dignity. But secretly, I kind of loved it.

I was getting smoother with the “hon” routine.

I could say it in my sleep now. Sometimes I even caught myself calling my roommate "hon" by accident.

“Hon, your mac and cheese will be ready soon.”

I had it down to a science. The line moved like clockwork.

A guy teased, “Hon, since I’m your hon, can I get a discount?”

He waggled his eyebrows, trying to charm his way to a deal. Nice try, buddy.

Jesse suddenly shouted, “Hey, lemonade guy! One cup of ‘Smackdown Lemonade’ for me!”

He waved his megaphone, making sure everyone heard.

Then he pointed at a group of guys waiting at my cart. “And smack those guys too.”

The guys laughed nervously, but quieted down fast. Jesse had that effect on people.

At his words, the guys shut up instantly.

I almost snorted. He was like a one-man security team.

He’s really… such a good guy. He knew I didn’t want to give discounts and was helping me out.

I shot him a grateful smile, and he just winked. Teamwork at its finest.

I glanced at the lemonade stand next door—it was pretty quiet.

The poor guy looked like he was about to pack up early. I couldn’t let that happen.

I called out, “I’ve tried the lemonade next door, it’s good! Hons, check it out.”

A few girls peeled off to buy a cup. The lemonade guy lit up like a Christmas tree.

The lemonade owner shot me a grateful look and shouted, “MacQueen Maddie!”

He held up his cup like a trophy, grinning from ear to ear.

“Lemon!” I called back.

It became our thing—a little cross-stand shout-out. The crowd loved it.

He rushed over, grabbed my hand, and looked at me with deep feeling. “MacQueen Maddie, when I make it big, I’ll never forget you. If I’ve got bread, you’ll always get a slice.” He said it with such drama, I almost burst out laughing. The crowd oohed and aahed, eating it up.

Suddenly, something went bang.

Jesse had slipped off his chair and fallen.

He tried to play it cool, but come on—the frog suit? No chance. Everyone burst out laughing.

He yelled, “Lemon guy, ten more cups of Smackdown Lemonade! And smack yourself!”

He pointed at him, dead serious. The lemonade guy saluted and ran off.

A minute later, the lemonade guy jogged back, breathless. “Really? Ten cups?”

He was practically bouncing. I gave him a thumbs-up.

Jesse shot him an impatient look. “Yeah.”

He tried to look annoyed, but I saw the hint of a smile.

The lemonade guy was so hyped, he high-fived me. “MacQueen Maddie, I did it!”

He spun in a little circle, almost spilling his drinks. The crowd cheered.

“Mom, your son’s made it—just landed a big order!”