Page 44 of Things We Tell Ourselves

“You coming?” Wade asks, already holding open the front door for her. She hurries over to him.

The double doors open to a modest foyer. It smells and looks like new construction. On the other side of the foyer is a metal door with a small window, an ‘EXIT’ sign over it. Wade goes to the elevators to their right, pressing the button on the wall. A few seconds later, it dings. The sound of laughter follows as the doors open.

Two middle-aged, nicely dressed couples are laughing amongst themselves in the elevator. Their laughter dies down when they notice Wade and Camille. The group exits the elevators, and the woman closest to Camille gives her a little nod as they turn and head for the lone metal door.

Camille waits a second before leaning in toward Wade. “Where does the other door take you?”

“It brings you straight into the garage,” he says, pressing the third-floor button inside of the elevator. “The ground floor is the parking garage. You pull into it through the side alley. The Hive is on the top floor.”

Camille thinks of the man outside, guiding their driver. “And the second floor?”

“It’s under construction.” He glances at her, his brow furrowing. “You want to check it out?”

The elevator dings as it stops on the third floor.

“I’m good,” she says, staring straight ahead as the doors open, trying to ignore what her stomach is doing with him standing so close. Past the elevator doors stands a white wooden podium where an olive-skinned hostess in a tight, black shirt with thick, caramel hair pulled half-up stands behind it.

“Do you have a reservation?” she asks Camille as she steps out of the elevator ahead of Wade.

“Bloom,” Wade says behind her.

The hostess looks up from the podium, giving Wade a double take. She apologizes, dipping her chin at them as she grabs two tablets from under the podium. “You can follow me.”

Camille looks at him, wondering why she bowed at them. Wade just shrugs.

They follow her down a short, wide corridor. It opens into The Hive, a modern, chic restaurant with an open floorplan and a spacious seating arrangement, providing a private dining experience. The exposed brick walls are beautiful, but it’s the large artwork hanging on them that grabs her attention. Each black canvas depicts a bee in various forms of flight drawn in bright white chalk. The contrast is lovely, but the detail of the bees is exquisite.

At the sound of a loud clink of glasses, Camille notices the bar. The bar top is a mammoth-sized piece of reclaimed wood, adding to the restaurant’s warm atmosphere. Two women sitting at the end of the bar clink their glasses together and down the brown liquor. The bartender standing in front of them is already making them another.

As much as Wade’s appearance alarmed the hostess and homeless-looking bouncer, they weave around servers and patrons unnoticed. Camille isn’t sure where the hostess is leading them. Every table appears to be taken. They cross the restaurant, the hostess not slowing down as they pass by swinging doors where servers are coming and going. They continue to a small wine room with a glass wall, where the wine bottles are displayed on individual hooks as an art display.

The hostess stops when a server walks out from the kitchen carrying a tray with a metal wine bucket. The server whips inside the wine room, grabbing a bottle of red wine from one of the lower hooks. She’s out the door in a flash, her smile ready to present her table with their wine.

The hostess glances at Camille. “Right this way.”

When Camille pauses before walking to the wine room, a hand touches her lower back.

“Watch this,” Wade whispers in her ear, eyeing the hostess as she opens the glass door to the wine room.

Wade catches the door, allowing Camille to enter first. It’s cold inside. The hostess places a hand on the bottle with the metallic ‘H’ on the label. Camille moves to make space as Wade steps in next to her. She glances out behind them to see that several guests have stopped talking and eating to watch.

There’s a rush of air as the hostess uses a hook to open a hidden door in the wall. On the other side is a private room, where a table and two chairs are seated in the middle.

“Wow,” Camille gapes, gazing at the walls of the hidden room.

All four walls are painted in black. Each wall has its own three-foot, flying white bee. It takes her a minute to notice a second door. The hostess pulls a chair back for Camille. Wade sits opposite her. Camille is still staring around at the walls as the hostess hands them the tablets with the menus on them.

The hostess gives them another tiny bow. “Enjoy.”

Wade is grinning at her when she turns to face him after watching the hostess walk out.

“The same artist who drew the art out there was commissioned to do this,” Wade says.

Camille nods. “I get why it’s called The Hive.”

“The building used to be a textile manufacturer that went out of business years ago. When the cleanup started, the contractors found a huge bee colony living in the walls. Word has it that honey was seeping through the walls. There was so much of it.”

The other door opens, and a waiter in his mid-thirties walks in carrying a tray consisting of a pitcher of iced water and a tall, skinny glass bottle of sparkling water. A tray holder is hanging over his shoulder. The kitchen noises fill the room: clinking dishes, people bustling around, and the distant sound of a man cursing quickly fades as the door shuts behind the waiter. Camille quickly scours the menu. The image of the top shelf margarita looks more appealing than the spinach and artichoke dip with its fancy baguette chips.

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