Page 22 of Honey Bee Hearts

“Haha. Very funny,” I mock, scowling and dragging myself to my feet.

“Don’t be mad,” he chuckles. “I just wanted to see how you’d handle it. The Guineas don’t let anyone in their coop when they have babies. You haven’t seen funny until you see Colt screaming and running out with Guineas attacking him.”

A chuckle slips out. I haven’t officially met Colt, but I can imagine how funny it must have looked when you’re not the one getting attacked. “Alright, alright. But I’ll have you know, if you’re going to start pranking me, that makes you fair game. A prank war is a prank war.”

He grins and grabs my hand. Before I realize what he’s doing, he presses his lips to my knuckles and looks up at me beneath the rim of his hat. “I’d love nothing more than to be pranked by you, Fable.” He straightens and releases my hand but where his lips touched, it burns. “You guys got anacondas in Florida? You wrestle them gators out there?”

I snort. “No and no. We do have pythons and boas though. Wild ones now. They’re fucking up the ecosystem. As for the gators, do I look like the kind of girl to wrestle a gator?”

He shrugs. “You look like the kind of girl to ride into battle if I’m being honest. Can’t say gators don’t sound easier than that.”

I blink and meet his eyes.

“The man says all the right words,” Jinx sighs. “I approve.”

“A gator is practically a dinosaur,” I point out.

“So are those Guineas,” he shrugs. “Your point?”

“That I ran from the Guineas!” I laugh, shaking my head. I bump my shoulder into his and he bumps mine back, and something settles into place.

I like Gunnar. I like Gunnar a lot more than I realized.

“So who else are we gonna meet?” I ask, beaming up at him.

Chapter 13

Fable

I’m starting to think no one else wants to hang out with me when Gunnar meets me again on the third day. I’d foolishly thought that Rhett was going to show me around when he’d openly flirted with me the first day, but it seems like he has other things he has to attend to. Of course, Trent doesn’t want to hang out with me, since he barely wants to even look at me. And I haven’t met the fourth member of the group yet. I’m not sure what business he’s away on, but someone mentions he’s bringing back another puppy, so I stop asking. I just hope I get to pet the puppy when he comes back.

On the third day, I run out of the “cowgirl” clothing I’d purchased. I hate it immediately. My eyes dance over to my sewing machine, but I dismiss the idea of using it. It still hurts to think about, so I pull on a t-shirt and jeans instead, which turns out to be for the best.

Gunnar lets me know as soon as I make my way to breakfast that I won’t actually be hanging out with him and that I’ll instead be in the big house with Mel if I’d like. So that’s how I find myself in a massive commercial-sized kitchen beside Mel as we work on bread dough.

“The key to a good dough is giving it enough time to rise,” Mel explains as we each knead our own hunks of dough. “These will be the perfect rolls in time for dinner.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever made my own bread,” I muse. “I’ve always considered it, and I even tried it once, but the bread came out flat.”

He nods. “Sourdough?”

“How’d you know?”

“Everyone starts with sourdough,” he laughs. “I can teach you how to make bread, but we’re high up in altitude. Things work differently here than they do at sea level, but I’m sure things can be adjusted for Florida when you go back home.”

“I’d love that,” I say, smiling up at him.

My arms start to ache from kneading by the time Mel deems it time to pinch off balls and set them on trays. It’s not only the two of us in the kitchen either. Mel doesn’t work alone. There are two other woman and a teenage boy in the kitchen with us, helping out. The women, Juanita and Barb, are a team that work without speaking. Their work is only interrupted when they crack a joke at each other or goad Mel about some recipe. The teenager listens to music on his headphones and mostly ignores everyone, but I can tell he takes his work very seriously.

“George wants to be a chef,” Mel explains when I ask. “I give him free reign in the kitchen as long as he helps with meals. Sometimes, I let him decide the meals. He makes a really good meatloaf. Best I’ve ever had.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” I say.

“Not really. I get to eat good food, and I get help,” he shrugs. “Purely beneficial. Poor George hasn’t had the best of luck in the life department, so he always has a permanent spot here at Circle Bee thanks to Rhett.”

“I can hear you,” George says, but he doesn’t look up from where he grinds rosemary up.

“Wasn’t trying to be quiet,” Mel says. “You makin’ your roast chicken seasoning, kid?”

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