Page 61 of Honey Bee Hearts

There’s this tension between us, different from the tension I feel with the others. This is gentle, hesitant, like there’s always more just on the tip of Trent’s tongue that he’d like to say.

“I never told you thank you,” I rasp. “For the other night when we came back from the Boot Skoot.”

He stops in front of me, his eyes on mine. His hair is falling out of his tie, and strands hand around his face and along his shoulders. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It was to me,” I murmur. “So, thank you.”

He nods. It suddenly feels like I’ve overstayed my welcome, so I sigh.

“I should go. Jethro has been wanting to go for a walk.” I move, but don’t take an actual step. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

His hand comes out to wrap around my wrist, stopping me. I pause, looking up at him. “Gunnar is a good fit for you, Fable. He’ll treat you right.”

I frown. “But not Rhett or Colt?”

The darkness in his eyes deepens. “Gunnar is a good fit for you,” he repeats.

I study him, the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s looking at me as if I’m something wildly unique. “And what about you?” I ask, watching him.

He tenses, his shoulders growing rigid. “What about me?”

“Are you a good fit for me?” I clarify.

“I’m not a good fit for anyone,” he admits softly.

I lean closer. “Why? You seem fine to me.”

He steps back, releasing me. “Not everything is honeybees, Fable. Sometimes, they’re just hornets.”

“What if I like you?” I ask, because I have to know. I do like him. I like him a lot. There’s something about Trent that begs me to unpeel his layers, to dig deeper, to see inside.

“I’d say I don’t know why,” he answers. He reaches up as if he’s going to stroke my cheek but seems to remember his hands are dirty. Before he can drop it, I press my cheek against his fingers anyway, letting him touch me. He looks at me with such longing, it nearly kills me. “Don’t let my brother break your heart, Fable. You’re too good for him. You’re too good for all of us.”

And then he turns away from me and leaves the garage altogether.

I stand in the garage for a few minutes, trying to force my racing heart to calm down, trying to understand what he could mean.

But no answers come to me. The apple on the table mocks me.

Chapter 34

Fable

Isee Colt and Gunnar briefly at breakfast the next day, but all I get is a quick, “sorry, we’re busy today,” before they take off and leave me to my own devices. I don’t even get a chance to ask Gunnar anything or talk to him. He just places a brief kiss on the top of my head and disappears, leaving me to stare after him in confusion.

Did we even go on a date? Am I expecting too much? I assume Trent will always disappear in the mornings, but Gunnar usually goes out of his way to make sure I’m okay before he has to go work on stuff. So it’s pretty strange he just leaves me. Colt seems just as busy and barely spares me much more than a “good morning” before he’s gone. Rhett never shows up for breakfast, so I’m just by myself.

Sighing, I end up walking around the yard with Jethro, lost in my head. For the first time since I’ve been at Circle Bee, I’m lost as to what I should do. Clearly, the guys don’t want to be bothered today. My eyes flick over to the small four-by-four Gunnar told me I can drive at any time since it’s a spare. I really enjoyed spending time with Rhett’s bees. He said it doesn’t hurt them for me to be out there, as long as I’m in my beekeepersuit and don’t mess with the hives, especially now that they’re preparing for winter. The image of Rhett singing to them, of him telling the bees his problems and accomplishments comes to mind. I’m a mixed bag of emotions today. There’s so much. . .

Maybe I can go tell the bees. Just like Rhett said he does.

Five minutes later, I’m grabbing the beekeeper suit Rhett loaned me and climbing into the four-by-four. Jethro sits beside me, his tongue lolling out as I slowly drive us out to the bee hives. They’re far enough away that I can’t see the big house, so I know it’s safe out here. When they come into sight, I sigh at the peace that washes over me.

“You stay here, Jethro,” I tell him as I climb from the four-by-four. “I don’t want you to get stung.”

He whines and spreads out across the seats dutifully.

“I won’t be long,” I promise.

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