Page 70 of Building What's Meant to Be

“Just relax,” Aiden adds.

Easy for him to say. But the tension across my back, in my shoulders and neck, and all my muscles makes me feel like I might splinter, break apart like the wooden slats in the walls from the demo earlier.

Small, soft feet pad across my bare arms and legs. Are the bees preparing to eat me from the outside in? No, silly, they sting. They’re going to load me up with their venom. My thoughts start to spin away.

“Tinsley, breathe,” Aiden says.

I let out an exhale through clenched teeth and then relax my jaw. The drone in my ears gets quiet. I picture myself running in the field, laughing, smiling, and free. My entire body settles and I feel a strange connection to the earth like I have roots. The air fills my lungs and the sunshine warms my skin. I forget about chasing shiny things and social media and the unending hunger I’d tried to satisfy for years with things and people who don’t care about me. Instead, there’s light, filling me up. I’mfloating but it’s not from an Aiden-induced swoop or because I was stung.

In the face of danger, it’s like I’ve come home to myself. The real me. Sweaty, scared, and sun-kissed.

The air fills with the faint scent of smoke, drawing my senses back to the surface. The bees buzz away.

I open my eyes and Aiden rushes over to me and places his hands all over me, inspecting for injury. “Were you stung?”

“No, surprisingly.”

“They must like you,” says Angie, one of the kids.

“Papa, why doesn’t Gramma keep the bees anymore?” says Billy, the other one.

“It got to be too much for her,” he answers with a hitch in his voice as he sets down a little contraption. He tells the kids the smoke from the device disorients the bees and is usually used directly in the hive for inspections.

“Pa, does that mean you don’t use this honey for the sauce now?” Billy asks.

Bubba’s eyes widen and he presses his finger to his lips in the universal symbol forbe quiet.

Aiden and I exchange a look. I guess we now know the ingredient in the secret sauce.

“Maybe one of you can learn how to do it when you’re a little older. Gramma would love to teach you,” Bubba says to his son.

My jaw loosens and I say, “In the meantime, I could learn.”

All eyes shift to me.

With a little shrug, I add, “If your mother would teach me.”

Aiden looks me over then one of the kids says what everyone must be thinking. “I thought she was the fancy one. She seems pretty regular to me.”

“And she played with us,” Angie says.

“I’m serious.”

“Okay. I’ll talk with Ma and see what she says.”

“You sure?” Aiden asks me.

“Yeah, why not.” I’d like to learn a skill.

Aiden looks dubious but draws me into a tight hug, relieved I’m okay. “Let’s just hope it’s only tarragon that you’re allergic to.”

“So far so good.” I look over my arms and legs. I might consider myself lucky to not have been stung. But I think the luck comes with my sudden fascination with the insects and my interest in harvesting honey.

Over the next few days, I become obsessed with bees. After that first long day of demo, while Aiden went to his office, I headed to the library and took out a stack of books onapiculture. I learn about the history of beekeeping dating back thousands of years to modern apiaries or “bee yards.”

I also become obsessed with kissing Aiden. We have morning kisses, after work at Sweethearts kisses, and goodnight kisses, plus, a few in between.

Okay, there are a lot of in between smooshes—before and after meal smooshes. I just got the mail smooshes. I’m going to make a phone call smooshes. Really, “The Smoosh” is an all-purposeI can’t stay away from youform of expression.

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