Page 1 of Must Love Bees
CHAPTER ONE
“WHAT’SALLTHAT?” Astrid Hill eyed the large stack of mail Abner Jones, Honey’s mail carrier, held in his arms.
“Supply and equipment catalogs, bills and flyers, and the usual.” He paused and slid the stack on top of the counter. He riffled through the pile and pulled out a glossy magazine. “And this. Bet you get all puffed up with pride.” He sighed, shaking his head.
Pride and awe, certainly. And yet, even though she was looking at a picture of her family on the cover ofBeekeeping Monthlywith the heading, “Female Beekeeping Family Success Story,” there was an air of disbelief to the whole thing. All of it.
“I bet winning the top honey prize was like winning the lottery.” Abner was inspecting the magazine cover. “Not that I’ve ever won the lottery, even if I do buy a ticket every week.” He chuckled and handed her the magazine.
“You never know, Abner. If you don’t buy a ticket, there’s zero chance of winning.” Astrid took the magazine and set it aside. It felt wrong to flip through it without her sister Tansy and her aunts present. Every time their honey or family was featured in a newspaper or magazine article, television interview or commercial for Wholesome Foods, they’d ooh and aah and get excited all over again—together.
“Ain’t that the truth?” Abner tipped his blue-and-white cap forward. “Give your aunts my best, won’t you?”
“Will do.” Astrid pulled a cold bottle of water from the small fridge under the counter. “You stay hydrated out in this heat.” She offered him the bottle.
His weathered face crinkled up in a smile as he took her offering. “Thank you. This will help.”
Astrid waved him goodbye, then leaned forward to prop one elbow atop the antique glass case—full of equally antique beekeeping supplies—and sifted through all the mail. As much as she enjoyed working in her family’s Main Street boutique, no customers with hours to go had her fidgeting. She sighed, peering out the large picture window. The bright summer sun shone down, and the trees lining Main Street cast long swaying shadows along the sidewalk. Breeze or no breeze, she wasn’t fooled. The temperature was nearing triple digits—the norm for the Texas Hill Country in mid-July. But, even with the heat, her favorite place in the world was being outdoors with her bees.
Her aunt Camellia was humming off-key as she worked in the jam-packed stockroom. Every time her pitch broke or she hit a note that made any nearby dogs howl, Astrid smiled. This was part of Aunt Camellia’s “process.” Humming and mumbling as she sorted through all the bee-centric bric-a-brac, beeswax lip balm and candle-making kits, and anything else that struck either aunts’ fancy enough to stock. Their little shop, a mere six hundred square feet, had become quite a tourist draw since her family’s honey farm, Honey Hill Farms, won the Best in Honey contest two months ago. The win hadn’t been about the blue ribbon or bragging rights. The win had come with a large cash prize and a distribution deal with Wholesome Foods—meaning Astrid’s family no longer had to worry over losing their ancestral family home or beloved bees.
Thanks to the win, Astrid’s family, honey farm and tiny shop had been featured in all the local papers, magazines, two commercials for Wholesome Foods—as well as being listed on their store website. Just yesterday, Astrid had taken a message for her sister Tansy to callWake Up Americafor an interview. It seems a family of all female beekeepers was newsworthy.
Of course, the win had beenhuge. If they hadn’t won, who knew where she and her aunts and her sisters, Tansy and Rosemary, would be now? It wasn’t that she wasn’t eternally grateful that their home and future were no longer in jeopardy—she was.Butall the attention from photo-taking tourists and reporters, podcasters and news crews were a little much for her. She preferred a quiet life.
She was braiding a long strand of her hair when she caught sight of two adorable girls walking past the shop. They appeared on the left side of the picture window, hand in hand, in deep conversation. She didn’t recognize them. Tourists, perhaps?
Both of them had a riot of dark brown curly hair. Curls upon curls. The older girl was tall and slim and wore a bright blue headband to keep her curls from her face. The younger girl’s curls had been pulled back and secured into a severely cockeyed ponytail. The older girl was holding the younger girl’s hand as if it was something she did regularly, steering the smaller girl. The younger girl’s free arm held a worn stuffed blue toy against her chest. How many times had her older sister, Tansy, dragged her and her younger sister, Rosemary, about as if they were just another appendage? While the older girl looked to be years older than the younger, they were definitely sisters.No doubt about it.When the older girl pushed open the door of Hill Honey Boutique, Astrid’s curiosity was piqued.
New people in a town the size of Honey were a welcome curiosity to Astrid. She had no desire to leave Honey, ever, but she loved hearing about other places and people’s lives beyond the flowers and bees and family that made up her whole world. According to her aunt Camellia, that’s why Astrid had never met a stranger: her insatiable curiosity and gentle spirit.Everyone likes Astrid. She’d grown up hearing that from just about every one she knew. Which was a good thing—at least, Astrid thought so. Her aunt Magnolia, who was far more reserved than her sister, Camellia, said Astrid was entirely too nice for her own good.
Either way, Astrid liked people. That these two were young and adorable and reminded her of herself and Tansy only added to her delight.
The older girl peered around the shop. She looked equal parts interested and confused. She adjusted her headband and pushed her curls from her shoulders, continuing to pull her younger sister along behind her while wearing a dubious expression.
Likely not honey folk, then. If you weren’t “in honey,” the supplies and equipment taking up a good portion of shelf space might look a little suspect.
Suddenly, the older girl stopped, her eyes going wide when they landed on Astrid. “Um...hi. We’re looking for Astrid Hill.”
Which was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “You’ve found her. I’m Astrid.”
“Youare?” She blinked, exchanging a long look with her sister. “Wow. Okay. Well...”
“You’re supposed to be an ol’ lady.” The little girl seemed shocked. “And you’re not an ol’ lady.”
Supposed to be an old lady? “Oh...” Astrid shook her head. “Not really.” But there were times she felt a good deal older than she was.
“My aunt Rebecca—well, our great-aunt—said you were the nicest person in this whole town and we had to meet if we visited.” The older girl stepped forward, dragging the younger girl with her. “So, we wanted to meet you.”
Great-Aunt Rebecca? The only Rebecca in Honey, Texas, was...Rebecca Wallace. The eccentric old lady had been the Hills’ neighbor. She’d passed away a couple of months now and Astrid missed their frequent chats and visits with Rebecca’s bees. “Your great-aunt Rebecca was a wonderful lady and dear friend.”
“We never met her in person,” the older girl said. “But Mom read us her letters. Charlie, too.”
“She wrote long letters.” The younger girl dragged out the wordlongfor emphasis, making Astrid smile. “Pages and pages.” She hugged her stuffed toy tightly.
“Rebecca did love to write letters.” Many a time, Astrid had helped Rebecca snap peas or shell pecans or with whatever odd job needed doing while Rebecca had read aloud from the letters her beloved nephew Charlie—these precious girls’ stepfather—sent her. “And she loved telling me all about you two.” She held out her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
The elder girl shook Astrid’s hand. “Halley.” Her smile was shy and hesitant. “And this is Nova, my little sister.” She wiggled Nova’s arm.
