Page 18 of Deep Gap

“The popcorn bowl is on top of Jovie.” So we can both reach in. “She’s earning her keep.”

“And Tallulah?” Byron arches a brow, grinning at the puppy with her head resting on my lap.

“Brownie points for being adorable.”

I don’t have much longer to spoil Tallulah. She’s going to her furever home in January.

I got a little maudlin until Byron tossed a handful at me, breaking the spell when the girls jumped to gobble the errant popcorn.

This afternoon, I pulled my soap making supplies from the cabinet Byron cleared out for me to use in the kitchen. Christmas is swiftly approaching. My mom is picking me up to go spend the holiday with my parents. I need my gifts ready and I owe him the soaps I’ve already made, along with some tins of lip balm to give away.

The craft store had discounted spring silicone molds when I was there for glue. So I bought thumbnail-sized bee and flower trays meant for candy making—not realizing I could probably make honey candies with them before scraping the remaining soap from the pot that I hadn’t wanted to waste. Those teeny tiny soap buds and bees are setting along with the large bars I need to wrap.

Next up, I open the bag of lip balm tins and set up my double boiler, which is really just two pots. One I fill with water. The second fits inside the other and the heat melts the beeswax. I stir in peppermint essential oil and begin craving candy canes. Maybe flavoring the lip balm wasn’t the best choice? What if people lick it off and get chapped lips? Too late. I guess we’ll find out.

The tins are setting in the fridge and I’ve popped the tiny soaps from their molds. The flowers and bees are perfect. I wrap them in cellophane bags and tie them up with the same twine as I use on the soap bars. Byron has an overgrown holly bush in the backyard that I snap twigs from to festively decorate the larger bars.

I’m in the zone when Byron gets in from the training center.

“Look at this assembly line, Henry Ford!”

“Ack!” Still having to clean my mess, I take note of the clock. “I’m almost done!”

“Show me what you’ve made,” he requests, sounding genuinely interested.

Soap making and basically anything bees get me buzzing, so it doesn’t take much encouragement for me to sell my wares.

I pick up a pot of lip balm, gushing that I used some cheap red lipstick shavings to color it pink.

“It’s not organic anymore, but I was experimenting. And I can always try to source the color online through the bee shop we went to.”

Byron sticks his thick index finger into the tin, swiping more than any normal human would. He covers his lips with it.

“That’s a nice shade on you.” My attempt at not laughing is futile. He left a clump on his lower lip. Immediate regret seizes me, lifting my hand to spread the balm.

The flecks in Byron’s eyes ignite. He grasps my fingertips, bringing my palm to his face, and he lowers his mouth over mine. His lips are slick and soft. I breathe in mint. I’m about to open mine and lick toward the candied scent that’s had me craving sweets, and… Byron pulls away.

“I’m sorry, Greer, that shouldn’t have happened.” Byron scrubs the back of his neck. The faux slate ridges on the gray and blue linoleum have become interesting to him.

I turn toward the stove. Despite my heart stalling out and the words begging him not to apologize getting stuck in my throat, the prickle of tears overcomes every other sensation.

“You live here and… Waylon. Plus, working together. I mean—”

My voice is like a rusty door swinging its hinges. “I understand.” I’ve managed to put one more person in an untenable situation.

“I, uh. I’m going to go shower before we make dinner.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not all that hungry,” I lie.

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The layout of Byron’s house has the entrances to our bedrooms set apart. However, they share a common wall, as does his ensuite bath and the one I use in the hallway. Safely ensconced in my room, the rushing water flowing in the pipes is audible.

His quick shower lasts longer than any other has. He must be glad my mom is picking me up tomorrow and he doesn’t have to face me when he’s finished. I sure am. How do you act normal after slamming on the brakes?

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