Page 33 of Deep Gap

“I got you, girl,” Cece calls. Her thumbs fly over the screen on her phone and Greer’s dings with multiple incoming messages, including the link to Paisley’s website.

“What is going on?” Aidy’s voice pushes through the ruckus and ping of enthusiastic messages that have Greer’s phone screen scrolling with orders.

“Smell this.” Holly holds the bottle of beard oil under Aidy’s nose.

“Oh my gosh, I’d eat Morgan if he had this on.”

“Right? It’s manly and edible.”

“Speaking of, if we don’t have lunch soon, then we won’t get to cut the cake. And if we don’t cut the cake, the gender reveal will be at the hospital when the babies are born.”

“I can’t wait that long!” Kimber tosses up her hands in surrender. “I want to know. Either way, I don’t care, but I have to be prepared!”

Trig tucks her under his arm, patting her back and kissing the top of her fiery redhead.

The kitchen empties with the other women carrying dishes and platters outside to the barbecue and picnic tables set up in the yard.

Dumbfounded, Greer peers up at me. “What just happened?”

“You got your first customers, honey bee.”

“I’m shaking.” She shows me her jittery hand.

I lace my fingers into it and bring our joined fist to my lips. “And I’m so proud of you.”

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“Where do you source the beeswax from?”

Byron and I have finished our loaded plates. Morgan and Aidy have seated themselves at the same long picnic table we are. A few others they seem to know well are here, too. However, Morgan’s taken a genuine interest in soap making.

I like him. I’m not sure if it is because Morgan is soft spoken or that we have a weird connection having both been to prison. I mean, it isn’t as if either of us have asked for the other’s OPUS number or compared the shitty prison food. It’s just like Morgan knows about my past and doesn’t care and I know about his and I don’t either. Actually, it’s as if no one here cares to judge us. Surrounded by this group is the most normalcy I’ve felt.

“My boss is a beekeeper. He’s been showing me how to care for the hives.”

“How long has he done that?” Morgan folds and unfolds the original corrugated wrapper I’d put the soap for Trig inside of.

The bar is making its rounds at another table. People are oohing and aahing over it while I try to keep my head out of the clouds.

“Going on nine years,” Unexpectedly, the constant weighty need to confess that Mac took up the hobby when Ellis died seems less significant. “We have a hive that’s about to swarm, so we’ll be splitting it soon.”

“How do you do that?” Aidy interjects.

“Very carefully,” I say, inciting a laugh. It’s gotten easier to talk than when the questions were rapid fire in the kitchen.

“You put on those big white alien invasion suits?” Morgan turns to Byron.

“Don’t look at me, man. I’m team canine. I don’t think they have trainers for bee circuses, only flea circuses.” Byron gives me a toothy grin, chomping on his gum with a loose jaw.

“Yes, we use protective gear and a smoker to subdue the bees.”

“How many bees are in a hive? Aren’t you worried about getting stung? I got stung when I was a kid. It’s not something I’d volunteer to repeat.” Aidy clutches Morgan’s bicep.

“Thousands. I’ve been stung before too, but not recently. It’s an occupational hazard.” I don’t see not getting stung as realistic.

“That’s sort of kick-ass that you aren’t afraid.” Aidy compliments me as if I’m wearing Wonder Woman’s tiara.

I want to tell her there are other things I lie awake worrying about. We’ve just met, so I keep it upbeat. Besides, I’m having a really good time surrounded by Byron, and Trig and Kimber’s friends.

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