Page 10 of Silk and Honey

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees me. His dark eyes widen.

“Avery,” he rumbles, his deep voice carrying over the steady hum of the bees.

“Hi, Gid,” I say, putting my hands in my pockets. I give him my brightest, most playful smile. “Nice outfit. Do you always dress this scandalous for the bees?”

Gideon blinks, and right on cue, a dark blush starts at his collarbone and rushes up his neck, staining his tan skin a beautiful, deep red. He rubs the back of his neck with a thick hand, looking completely bashful.

“Uh it’s... it’s hot in the workshop,” he mutters, his dark eyes darting down to the ground before snapping back to my face. “The melting pots are running. What are you doing out here?”

“Official business,” I say, stepping closer to him. Damn, he’s so fucking sexy. “Ezra sent me. He says I need to inspect the production wax for the ‘Honey & Harvest’ line. He was very specific about it. Said I couldn’t leave until I checked out your process.”

I give him a slow wicked smile.

Gideon looks past me toward my truck, then back at me. An understanding look crosses his handsome face. He lets out a low, quiet huff that sounds almost like a laugh. “Ezra is a meddler.”

“Oh, absolutely,” I agree, taking another step until I’m standing just a foot away from his muscular chest. I tilt my head up, looking into his dark eyes. “But I didn’t fight him on it. I was actually really eager to see you, Gid. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t gone back to being shy.” Damn, I can’t even turn off the flirting if I tried.

Gideon’s jaw tightens slightly, his eyes darkening with that familiar, intense heat. He handles the bees with absolute gentleness, but the way he looks at me feels completely dangerous in the best way possible. He steps closer, his large frame blocking the sun from my face.

“I’m not shy when it’s just us,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, private rumble.

“Good,” I whisper, my heart doing a little dance. “Because I really like it when you’re not.”

Gideon clears his throat, his ears still a little pink as he gestures toward the open door behind him. “Come inside. It’s too hot out here. I’ll show you the wax pots.”

The inside of the workshop is warm, but not as bad as being in the sun. Plus, it smells heavenly. The area is clean and organized, with stainless steel counters, heavy metal pots, and shelves lined with glass jars and blocks of refined wax. A large fan is blowing in the corner, circulating the sweet, heavy air.

“This is where we filter the wax after the honey is spun out of the combs,” Gideon explains. His tone shifts into something professional but comfortable as he walks over to a large, heated stainless steel vat.

I follow him, watching as he lifts a heavy wooden ladle. Inside the pot is a thick, smooth liquid; the color of liquid gold.

“We heat it slowly to strain out any remaining impurities,” he continues, his large muscles flexing as he stirs the liquid wax. “If it gets too hot, the wax scorches and loses its natural elasticity. For Ezra’s silk, you need it to be perfectly filtered so it doesn’t leave greasy residue on the fabric.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, stepping up right next to him to look into the pot. “The color is so rich. It’s exactly the tone I want for the accent stitching on the dresses.”

“It changes slightly depending on what the bees are eating.” He sets the ladle down and turns to face me, leaning his heavy hips against the metal counter. “The sunflower wax is a brighter yellow. The wildflower wax from earlier in the spring is darker, almost amber.”

“Show me.” I lean in close.

Gideon reaches for a finished block of refined wax sitting on the counter. It is a solid, perfect rectangle, stamped with his family’s apiary logo. He holds it out to me. "No beekeeper around here can guarantee a hundred percent purity, since bees like to stray. But this is about as close to perfection as you’re ever going to get."

Our fingers brush as I take the block from his hands. A sharp jolt of excitement shoots up my arm. I hold the heavy wax, bringing it up to my nose to inhale the sweet sugary scent.

“Wow,” I breathe, looking up at him. “This is perfect, Gideon. Seriously. The quality is incredible. You do all of this yourself?”

“My mother and sister were in charge of this farm before I came back, and my cousins helped with the heavy lifting during harvest,” Gideon says, his dark eyes watching me intently as I handle the wax. “But now that I’m here, I do the refining and the body salves myself. I love collecting the wax. It requires patience. You can’t rush it.”

“Patience,” I tease. I set the heavy block of refined sunflower wax back onto the counter. The sweet, clean scent lingers on my fingertips. I turn to face Gideon, my eyes dark.

Gideon leans his hips against the metal counter, his thick arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes are fixed on me, completely attentive. He doesn't say much, but the quiet way he listens makes me feel like the only person in the room.

"Okay, so here is the plan," I say, my hands moving as I try to explain the textile concept. "Scott Woods is coming from Dee Rama Magazine to critic the new line Ezra and I are creating together. He expects us to show a typical, boring country clothing line. But Ezra and I are going to give him high fashion with materials from this valley. And your bees are the secret weapon."

Gideon raises a thick black eyebrow. "The bees?"

"Well, the wax," I clarify, stepping a little closer to him. "It's a real, historical method called a wax-resist technique. Usually, designers use melted wax to block out patterns before dyeing fabric. But I want to do something different for the Fall launch. We want to coat the hemlines and the main structural seams of our heavy silk pieces in your pure, refined beeswax. We’re combining several methods to make something unique."

Gideon looks down at the golden block on the counter, then back at me. "Wax makes fabric stiff, Avery. Silk is supposed to be soft."