Page 33 of Silk and Honey

Ezra gives me a wink. A proud smile spreads across his face. He steps up to me, pulling me into a firm hug. "I told you, darling. He couldn't deny it. You have made a name for yourself in the fashion world. I’m so freaking proud of you."

"No. We did it," I laugh, tears of relief stinging my eyes as I look at the praise printed right there in black and white. The validation is nice, but as I stare at the pages, a strange, beautiful realization washes over me. “You made my dream come true.”

At first, I thought I would come here to be an assistant, but Ezra completely took me under his wing and immediately encouraged me to fly. Encouraged me to be a true designer. The rush of winning doesn't just feel sweet because I beat Scott Woods and proved to him it doesn’t matter where I live. It feels sweet because the designs were something I brought to life. This design reflects my deep commitment while incorporating elements of this town. It doesn’t just belong to one person, it belongs to Ezra's vision, to my hands, to the townsfolk, and to a certain bee farmer waiting for me.

"I have to go," I say suddenly. A wide smile breaks across my face as I step away from the table, suddenly feeling like a main character in my very own romcom.

"Go," Ezra laughs. "Tessy and I can handle this. You deserve to celebrate."

I hurry over to the corner of the studio where my production bins are stacked. I grab a heavy, square cardboard box, taping the top shut. Inside are all the accumulated scraps from the launch. There’s wax shaving scraped from the cutting tables, and every sheet of wax-soaked parchment paper used to press the silk panels. The box is a heavy, tangible symbol of the last several weeks of work.

I lug it out to the back alley, throwing it into the passenger seat of my truck.

The drive is beautiful. The sun casts a brilliant, golden glow over the endless fields of green pastures. In the distance, Gideon’s sunflowers catch the light, beckoning me forward. I roll the windows all the way down, letting the fresh air surround me, my heart pounding with excitement.

When I pull up the gravel driveway of the Honey Meets Pandesal Beekeeping, the property is peaceful. I can see myself making this place my permanent home. The main farmhouse sits quietly under the oak trees, and a few miles back, near Gideon’s cottage, the steady, comforting buzz of the honeybees fills the air.

I park my truck by the workshop, hoisting the heavy cardboard box into my arms. I push open the screen door with my elbow, stepping into the cool, shaded interior.

The rich, comforting scent of clean beeswax and raw honey instantly wraps around me.

Home.

Gideon is standing at the counter, his bare back to me. He’s wearing nothing but his dusty work jeans, his muscular shoulders and tanned skin glistening with sweat under the workshop lights. He’s carefully pouring liquid wax into a row of handmade candle molds, his movements precise.

"Delivery," I call out softly.

Gideon freezes. He sets the metal pouring pitcher down and turns around. The moment his dark brown eyes lock onto mine, the serious, intense look on his handsome face softens, replaced by a wide smile. Damn. Be still my heart.

"Avery," he whispers.

I walk over to the counter, setting the heavy box down. "Every single scrap of leftover wax, just like I promised. Shavings, paper sheets, everything."

Gideon bypasses the box as he steps around the counter. He reaches out, his large, rough palms catching my waist and lifting me effortlessly, setting me down onto the edge of the clean counter just like he did the other night.

"The magazine came today," I tell him. "Scott gave us an outstanding review. He called it a masterpiece."

"Of course it’s a fucking masterpiece. I’m so proud of you, babe," Gideon murmurs, his thick fingers tightening against my hips, pulling me flush against his hard body. His eyes are filled with an unyielding, possessive devotion that takes my breath away. "But I already knew you were a fashion genius. I don't need a asshole critic to tell me what I have right here."

"Yeah?" I smile, my fingers tangling in his wavy black hair. “Is that so?”

"Yeah," Gideon murmurs against my lips. "I love you, Avery."

My throat goes tight, a sudden wave of emotion hitting me hard. "I love you too, Gideon. So, so much."

When our lips meet it’s slow and deep. It tastes like honey and is heavy with the promise of our future. I melt against him, my arms wrapping tightly around his neck and never wanting to let go. I study Gideon. This sweet, stoic, quiet man who has claimed my heart.

He pulls back, both of us panting. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small house key, sliding it gently into my palm. "Fuck, baby. This might be too soon, and the apartment above the shop is nice," Gideon says, hopefully. "But the cottage is quiet without you in it. Move in with me, Avery. Pack your truck one last time and come home."

I gasp, peering down at the key in my hand. Hope fills my chest, and I drag my gaze up into the dark, loving eyes of my giant bee farmer. I nod eagerly, unable to form words. A wide, helpless laugh erupts, and I press the key tightly into my palm.

Gideon is smiling too. “What do you say, Avery Wade? Are you ready to come home?”

"Yes," I whisper against his lips. "Let's go pack my truck… one last time."

Epilogue

Gideon