Page 9 of Silk and Honey

“Oh, honey, please. They are getting married in three months. They share everything,” Kennedy says, a small, teasing smirk finally breaking through his sleepy expression. “Just promise me you won’t get so distracted by those massive biceps that you forget how to sew. I need you to stay employed so we can take advantage of the fabulous discount Ezra offered you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of multitasking,” I say, adding cream to my coffee. “I can appreciate a handsome man and design a fantabulous silk collection at the same time.”

An hour later, I’m pushing open the glass door of Beauty and the Boutique. The bell chimes. The boutique is quiet, the air conditioning providing a beautiful relief from the rising heat outside.

Ezra is standing at the large cutting table, a pair of heavy tailor’s shears in his hand. He is wearing a perfectly tailored cream linen shirt, looking every bit the high-fashion icon. He should be completely out of place in this small town, and yet, he brings life to everything around him. He looks up as I walk in, his eyes taking in my bright yellow shirt and the bounce in my step.

“Good morning, Avery,” Ezra says. There’s an amused glint in his eyes.

“Morning, Ezra,” I reply, setting my bag down behind the counter.

“How’s rooming with Kai so far? I know it’s only temporary, but I really appreciate it.”

“Good! He cracks me up, and we totally get along. Apparently, I was already a fan of his social media. I had no idea it was the same guy I follow online. It’s too bad he doesn’t plan on staying in town.”

Ezra laughs to himself. “I’m pretty sure there’s a certain farmer that can change his mind.”

I grin, remembering that way Kai enthusiastically explained that I wasn’t the only one who met a “lumbersnack of a man” or had a one night stand the night of Pride. I get the feeling that Foggy Basin has its way of charming people into staying.

“What’s on the agenda for today? More fabric inventory? Or should we start drafting the patterns for the gown?”

Ezra places the shears down on the table with a soft clack. He rests his hands on his hips and looks at me thoughtfully.

“The gown can wait,” Ezra says. “We have a more pressing matter. As you know, the upcoming ‘Honey & Harvest’ launch requires that specialized textile treatment you suggested. I want us to coat the hemlines of the heavy silk pieces in raw, refined beeswax to give them a structured, water-resistant drape. It is an old technique, but it requires a very specific quality of wax.”

“Right,” I say, trying to keep my voice professional, even though my heart gives a hard, excited skip. “Gideon brought those wax blocks yesterday.”

“Yes, but those were just the base testing blocks. Since there isn’t any paraffin in the wax we’ll have to do several trials.” Ezra says, leaning against the table. “I need a much larger quantity, and I need to ensure the melting point is consistent. I require someone to go out to Honey Meets Pandesal, inspect the refining process, and bring back the official production batches.”

I blink, a slow smile stretching across my face.

I lean my elbows on the counter, tilting my head. “And you’re sending your brand-new design assistant to do grunt work at a farm? Ezra, are you sending me out there to do quality control, or are you just playing matchmaker?”

Ezra raises a single, elegant eyebrow. “A good designer understands every element of his materials, Avery. If that inspection happens to involve a six-foot-four beekeeper who happens to look at you like you hung the moon, then I consider that an efficient use of company time. Don’t you?”

I burst out laughing, completely charmed. “You’re fucking terrible.”

“I’m a businessman who thrives on efficiency,” Ezra quips, a genuine smile breaking through his serious face. “And frankly, I’m a sucker for a good romance. Emery says Gideon has been pining after a piece of rainbow stationary for five months. It’s getting pathetic. Go to the farm, Avery. Don’t come back until you have the production wax and a smile on your face.”

“Yes, boss,” I say, grabbing my keys from the counter. “I will do my absolute best to represent the company.”

The drive out to the apiary takes about ten minutes. The valley roads are flat and dusty, lined with endless rows of fruit trees followed by bright yellow fields of sunflowers. The color is rich and inspiring. The fields looked nothing like this five months ago. The heat is already building, shimmering off the asphalt in the distance, but I keep the windows of my truck rolled all the way down, letting the hot wind rush through my hair anyway.

I turn down a long, dirt driveway marked by a rustic, weathered wooden sign that reads Honey Meets Pandesal Beekeeping. As the truck rumbles up the path, the main farm comes into view. It’s beautiful. There is a charming, slightly faded white farmhouse surrounded by a massive wrap-around porch, a large barn, and a newer, clean wooden workshop building.

Further out in the fields, under the shade of a few massive oak trees, are rows and rows of white wooden boxes. The hives.

I park the truck near the workshop. The second I step out, the sound hits me. It is a low, steady, musical hum. Bees fly through the air, completely busy with their daily work. The air smells incredible out here. It’s thick with the scent of grass, pollen, and sweet, raw honey.

I smooth down my yellow shirt and walk toward the workshop door. Before I can even knock, the heavy wooden door swings open.

Gideon steps out.

My breath catches in my throat. He’s wearing a dark green tank top that is damp with sweat, the tight material clinging to his broad chest and the deep ridges of his abdomen. His rich, golden-tan skin glows in the harsh sunlight. His arms are bare, showing off the massive, rounded muscles of his shoulders and the thick veins running down his biceps. He’s wearing his heavy canvas work apron over a pair of faded, dusty jeans that accent his thick, powerful thighs. His black wavy hair is slightly messy; a few strands damp against his forehead.

Damn. Who needs a sexy little snack when Gideon is the whole damn meal?

I’m surprised he isn’t wearing his white beekeeping suit, but then again, it’s hot as hell, and he isn’t by the hives.