Page 76 of Sweet Dreams

Chapter four

Gideon

(One week later.)

The heat from the early morning sun is already an evil, brutal thing as I load the bed of my truck. I lift three heavy wooden crates of jarred honey and stack them against the tailgate. My muscles stretch under the heat, a light layer of sweat already coating my neck and back. The air smells of dry earth and the sweet sunflower honey. This is my favorite part of the week. It’s simple, quiet labor.

I climb into the driver's seat and start the engine. My first stop is the organic fruit stand just outside the Foggy Basin town limits. The owner, a handsome man named Hayes, always takes two cases of our honey and one box of my hand-rolled beeswax candles.

"Morning, Gid," Hayes says, wiping his hands on a rag as I carry the heavy crates to his display tables. "You're early today."

"I have a busy run," I say, keeping my voice quiet. I stack the jars neatly, making sure the labels face forward.

Evelyn, an older lady from town, is picking out some fruit, trying to eavesdrop. "I heard Ezra's shop got a new assistant," she says, leaning against the counter with a sly look. "A cute city boy. You met him yet?"

My throat goes dry. I feel a sudden heat creep up my collar, and I quickly look down at my hands. "I met him."

"And? Spill the tea."

"He’s... very nice, Evelyn," I rumble. That’s as much as she’s getting from me. Experience tells me that if I give her an inch, she’ll turn it into a town-wide news broadcast in no time. All I need is my mother and sister beating down my door with questions I’m not ready to answer.

I quickly finish the delivery, say my goodbyes, and get back in the truck. My next stop is the local diner on Main Street. They use our bulk wildflower honey for their cornbread and tea. I carry the heavy buckets through the back door, exchange a few short words with the head cook, and collect the empty containers.

I save the boutique for last.

I park my truck in front of that bright yellow signature sign. My heart does a strange, heavy thud against my ribs. I reach into the glove compartment and run my thumb over the edge of the rainbow stationary I tucked in my logbook. It’s ridiculous, I know. But knowing Avery is actually in town, and he’s only a few feet away, makes a rush of excitement and nerves buzz through me.

I grab the final crate. This one contains the specialized beeswax blocks Ezra requested for his fabric testing, along with several jars of our new blueberry blossom honey. I push the glass door open, the little bell chiming above my head.

The shop is quiet. Ezra is at the front counter, sewing a delicate lace trim onto a light green vest. He looks up and gives me a calm, knowing nod.

"In the back, Gid," Ezra says, pointing his shears toward the storage room. "Avery is sorting the new shipments. He needs those wax blocks."

"Thanks, Ezra," I say.

I walk down the short, narrow hallway to the back supply room. The door is propped open. Inside, shelves climb all the way to the ceiling, packed tightly with colorful bolts of silk, linen, and wool.

Avery is standing on a low wooden stool, reaching for a heavy roll of green fabric on a high shelf. He’s wearing a fitted yellow t-shirt that shows off his slim waist, and his brown hair is a little messy, but his scruff is neatly trimmed. He looks so fucking beautiful.

"You should let me do that," I say, my voice rough in the small space.

Avery gasps, his foot slipping slightly on the stool. I move instantly. I drop the wooden crate on a nearby table and catch him by the waist, my large fingers grazing his sexy hip bones.

"Whoa," Avery laughs, wrapping his arms around my shoulders to steady himself. He doesn't look scared at all. He just looks down at me, his eyes bright and full of mischief. "You have really good reflexes, Honey Bear."

My hands linger on his waist for a second too long. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I can feel the heat of his skin through his thin shirt. My throat tightens, and I slowly set him back down on his feet, stepping back to give him space. My cheeks are burning.

"I brought the wax," I say, pointing to the crate.

"Perfect," Avery says, stepping off the stool. He walks over to the table and runs his fingers over the smooth, golden blocks of beeswax. He looks up at me through his eyelashes, a playful smile on his lips. "It smells amazing. Like honey, sweet berries and... you."

My cock jumps at his flirty tone. "Avery," I warn.

"What?" he teases, stepping closer to me. The storage room is incredibly small, and with my size, we are almost chest-to-chest. "I'm just making an observation. You always smell so good, Gideon. Even when you're sweaty from your deliveries."

He reaches out, his small hand gently touching the collar of my white shirt. His fingers brush against my collarbone, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight down my spine.

"We’re at your work," I say, my voice rough. My heart is beating so hard I’m sure he can feel it.