Page 138 of The Beekeeper

“You get lucky,” I teased her.

“With all of them? It’s not luck when it happens every time,” she insisted, and we both turned as Lou joined us, heavily pregnant with her and Wade’s first baby.

“This was perfect, Harper,” she repeated the compliment she’d told me so many times today, and I smiled.

“It is.”

Our wedding was small—friends and family sat on blankets in the middle of the wildflower field. We’d had no bridal party except for Paisley who was our flower girl. My dad cried as he and Gigi walked me down the aisle. Jamie had officiated the simple ceremony, and it was everything I’d ever wanted. Everything we both wanted.

Now, there were food trucks lined up by Nox’s barn and a massive tent erected over a dance floor, bandstand, and tables.

Maybe Blaze would go back to acting someday, but for now, he’d told his agent he was stepping back to focus on his family. Thanks to Wade, who’d protected Blaze’s assets during his wild years, he didn’t need to go back to Hollywood. Not to live the way we did. And not with the trajectory my honey business was taking.

The new hives doubled my production, and I needed every drop of it. My product was in every local store and in both farmers’ markets; Stonebar had approved my application. And the date of the approval? It was before Adam was discredited and Honey Trap Farms went out of business.

“Lou, tell Harper that it’s not because of luck that all my matchmaking works out.”

“It’s either luck or a deal with the devil,” Lou confirmed and her sister swatted her arm.

“Rude.” Frankie playfully huffed and hugged her arms.

“I used to think it was luck until Nox fell in love. At that point, I had to consider some kind of dark arts being involved.”

I lifted my brows, letting my head sway side to side, pretending the thought had merit because after what my brother had been through, to find love with the woman he did…it fell into that questionable space between miracle and sorcery.

“Well, whatever it was, I’m just glad he’s happy.” I found my brother amid the couples dancing on the floor, seeing him smile the way he used to.

“Thanks to my plan,” Frankie insisted.

“You didn’t create the reality TV show,” I retorted.

“No, but he needed an assistant, I was the one who told—” She stopped as a squeal sounded from the dance floor.

“Mama!” Frankie lit up, seeing her son’s toothy smile.

“Coming, baby,” she called and looking back to us, and insisted one final time, “It’s not luck,” before heading for her little family.

“All right. I’m going to find Wade and then I think we’re going to take the kids and head out,” Lou said, turning to hug me.

“Thank you so much for everything, and for taking Paisley for a few nights.” I embraced her hard.

Between Lou, Frankie, and Blaze’s mom, Blaze and I would have the whole week to ourselves. Not that we were going anywhere or doing anything extravagant for our honeymoon. Our big trip—our big surprise was going to be taking Pais to Disneyland just before school started. For this week though, all we wanted was the time to ourselves, and our family—our hive—stepped up.

I watched her head for the dance floor and join Blaze and Paisley. They talked for only a few seconds before Pais smiled and hugged her dad, the sight making my ovaries go wild. Especially recently. When he released her, she looked around and, spotting me, sprinted over.

Paisley skidded to a stop in front of me, breathless, with her flower crown listing badly to one side.

“Did you send the honey?” she demanded.

“First thing yesterday.” I crouched to fix her crown. “Two jars of blueberry, one cinnamon, and the picture you drew.”

“And the coffee one for PopPop.”

“And the coffee one for PopPop,” I confirmed.

It had started as a one-time thing—a jar of cinnamon honey mailed out to Nevada that first autumn from Paisley to her grandparents. Mimi had called to thank her—thank us, and stayed on the phone for forty minutes, telling me stories about a little girl who used to eat it straight off the spoon.

Now, the jars went out every month—or we brought some with us when we went out to visit them twice a year. Some months, Mimi remembered the last box. Some months she didn’t. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she still stayed connected to them and to Megan.