Page 36 of The Beekeeper

“Do you need help unloading your stuff?” Blaze asked, redirecting the conversation.

“Well, that depends on the lovely Miss Harper,” he replied. “Blaze told me a little about your business. I’m thinking we stick to outdoor shots, since we’ve got a great sunny but overcast situation going on.” His head tipped to the sky and then returned to me.

“Ah, sure,” I said. “I’ve never done this before, so whatever you think.”

“How about I show you what I think would be good, and you tell me if you like it?” He winked.

Blaze audibly growled beside me.

I ignored him and smiled. “Okay.”

“Perfect. So, if we stick to outside, then I don’t need help unloading,” he said. “Now, let’s talk about wardrobe. I was thinking we’d keep Blaze in something basic. So, take off the flannel, put on a white tee, and keep the jeans. It’ll give him a rustic, raw look to mirror the quality of your honey.”

“Sounds great,” I said enthusiastically. I wasn’t about to admit my preference was for Blaze to keep his clothes on, so I was glad I didn’t have to.

“You heard the woman, go get changed,” Marc said, and then, lifting his hand to his mouth, added in a not-so-hushed aside, “He’s not used to me telling him to keep his clothes on.”

Blaze’s eyes narrowed, and then, saying nothing, he walked away.

“And why don’t you give me the grand tour of the hives, sunshine?” he encouraged, his tone familiar but not uncomfortable.

As we walked from the house along the wildflower field, I learned all about how he’d grown up in the city, that his mom kept honeybees on the rooftop of their apartment building, letting him name all the bees after his favorite Pokémon characters.

“Imagine my surprise when I finally learned that none of them were male bees,” he said ruefully, crouching in front of one of the hives. “May I?” he asked, holding his hand close to the entrance.

“Ah…sure. They have stingers now though, so just be careful,” I cautioned.

“Careful? What if I enjoy getting bit?” He winked, his bright smile widening even more when I flushed.

I wondered if this was how it always was with him. With Blaze. With that glittery, starstruck world. Everything was suggestion and innuendo…no wonder it was safer to assume that nothing was real.

Sure enough, a bee wobbled her way onto Marc’s finger, and he flashed me a smile of success. “What a good girl.”

Heat scored my cheeks. Now, I knew he was definitely flirting with me, and it felt…nice.

I lowered my hand to the hive, letting another sister wobble onto the back of my hand, sharing Marc’s smile as I gently pet her buzzy butt.

“Marc!”

Blaze’s shout made me jump.

“Oww,” I hissed, pain searing through the back of my palm. I looked down just as the bee took off, her venom sac pumping into my reddening skin. The price I paid for scaring her.

“Shit, are you okay?”

“It’s okay,” I stammered to tell Marc I was fine—getting stung was a hazard of the job, though one I hated not for the pain but for the loss of life.

When a honeybee stings, its stinger gets embedded so securely that to fly away, the bee self-amputates its lower abdomen and dies shortly after.

“Hang on,” he said, and took my hand in one of his while pulling out a business card from his pocket with the other. “Here we go.”

He pressed the card flat to my skin and slowly ran it over the sting, pushing the stinger out of my flesh. Scraping it up, he wiped it on his jeans.

“All better, sunshine.” His smile weakened when Blaze prowled up to us; Marc on one knee and holding my hand. For an instant, I swore I saw fury torrent over Blaze’s face.

“What the—” Blaze stopped and stared at the red welt as obvious as a stop sign.

“Way to go, man,” Marc teased as he stood, still keeping my hand in his. “You scared her and that’s why she got stung.”