Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Seems odd to warn me when it’s only a bee farm. The apiary is bigger than I imagined. Now I’m wondering if the Honey Hive shop is only using their own actual honey. Summer mentioned Winter being a mogul in the making. I’m beginning to believe her.
I start walking again, this time making myself known. “Summer?”
“Over here.” I see her waving from a corner near a tiny house. What? Who lives here? Why does it feel like these women have more secrets than truths? The mysteries abound with the Season Sisters.
Dressed in full beekeeper gear, Winter walks around a bee box with a canister to smoke it out.
Roman is by her side when Summer signals me with her arm to move to the far side of the field, and yells, “Walk around.”
I don’t see Autumn at all, and Dolly never left the house. When I reach them, I have more questions than we probably have time for. So instead of asking, I say, “So you have a bee farm . . .” I leave it open for her to fill in the gaps.
“You knew that.”
“I thought you had a box or two.” I wave my hand toward their impressive setup.
She laughs. “It’s not quite the size of a typical commercial-sized farm, but it’s grown a lot. Winter is up to fifty boxes.”
“That’s a lot to manage on her own.”
“We help out.” She pats Roman’s shoulder. “Come on. We must keep you safe.” She heads for the tiny house but looks back at me over her shoulder. “He’s not allergic to bees, is he?”
“He’s going into the beehives?” Staring at Winter, I watch her swat, not making me more comfortable with this idea.
She grins up at me. “He’s not going in the beehives. He’s walking around with my sister to learn about the boxes.” She tells him to go on inside the house. When he does, she rests her palm on my chest, and whispers, “He’ll wear a beekeeper’s suit. It’s safe. I’ve never been stung wearing one.”
I glance at the house and then back at Winter. Thinking about Roman surrounded by concrete and high-rise buildings more than nature, I come around to the idea. I’m not so stuck in my ways that I can’t change. If I want to.
“He’s not allergic, but I want him safe.”
“He’ll be safe.” The house is full of supplies, holds Winter’s office, and is where the honey gets jarred. It’s a nice space they’ve built out here. Summer has tucked Roman in Springs’ old bee suit that she outgrew a few years back. It fits well, but I have her give me the tour to see how secure it is at keeping things out.
As soon as he’s off to catch up to Winter, Summer asks, “Are you doing okay? It sounded like an upsetting call earlier.”
“I fired my agent. I’m not upset, though. As you know, it was coming.” Winter is taking Roman under her wing, showing him how to use the canister, when I add, “Did you hear much of the conversation?” I’ll bury him if she overheard any of the arm candy crap.
“I heard the f-word a few times but nothing else.” Coming a little closer, her pinky wraps with mine. “But I asked how you’re doing? It may have been time, but it doesn’t make severing a relationship any easier.”
I hadn’t even picked up on the question before I was off and running, talking about the bad stuff. She listens to my stories, but she cares more about me. I wrap my arm around her, wondering how I’m worthy enough of this incredible woman loving me.
Autumn comes out of another part of the woods. She wipes under her eyes and then walks a wide berth around the area where we’re standing.
Summer troubles her bottom lip while fidgeting with her shirt. Concern has tightened her expression, but when she finally looks at me, she says, “I want to share something with you, something personal, if that’s okay?”
Seeing how affected she is, I don’t make jokes. Not the time. “I’d like that.”
She takes my hands when we’re a fair distance from the bee yard, her steps growing more tentative, and she only glances back at me once before we reach another clearing. I look up at the sky and then down around the perimeter to see if trees existed here or if it’s a natural oddity in the middle of the woods. Doesn’t appear to be created by anyone. It’s just this way.
Flowers fill the small area as if they’re not allowed to grow anywhere else. White and yellow daisy petals catch in the slightest breeze. Summer stops at the edge and stares ahead. It’s only then that I see the headstone hidden among the flowers.
The fun I thought we were having drains from the realization of what this place is. Keeping my eyes back on Summer, I ask, “It’s okay if you don’t want me here.”