Page 48 of The Beekeeper

It wasn’t right then. And now, it couldn’t be right either.

“But you deserve to,” I ground out, hating the thought of her not mattering to the man she was fucking. Hating the thought even more if that man wasn’t me.

The lights came back on suddenly, every appliance beeping—warning that we’d been caught.

Her eyes were right in front of mine, filled with hope. But hope wasn’t the problem the same way dynamite wasn’t a problem. The problem was the spark I saw in her stare—a spark that argued I didn’t get to make that decision for her.

But I would if it spared her more pain. I knew what she deserved—what she wanted—as clearly as I saw it reflected in almost every member of her family around her and the loves they found. And just as clearly, I saw that I couldn’t give it to her. So, I peeled myself away from the soft heat of her body, the sensation about as comfortable as if I were peeling off my own flesh.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked, searching for what else to say—how else to end this. Permanently.

And then a small voice carried down from upstairs.

“Daddy?”

It wasn’t an answer, but it was proof of what I’d said. I had to put my daughter first, and that meant there was nothing I had to offer Harper except a desire that could only live in the dark.

Chapter 11

Harper

“Oh my god, this is amazing,” Frankie gushed, and I stared at my cousin like she’d grown a second head.

Usually, that meant Lou, her identical twin, was standing next to her, but not this time. Frankie and I were alone in the back room of her candle shop, the Candle Cabin. I’d just confessed what had happened with Blaze at the photoshoot and then during the blackout, so there was no way her response to that would be “amazing.”

“Are you talking about the show?” I asked, glancing up at the TV in her back studio, on the screen the newest episode of Glassmaster, a reality glassblowing competition show that Frankie was obsessed with and was determined to get Nox on.

Yet, it didn’t look like anything amazing was happening there either. One contestant’s glass vase had just shattered on the floor and everyone was devastated. A situation only marginally less disastrous than my roommate situation that I’d just vented to her about.

“Of course not, I knew Trish wasn’t going to make it to the finals anyway. Her stuff always looks like blobs.” She waved her hand like she wanted to wipe away the thought. “I’m talking about your encounters with Blaze.”

“W-What?” I stammered and shook my head. “No, Frankie, it’s not amazing. It’s…hopeless.”

I buried my head in my hands, wishing they were sand. Wishing I could forget everything that happened during the blackout because ever since that night, I felt like I was on a sinking ship with no lifeboat, no life vest, not even an emergency flare. I was simply drowning in how much I wanted Blaze knowing that he wanted me back.

“Hopeless is my favorite kind of challenge,” Frankie charged, dropping wicks into the empty jars that lined one of her worktables as she prepared to pour out a fresh batch of mandarin-vanilla candles.

There was no point in arguing with her. Not when she’d gone the lengths of faking a haunting at the Lamplight Inn to ensure there was no other buyer interested except Lou. Not only had she secured Lou’s dream, but her own dream man in the process.

“I don’t want there to be a challenge. I don’t want things to be complicated, especially for Paisley. I just want the longing to stop.”

It was infuriating. Like those stupid birthday candles that you couldn’t blow out. Every time I doused the attraction I felt for Blaze—with reason or distance—it just burst right back to life, stronger than before.

“Well, that’s even easier,” she said and when I stared at her, asked bluntly, “Do you want a relationship with Blaze Stevens?”

My jaw lowered and then snapped shut with a, “No.” Now, it was my turn to scoff—almost a little too enthusiastically. “Absolutely not. Not after…everything,” I said, shaking my head. I couldn’t want what wasn’t a possibility. No one wanted to watch a fish be able to fly.

“Okay,” she said, carefully mixing the lavender oil into the melted beeswax I’d dropped off last week. “So, he doesn’t want a relationship because of his daughter and you don’t want a relationship because of him, am I correct so far?”

I wrinkled my nose but nodded.

“But you both want each other?”

The feel of his mouth taking mine came back full force, the way it always did, like a furious freight train through my mind, destroying everything in its path for the sake of a trip down memory lane.

“Yes,” I croaked and then cleared my throat.

“So then just propose a fling.”