Page 8 of The Beekeeper

I helped encourage the bee off her hand and then noticed how she just stared at her palm like she couldn’t believe she’d held it.

“How does she know which one is her home?” she asked softly.

“By smell.” I pressed my finger to my nose. “Every hive has a different scent. That’s how she knows where she belongs.”

“Is that how they know you belong?”

I laughed. “No. I’m pretty sure all humans smell the same to them.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Daddy would smell different if they smelled him after eating Mimsy’s chili.”

I covered my hand over my mouth, almost snorting as I laughed. Mimsy was what Paisley called Blaze’s mom, Joanna. I always knew when she was in town because I’d get an invite from my grandmother, Gigi, to join them for a Canasta Club meeting. I rarely turned down a game even though I was pretty sure Blaze saw my acceptance as one more subversive attempt to feed my crush on him.

The mention of Blaze made Paisley look around for her dad, her enjoyment dissolving from her expression when he was nowhere in sight. I bit my bottom lip. A little girl shouldn’t worry this much.

“Hey, Paisley, do you want to pick some wildflowers for my house while we wait for your dad?” I asked, trying to assuage her unspoken fear but also give her something else to focus on.

“Do you want to pick some flowers for me? I need some fresh ones for my kitchen.”

“Okay.” Her head bobbed and she scampered to the edge of the flower field my brothers helped me plant so my bees would never be short on nectar.

Paisley stayed close to the edge, looking back every few minutes to make sure I was still there. I smiled at her every time, trying to encourage her that it was okay to roam and explore, but she clung to the perimeter like a safety blanket.

She looked like a cherub with her sunlight-soft curls and innocent smile, and I felt my chest pang for everything she’d gone through—everything she was still going through.

There was a rustle, and I turned just as Blaze reached my side.

My breath caught like it always did around him, and he noticed. His eyes instantly narrowed into disapproving slits on my mouth.

“How is she?”

I snapped my head back to the field, wishing I could turn off the heat blooming in my cheeks. I’d been too focused on Paisley—otherwise I would’ve been better prepared for his presence, and tempered better my reaction.

“I asked her to pick some wildflowers for me,” I said, trying to get my body’s reaction under control though I would’ve had better luck lassoing a tornado.

I expected him to walk away then and head for his daughter, so I was even more thrown for a loop when he remained right where he was, his arm almost brushing my shoulder, and watched her.

Don’t say anything. Don’t engage. I clamped my teeth together. The less I said, the less chance I’d say too much.

Closed-off and cordial. That was my motto when it came to Blaze. Cool but kind. At least on the outside. On the inside, every cell burned with my attraction to him. But I’d never—ever—let him see that. Not again.

I stole a glance at his profile.

His was a face I knew like the back of my hand—the face of Hollywood’s hottest actor for the last decade. It was the same prominent brow, aquiline nose, and full lips that had graced the movie posters wallpapering my walls, but he looked nothing like the carefree actor who’d taken Hollywood by storm.

His brow was now perpetually pulled tight with worry. His nostrils were ready to flare at the first sign of a threat to his daughter. And that mouth…always drawn into a firm line, like everything relied on him being serious all the time. Like one smile would undo all the hard work he’d put in and he’d be nothing more than the careless playboy all over again.

“Thank you.” His words broke the buzzing silence.

“Of course.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “Is everything…okay?”

And there went his nostrils. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

My throat tightened, hearing the voice of the man I’d met at the inn; the one who’d wanted—needed to open up to someone but was too afraid to do it.

“What can you do? Can you call the police?”

“Your brother did. He pulled some strings with the chief to give the paps a hard time, but technically they’re on public property.” His jaw muscle punched with anger.