Page 26 of The Burbs and the Bees
Chapter Six
Jay
After checking on my bees and refilling the jars of sugar water, I step into my bee barn, tug off my gloves, and remove my oversized white bee suit. I hang it on the hook as my cell pings. I pull it from my back pocket and read the message from Colin.
“Did you put your stinger in the queen next door last night?”
Jesus, he’s as bad as Tyler…and Capone. “Leave it,” I text back, and he sends me the middle finger emoji before firing me off another text.
“She’s still there then?”
“Yeah, but not for long,” I say and ignore the unease inside me.
“Tonight, Seven. Don’t be late,” he warns, and I shove my phone back into my pocket. I like his fiancée, Sara, I really do, but for a damn year now, since Colin put a ring on her finger, she’s been hinting that she’d like to see Colin and his groomsmen perform a surprise dance at the reception. I don’t dance. Ever. And this is all bullshit when I have a million other things pulling my attention. I tried to get out of it, but I’m the best man, and when it comes right down to it, I’d do anything for Colin.
I exit the bee barn, and the joy of kids squealing and playing in Alyson’s petting zoo carries in the late morning breeze as I glance out over the twenty acres of land I’m going to use for my beef cattle—once I get the barn finished. If I ever get it finished, that is. I’ve been pulled in so many directions lately, and Colin was helping me until he got caught up in the wedding plans.
I need to get my brothers on it. Speaking of my brothers, earlier this afternoon, I spotted Beck coming from Alyson’s farm, long after I helped her with her animals. I guess he, too, wanted to check out the hottie next door.
Shit, I hope she’s doing okay over there. She was thrown into all this without so much as a lick and a lesson, a weird thing my late dad used to say. The gist being, she has no idea what she’s doing. Dad was always quick to roll up his sleeves and help out a neighbor. He’d expect the same from any of his kids. Shit, maybe I should check on her.
Wait, what am I saying?
I bet the goddamn farm she’d be gone within thirty days. I know. I know. Ludicrous, right? Insane really. Maybe I have a goddamn brain tumor, but when that douche Charlie Miller crossed his arms and stared down his nose at me—reeking of whiskey and smugness—it ruffled my feathers. I’m so sure Alyson will bail, I took him up on the bet. If I lose, he gets my farm. But the bet was a no-brainer. A sure thing. Even Charlie seemed like he agreed that I couldn’t lose. Could this really be a pride thing, him wanting the farm back in my family without looking like he’d gone soft?
A thrill goes through me to think I’ll finally get back the property that had been wrongly taken from us many years ago. Which means going over there and helping Alyson is the last thing I should be thinking about.
I head to my cottage and tug on my hoodie as I make my way to the house to check in on Mom, who’s working on making honey lip balm today. But instead, I find myself cutting into the path leading to Alyson’s farm.
What am I doing?
I stand back in the distance and count the number of vehicles in the long stretch of gravel parking lot. She must be completely overwhelmed by now. I stand there for a long moment, the devil on one shoulder, the angel on the other. After a hard internal debate, the angel gets the best of me, and I head to the market. Behind the counter, Alyson is limping around in her heels and trying to bag produce for customers while answering questions from others. From the looks of her and the oversized shirt she’s wearing, I’m guessing her luggage still hasn’t arrived.
“What is the best apple for baking?” a young woman asks as she steps up to the counter.
“Um. Ah. Just a second,” Alyson says. She grips her phone and scans it as she rings up a customer. Christ, she looks like she’s gulping for a breath that just won’t come.
“Hey,” she says, and pushes back her mess of hair when she sees me. My heart takes that moment to skip a beat. Jesus, she might be a hot mess, but she’s absolutely beautiful.
“Do you have any peaches?” a man asks. His voice breaks the spell she has over me, and I turn to him as he adjusts his glasses and studies Alyson through the bottom of the lenses.
“I don’t really think so,” Alyson says, flicking him a fast glance. I swallow against the tightening of my throat. She’s my neighbor, and I shouldn’t be standing here doing nothing.
“When will you have them?” he presses.
Alyson swallows. “I… Uh… I’ll have to check when they become ripe.”
The man frowns at her. “You don’t know?”
Alyson shoots a worried look at her phone again.
“Do you have any soup for sale?” an older woman asks. “I was really looking forward to bringing a container home for supper.” She presses her hand to her chest and beams. “Cindy makes the best squash soup.” Her hand falls, and her brow furrows as she looks around. “Where is Cindy?”
“Squash soup. Okay,” Alyson says under her breath, like she’s adding that to a mental checklist. “Cindy’s not here.”
“I hope she’s coming back. She is coming back, isn’t she?”
“We look forward to her lunches,” someone else says.
