Page 72 of The Burbs and the Bees
“What do they do in the winter?” I ask, a new sort of determination taking up residency in my gut.
“I leave the honey inside for the winter, and they feed off it.”
I finish cleaning the honeycomb and turn to him. “Now what?”
“Now we need to extract the honey.” He finishes cleaning a few more frames, much more quickly this time, and puts them into the big extracting machine. “This controls the speed of the centrifuge,” he explains and turns the machine up to medium. The frames begin to spin, and Jay steps back. It goes for a few minutes, and he switches it off, only to change the direction of the spin.
After a few more minutes, he points to a stack of buckets. “Can you grab me one of those and a strainer?” I do as he asks and he places the bucket, strainer on top, under the nozzle and opens it. Honey pours out. “Isn’t that beautiful?” he says when I gasp at how quickly the bucket is filling.
“It is,” I agree, and he smiles at me.
“I could do this all day. There is something very satisfying in watching this flow.”
My heart misses a beat as I take in the pleasure in his eyes. “I could watch all day, too,” I say, but I might be talking about Jay, rather than the flow of honey. “When do we get to eat it?”
He laughs. “Right. Let’s get out of these clothes and dig into a honeycomb.”
We both remove our big loose suits and hang them up. I follow Jay to the bucket full of honeycomb. He reaches for a piece.
“Wait, is this stealing the honey?” I ask.
“Not really. Bees produce honey all the time.”
“Okay, good.”
He hands me a piece and takes one for himself. “Would you have refused it if I said yes?”
We walk out into the sunshine, and I chuckle as I taste the sweet honeycomb. “Probably not,” I say, and catching us by surprise Cluck comes racing around the corner crowing and chasing something.
“What the—” I stumble backward, my arms flailing.
“Whoa,” Jay says and catches me.
Cluck disappears, and I take a quick breath. “He scared me half to death. What is his problem?”
“He has many, but right now you’re the one with a big problem. A big sticky problem.”
“What—” I ask, but my words die an abrupt death when I touch my hair and realize exactly what he’s talking about.
Chapter Fourteen
Jay
“Pass the gravy, Aly,” Tyler says as he taps his hand on the table, his head bobbing to some imaginary beat. He’s taken to calling our new neighbor—even though she might be a little more than that to me—Aly, like she’s one of the family. She’s been here two weeks to the day, and for the last week, since the skunk incident on Monday, she’s been having dinner at our table.
Her house is soon going to be clear of the smell, probably will be by now, but we’ve all gotten used to her sharing meals with us, and yeah, I’ve gotten used to sharing a bed with her. That first night, I set her up in the loft, and I took the sofa, but it didn’t take long before I found myself between the sheets with her. She’s like an addiction I can’t quit, but if she’s still here in two weeks, I lose my goddamn farm.
Alyson picks up the bowl and hands it over, and as she goes back to eating, a permanent smile on her face, it occurs to me how much she likes being around my family. She’s an only child, so I can understand that. What was that she said about not bringing a child into the world? Something about not being able to care for one when she can’t care for herself. But it’s clear she loves being with my big family, and while she’s adamant that she’s not interested in marriage or commitment, she’s soaking this up faster than a dried-out sponge.
I take in her smile, her new haircut. After getting the honeycomb stuck in it, compliments of Cluck knocking her off her feet, she had to have an emergency hair appointment. The short cut is adorable and makes her eyes look even bigger.
Tyler grabs for his water. “Jesus, this gravy is hotter than a goat’s ass in a pepper patch.”
“Tyler, language,” Mom says and Alyson frowns.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“Just some local lingo,” Mom explains.
