Page 9 of The Burbs and the Bees
“Come on.” He hops back onto my arm, and I make my way back to the farmhouse. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway next door carries in the quiet country air. I chalk it up to tourists wanting to buy local produce from Mr. Matthew’s Market, not knowing it’s still closed.
I settle Capone into the cage in mom’s farmhouse, spend a few minutes steaming the lobster, and then go looking for my mother.
“Lobster ready?” she asks, a strange smile on her face.
I nod and step out back to ring the big old dinner bell my grandfather hung years ago. The piece is nostalgic, and it brings a smile to my mother’s face every time she uses it. My brothers come running. I chuckle. Food and sex. They’re both driven by it.
“Something funny?” I ask Mom as she continues to smirk.
Her piercing green eyes narrow in on me as we both move back inside. “Looks like the new neighbor is here, sooner rather than later.”
“Oh, you met him.”
She reaches into the drawer and pulls out utensils. “Heard a car and sauntered over.”
“I heard it, too. Thought it was tourists wanting to check out the petting zoo and market.”
She laughs and gives a slow shake of her head. “It’s such a small world, son.”
“You mean you know Reid?”
Beck and Tyler come running in for food. “Know who?” they ask in unison, and for some ridiculous reason, it reminds me of how Alyson and I spoke the same words at the same time.
Lesson or blessing.
I’m going with the former, although I have no idea what lesson I’ve learned. I nudge my brothers and gesture for them to set the table.
“New neighbor just arrived,” Mom announces as Beck takes the utensils from her hand, and Tyler grabs the plates and spreads them out.
“Does that mean I won’t have to take care of their animals tomorrow?” Ty asks.
I ignore my brother and zero in on my mother, noting that she’s yet to answer my question. “Do you know the new owner?”
She tucks a silvery-blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “You mean Reid?”
“Yeah, Reid,” I say. Why the hell is she being so cagey? Unease worms its way through my blood. “You don’t like him, do you?”
Instead of answering—again—she says, “After dinner, I want you to bring a pie over, Jay.”
“Why?” I ask, my gut sensing something isn’t right.
She puts her hand on my arm and squeezes. “It’s the neighborly thing to do,” she says, and my stomach instantly sinks as realization hits.
My mother uses pie to mend bad relations and ease tension between farmers. Heck, her pastry even prevented a land dispute war before I was born—or so I was told. The fact that Mom is sending me with a fresh-out-of-the-oven apple pie isn’t a good sign. Not a good sign at all. In fact, it’s a sign that tension is brewing, and shit could very well hit the fan.
Chapter Three
Alyson
“Yeah, I’m here. Flight was good, and I made it without any problems,” I fib. No sense in telling Mom my day had gone from bad to worse. Delayed flight, lost luggage, upset child beside me who nearly ripped half my hair out before losing the contents of his lunch all over the armrest. But the winner of the day was the dip in the Atlantic where I almost died. Okay, I didn’t almost die, but still, it was a craptastic day for the most part.
Until you got naked with the hottest guy on the planet.
Well, we didn’t really get naked. I mean, we did, and we didn’t—not in the way I’ve been fantasizing about during my drive to the burbs, aka Farmington, Nova Scotia—and I am not going to spend one more second thinking about that. Two, maybe, but not one.
Good God.
Seriously, though. I’ll never set eyes on him again, and Mom doesn’t need to know of my bad fortune or that I’ll be wearing the same underwear until the airline finds my suitcase. I make a mental note to hang my salty clothes out to dry so I’ll have something to wear tomorrow.
