Page 71 of Three Reckless Words

His eyes are a dusky shade of blue as he looks at me, and I feel the full weight of his focus. Even the bees don’t distract him now, and my throat tightens at the sight of it.

The sight ofhim.

“The color and sweetness could make it an attractive product. It’ll have to be bottled up and branded, of course, but you’re already a genius with that stuff,” I continue. “And that’s not taking the medicinal properties into consideration. We’ll need the lab panel to determine that. There are plenty of private places, or maybe the local university could—”

“What the fuck.” His eyebrows draw together. “Winnie, are you sure you don’t have a PhD in entomology?”

“What? No.” I feel my cheeks heat. “No, it’s just a hobby. Something my grandma got me interested in.”

I think he’s going to drop it, but he tilts his head as he reconsiders. “She’s into beekeeping too?”

“She had bees. I mean, she was rich enough to have gardeners and landscapers like you. She had a few beekeepers over the years. I was always fascinated by the way they’d handle the bees, even when I was a little girl. Whenever I’d go over to her place, I used to just sit and watch them for hours.” I stop, a lump forming in my throat.

Going over to see my grandparents was always an escape. A release from normal life.

Between Dad demanding perfect grades and piling on extracurriculars, and Mom needing her pretty little girl to dress up, Grandma and Grandpa just wanted me.

Just Winnie, simple and unfiltered.

They’re the only ones who let me be a kid.

Archer comes closer. There’s still space between us, but less now, and the air vibrates.

“So that’s where you picked it up?” he prompts.

“When I got older, Grandma told the beekeepers to teach me things when she saw how much I liked it. It was the one thing that wasmine,not like the other stuff my parents decided I should do. All my life, I’ve been doing stuff because other peoplesaid I should. My dad told me what to study, what to believe. My mom used to pick out my clothes, my haircut, my shampoos and toothpaste. Everything—ugh. But the bees, they were mine, this sweet escape I had until the day my grandma died. My parents never knew until I was almost grown.”

“Damn, woman, that’s harsh. Sorry you felt like you needed one.” His voice blurs gentle and rough.

The sharp glint in his eye says if he’d had a say, he would’ve done it differently.

Tingles.

The longer I stare at him, the more heat I feel, humming under my skin.

“I mean, it’s fine now. It’s nothing. Nobody has a perfect childhood, right? I’d rather figure out the rest of my life than waste more time blaming my parents.” I wave a dismissive hand. Mostly because dwelling on it too long will make me cry, and I’ve donemorethan enough of that around Archer. “I think Mom still allowed it when she found out because she thought it was a phase. Something I’d leave behind after high school, but I’ve loved it ever since.”

“It’s admirable, Winnie. You loved something enough to pursue it for so long. Hell of a lot of people out there who never find that.”

I smile softly.

“I wish you could convince my father.” I sound bitter, so I force that smile to stay a little longer and gently brush a bee off his shoulder. “There. See how friendly they are when you’re calm? You didn’t even notice he was there.”

“He, huh?” Archer narrows his eyes. “You saying you’re an expert on all bee anatomy?”

“Oh, stop. I’m sure yours is bigger, if that’s what has you worried.”

Then it happens.

He laughs.

His lips split into a big, messy smile that makes my heart cartwheel, and I realize my hand is still on his shoulder.

Oh, no, I should move it.

Any second now, I’m going to move it and step back.

But his eyes flick to mine as his laughter fades. My breath catches in my throat and the rest of the world falls away.

---