Page 7 of Like Bees to Honey
“Like this?” Camellia echoed, resisting the urge to go down the hall to the gilded framed mirror to see what “like this” meant. “What does that mean?”
“You are sort of staring off into the distance.” Tansy nibbled on the inside of her lip.
“And you didn’t say much on the way home.” Astrid glanced at Leif. “Did she, Leif?”
Leif was frowning. “No.”
Camellia threw up her hands. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. How about you all get out of the kitchen and occupy yourself with something useful while I get started on these cookies so they’ll be ready in time for the Junior Beekeepers’ meeting.” She handed Leif an apron. “You can help.”
Leif took the apron, but he was still frowning. No one else moved.
Camellia groaned, knowing full well no one was going anywhere until this whole mess was put to bed. “Harald Knudsonwasat the grocery store. And, I suppose you could say, something...happened. But nothing exciting, really.” Camellia pulled her stand mixer close and pointed at the pantry. “Can you get me the flour, please, Leif?”
Leif did as she asked.
Magnolia was scrutinizing her. For as long as Camellia could remember, Mags had the uncanny ability to give Camellia a head-to-toe sweep and read her like a book. Well, 80 percent of the time anyway. But this...well, these sorts of things didn’t happen to Camellia. Ever. The Harald Knudson partandthe Van Kettner part.
“You could guess,” Camellia assured her sister.
This, of course, was met with Mags crossing her slender arms over her chest. “Or you could tell us. Though you’re blushing, which isn’t a good sign.”
Camellia pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Am I?”
Shelby nodded. “You are a bit, Auntie Camellia.”
“You are.” Tansy wore a curious smile, her head cocked to one side. “Spill the tea, Aunt Camellia.”
Dane chuckled. “How about you sit and spill and I’ll make some tea?” He came around the table, took the kettle and kissed Tansy’s cheek.
“I don’t have time for this.” Camellia took a deep breath. “I have cookies to make.”
“Then you should get right to it.” Mags’s brows rose. “You went to the grocery store.”
Camellia nodded. “I’d sent Astrid and Leif off to get things and Harald came up to me.”
“And?” Mags prompted.
They all leaned the tiniest bit forward, eyes widening while they waited.
Camellia laughed. She couldn’t help herself.
“That was a synchronized lean, if I’ve ever seen one.” Dane carried her beloved teakettle to the stove and put it on the burner.
Lord Byron woke up, squawked, then echoed, “Synchronized lean.”
“We’re out of crackers.” Shelby shrugged, patting baby Bea’s back as the baby stirred.
“Next time you go into town, more crackers.” Mags leveled a death glare at the bird. No matter how hard Camellia tried to change their minds, her sister and the parrot refused to play nicely. Lord Byron stole things, tore up the edges of books Mags was reading, and—after one especially unfortunate incident when Mags had reclaimed her sparkle-tipped hair comb—Lord Byron had left parrot poo in one of Mags’s favorite high-heeled shoes.
“Or some rat poison.” Aunt Mags continued to glare at the bird.
“Anyway.” Shelby placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “Go on, Aunt Camellia.”
Camellia shrugged. “Harald was very charming and gracious and I stayed civil. Then he followed me to the butcher counter—”
“I bet Van loved that.” Dane snorted.
Camellia paused. “Why do you say that?”
