Page 31 of Must Love Bees
“Wait.” Halley grabbed his arm. “Oh, man, this is awful.” She stuck her tongue out.
Nova picked up her cup and took a sip. Her face twisted up as her little body shuddered. “Nasty.”
“How did you drink that?” Halley was staring at Astrid’s nearly empty glass.
“Oh, well, I had a little sister. She was always so proud of her creations we didn’t have the heart to tell her they weren’t exactly tasty.” Astrid shrugged. “But the cookies helped. I’m glad Charlie didn’t see them in the grocery cart.”
“I saw them,” he repeated.
All three of them looked at him wearing exactly the same expression before laughing. Nova asked Astrid about how she’d fix the bee houses and that started the three of them on a rapid-fire, talking-over-one-another conversation that he couldn’t quite keep up with. He took another cookie from the box and sat back. It looked so simple. There was laughing and talking with hand gestures. A happy, peaceful, animated conversation. Like they were pleased to be together and eager to hear what the other said. It wasn’t forced.
Growing up, his family dinners had started with teasing and declined from there. Insults. Prodding at one another’s insecurities or sneering ridicule. Then anger. Lots of it. This was nothing like that. It was hard to accept that this sort of camaraderie actually existed.
He and the girls had dinner together every night but they’d never had this sort of lively interaction. It was more than beekeeping, he knew it. It was Astrid. Astrid and her messy braided hair, distractingly tight clothing, and that warm and welcoming smile. That was another good Astrid word.Warm.She filled the kitchen with warmth and she wasn’t even trying.
Of course, the girls would respond this way—it was a night-and-day difference from what he had to offer. What could he say to get this sort of response? He was who he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, he did. But caring and showing that he cared made him vulnerable. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable when he had the girls to protect.
He sat back in his chair and stared up at the overhead light fixture. There were cobwebs hanging off the old brass chandelier, dancing and swaying in the cold air blasting from the overhead vent.
His thoughts wandered back to the business card he’d gotten from Lyle. Stinson Properties. His sister was up to something. Lindsay Stinson, his sister. She and her husband were into land development and real estate. She’d reached out to him about the land before he’d left and he’d listened. He didn’t want the land, he wanted to be rid of it. But the men showing up today meant they’d likely discovered how much Aunt Rebecca’s place was worth and wanted to capitalize on it. That was why she’d hired those men to perform a commercial survey of the place. It wouldn’t matter if their aunt had made provisions in her will for her property. Lindsay would dig and push and fight until she got her way. That’s what she did. Big entrances, high drama and good—or bad—surprises were her thing.
Charlie expected Rebecca’s will to reflect her unique quirkiness. All he could do was hope that her will was straightforward so he could sell to his sister without any of the drama. If Lindsay tried to pull something, maybe he’d call in the bees for backup. He paused.
If Rebecca’s last wishes included this Junior Beekeeping service thing, he’d have to honor that request as well, wouldn’t he?
He slumped forward and propped his elbow on the table, exhaustion and defeat crowding in on him. He’d been treading water for the last year. He knew it, the girls probably knew it, too. He glanced their way. They were telling Astrid a story, back and forth and talking over one another. Astrid seemed thoroughly entranced—until she reached up to rub the back of her neck.
Charlie frowned, stood and headed for the downstairs bathroom. He rummaged through his toiletries bag until he’d found a tube of antihistamine cream and carried it back into the kitchen. He set the tube on the table in front of Astrid, ignored her blinding smile and whispered “thank you” and just how appealing she was at that moment, and carried his glass of salty lemonade to the counter.
He took a deep breath and poured the lemonade down the drain. He didn’t know what was happening. Nothing felt as it should—as he should. Then a sudden chorus of laughter rang out, his girls and Astrid, and he was smiling. He had a call to make and hours of work to do but he found himself emptying all the glasses, washing the pitcher and finding things to keep him in the kitchen. Once the laughter ended and the real world crept in, he’d go. Until then, he’d stay and listen and smile.
NOVACHOMPEDONanother cookie. Two cookies. Even Charlie had two. Two.
And nobody was mad the lemonade was nasty. Astrid even drank it. Nova couldn’t drink it—it was gross. Astrid had to be a superhero. She saved bees and fixed washing-machine attacks and drank salt-lemonade and had funny dogs and made Charlie smile, Nova saw it. If she had a cape, she’d definitely be a real-life superhero. If she was a superhero, she would know what to do about the rat monster.
Plus, Astrid was funny. And nice. And pretty. And Nova really liked her laugh.
She really hoped Charlie would let them be friends, because Nova liked Astrid. Lots.
“You got stung?” Halley made her owie face.
“It happens.” Astrid put a glob of cream on her finger and rubbed it on her neck.
“You did?” Nova was shocked to hear this. “Why would the bees sting you?”
“They’re bees, Nova.” Even though Charlie said it, Nova didn’t think it made sense.
“But you said they don’t want to sting. And you’re their friend. Why would they sting you when you were helping them?” Nova wasn’t so sure she wanted to meet Astrid’s bees now.
“They were scared.” Astrid put the cap back on. “Once their bee alarm goes off, all the bees work together to protect their hive. One little bee on their own can’t do much. But a whole hive, working together? They’re pretty good at protecting their home.”
“Bees have alarms?” Nova couldn’t believe it. “Alarm clocks? Brooglar alarms?”
“Burglar.” Halley always knew what Nova meant.
“Not an alarm like we have.” Astrid had the prettiest smile. “Bees don’t have words. They use their movements, their wings and their scent to send messages.”
“They dance.” Nova loved that most about the bees.
