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“Anyway, what’s new with you, Benji?” Lance asks. “Heard at the feed store that you’re thinking about going into bees.”

“Yeah, I’m putting in some hives.”

I whip my head up to stare back at Benji. “You’re putting in bees? They’re not something to mess about with when you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Benji takes a casual sip of his beer, foam clinging to his upper lip until he wipes it away with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, David. I’ve done my research.”

“Research isn’t experience.”

“That’s why I talked to old Wilson. He’s kept bees for forty years.”

“Wilson’s half-blind and fully mad.”

Benji laughs. “He knows his bees. And I’m thinking of starting with just two hives near the manuka patch.”

“Two hives means thousands of bees,” I point out. “Thousands of bees that don’t recognize property lines. They’ll be all over my place.”

“And you’ll get the benefit of a free pollination service,” Benji says with infuriating brightness. “Your orchard yields will go up fifteen percent, minimum.”

“Or my sheep will get stung.”

“Bees don’t just randomly attack sheep, David.” Benji leans forward, one eyebrow cocked. “I’ve ordered special Carniolan queens. They’re known for their gentle temperament.”

“You’ve already ordered them?” I straighten in my seat. “Without talking to your neighbors first?”

“I’m talking to you now,” he says in this patient tone.

“After you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I thought you’d appreciate the honey. It might sweeten you up.” He gives me one of his standard-issue Benji grins, where one side of his mouth quirks up more than the other.

Why the hell do his words and grin send a flush of embarrassment mingled with something else I refuse to name racing up my neck?

“You need to buy proper protective gear, make sure you’ve got a contingency plan for something going wrong. Those allergic reactions can come out of nowhere, even if you’ve never had one before.”

Benji’s eyes switch from playful to something softer. “I appreciate your concern for my safety.”

I’m waiting for him to finish his words with one of his typical smartass comments, but he doesn’t say anything else. Which sends us into another weird moment where we’re staring at each other.

“It’s called being a good neighbor,” I say finally.

“Right,” he replies.

He holds my stare a moment longer than necessary. It’s almost like he’s waiting for me to catch up on something I’m missing.

I blink and look down, suddenly fascinated with the condensation rings on the table.

The conversation among the others moves on to Bruce McMillian’s new deer fence, but for the rest of the evening, there’s a weird tension between Benji and me.

And I don’t think our disagreement about his new beehives is why my chest tightens every time he looks at me.

By the time Tilly starts wiping down tables, I’m no closer to understanding the weirdness that has engulfed me.

ChapterThree

David

The next day, the first hint that something is wrong comes from the orphan lambs at their midday feed. Their bleating has a different pitch, like they’re singing a song with one voice missing from the harmony.