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I must have made a horrified expression, because he hastily added, “Of course, only if you’re interested.”

My mind immediately flashed to the rules for the in-law’s spreadsheet that was folded flat in my back jeans pocket. Guideline number one stated I should accept an invitation to do something my parents-in-law extend to meevenif it was out of my comfort zone. It would demonstrate my eagerness to familiarize with and integrate into the family.

Unfortunately, bees were so far out of my comfort zone they were in the stratosphere. But Oscar was right. We’d kind of gotten off on the wrong foot, so here was my chance to be the interested and invested daughter-in-law, ready for a seamless integration. I was sure there was a way I could stay a safe distance away while still showing appropriate interest.

What could go wrong?

“Sure, Oscar. I could do that. When did you have in mind?”

“How about right now?” He stood up. “I could use a walk and some fresh air to clear my head after that expansive lunch. We have a bit of time before the next challenge, so why not?”

I searched for some,anyplausible explanation why I couldn’t go at this exact moment, but nothing presented itself. My stomach dropping, I managed to respond. “Okay, I guess we could go now.”

My heart started to race at the prospect as I wiped my damp palms on my jeans beneath the table. Oscar gallantly pulled out my chair, and I stood, hoping to catch Slash’s eye, but his back was to me.

Oh, jeez.

“I don’t think we’ll need a jacket,” Oscar said. “It’s warmed up since this morning, and it’s lovely outside. We should have the perfect opportunity to see the hives.”

Lucky for me. Not.

I followed Oscar out of the dining room the same way Brando had led us this morning when taking us to the maze. We walked out on to the veranda and down the stairs to the garden. Oscar was right, it had warmed up enough that I felt comfortable in my long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans.

“Which way?” I asked, shading my eyes, wishing I’d brought my sunglasses.

“Follow me.”

He led me to the right side of the maze and toward a wooded area. He stopped near an opening in the trees and pointed in the distance. “See those white structures? Those are the apiaries. I noticed them in the distance when we came out of the maze.”

I squinted into the trees and saw the structures he was talking about several hundred feet away. Hope rose in my chest. Maybe we could look at the beehives from here.

“How can you tell those are apiaries?” I asked.

He smiled broadly at me. “I just can. Come on. Follow me, and don’t worry. Bees are harmless.”

Easy for him to say. He apparently didn’t mind swarms of insects flying around his head and landing on his body. I shuddered just imagining them crawling on me. Intellectually, I liked bees. I knew they were good for the environment and the planet and an integral part of our ecosystem. I just wanted to appreciate them from a healthy distance, which apparently wasn’t going to happen today.

As we got closer to the hives, it became easy to spot the bees flying between the structures and the trees. Several white boxes were stacked on top of each other vertically. Some of the boxes had viewing windows, so the beekeeper could see what was going on in the hive. There was no way I was getting close to the viewing window with all the bees flying around. Still, I had to give it to Oscar—there was something mesmerizing about watching the bees buzz about.

“A good apiary is one that is secluded, has access to plenty of flora, and has direct sunlight,” he said. “It must be close to water and have good air circulation, as honeybees need to keep dry. Natural ventilation and airflow are key to harvesting a lot of excellent honey.”

I had to admit the science of it interested me, and the fact that Oscar cared about bees and the environment made me like him more. If only it were that easy to rationalize my fear of bees away. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself bees were harmless, my legs trembled, and my hands started to shake. Thankfully, Oscar was so focused on the hives he didn’t notice.

We continued to approach the hive, getting much closer than I was comfortable with, stopping thirty or so feet away. My eyes were like advanced military radars trying to simultaneously track each buzzing object. Oscar must have noticed my increased breathing and tried to be reassuring.

“Don’t be afraid, although I know that just saying it doesn’t make it easier. These European honeybees do not sting unless they are threatened. They’re just like the ones that I maintain back in England. Here, let me show you.” He walked up to one of the hives where there was a small ball of bees on the outside and gently scooped them up into one of his hands. He turned toward me and offered them to me. I froze in place, completely terrified, unable to move.

I watched in a mixture of horror and amazement as the bees swarmed his hand, crawling all over it. Clearly, they didn’t perceive him as a threat, and he was not being stung. It truly shocked me. He brought the bees up close to his face so that he could watch their movement even more closely. His expression was so calm and enraptured I forgot my fears momentarily. How could he be so at peace with such small yet dangerous creatures?

He turned to me and smiled. “I’m going to show you something bloody fascinating, Lexi. Do you trust me?”

Um, how was I supposed to answer that? There wasn’t explicit guidance in the in-law’s guidance on this particular circumstance, but I felt confident the advice would indicate that the proper response was for me to say that I trusted him. He was family, after all.

“Um…yes?” I hated that it was more of a question than a statement, but we are who we are. “You aren’t going to put one on me, right?”

“Of course not. Not without your permission. Now, close your eyes for at least a minute, and I’ll tell you when to open them. When you do, you’ll see how friendly these gentle creatures are.”

I closed my eyes, my heart thumping so hard I feared I might have a heart attack. Subconsciously, I started counting the beats, trying to estimate my heart rate to determine if I was at risk of tachycardia. I’d conducted some serious online research about the risks of an excessive heart rate after my encounter with Guido, the giant dog who had followed me into a bathroom several months ago. I remembered vividly that a sustained heart rate of over 210 for a person my age could be very dangerous.