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Both Dex and Patton glare at me like I’m number one on their eternal shit list.
The last thing they need is me bailing when I’m the reason this fire started. I never bail unless they’re being stupid.
Always a first time for everything, I guess.
“Look,” I say, losing some of my cool, “I know I fucked up. I made the company a target and that’s on me. I’ll make sure I un-fuck it, too. I’ll get started tonight.”
Before they can say anything, because they’re my brothers and don’t know how to keep their mouths shut, I walk out and let the door slam shut behind me.
“Fuck,” I hear Patton yell.
Yeah, fair enough.
My head aches as I head back to the car. I don’t usually feel like this when it comes to Higher Ends, but this is one crisis where I have no idea what I’m doing.
Logically, I do. I know the next move. But this whole thing isn’t run by logic alone, and neither are my feelings.
Holy shit, what a mess.
And right now, it’s a disaster I can’t clean up.
I slam my hands against the steering wheel.
Colt’s text sits accusingly in my pocket.
Goddamn, I knew it was too good to be true.
Over the last few days, I thought everything with Winnie was settling down, but now this veneer of normality—the fucking art fair—feels like having a time bomb ticking away under the dinner table.
What will having a real relationship with a sweet, innocent young woman do to the people I love?
What the hell will this attraction to Winnie Emberly cost me?
21
BUSY LITTLE BEES (WINNIE)
Iwasn’t sure what to expect when Colt first told me about Delly’s art fair.
After meeting her and seeing her love for cardinals, I figured it would be stuff like that. Paintings, mostly, although he promised me bees.
But when we get there, the whole thing takes my breath away.
It’s that adorable.
Sure, there are tables and stands with more traditional art, but this time, Delly has brought an entire group of bee people. The stands take up half a block. Honey and wax makers and special handmade gift sets of balm people can take away.
The wooden carvings pump Colt up the most, but I get to talk to bee people all day. There’s no end to them, and it feels like the best thing to happen to me since the wedding—
minus Archer, of course.
Not that I tell them much about the purple honey.
With the bees in such a fragile place with just one hive left, I don’t want to risk attracting more attention.
Maybe next year, when they’re doing better, after the colonies are thriving again.
Then I catch myself.