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It can’t be.
I hold my breath, icy calm so I don’t agitate them.
I’ve done this plenty of times before without the full suit, but that doesn’t mean I’m impervious to getting stung if I slip up, if I move too fast or shake too much.
I lift the first of the ten frames carefully. Small bees cling to the honeycomb and more swarm around me to investigate as soon as they’re disturbed.
I almost drop the frame right there because my eyes weren’t lying.
It’s flipping purple.
Look, I know honey can get colorful, but there’s no mistaking this. I stare down in disbelief, drinking in this bright, royal-violet gold, rare and delicious.
“Sorry, honeys,” I whisper as I swipe the tiniest dab on my index finger and slide the frame back into place.
Once it’s secure and the bees are safe, I close my eyes in bliss and try it.
Holy nectar.
Okay, forget The Sugar Bowl. That place might have some of the best sweets I’ve ever devoured—but it has nothing on this honey.
It’s a shot of pure sugar to the soul.
Rich. Magnificently sweet. Faintly floral like wine.
I’ve never tasted anything like it.
“Easy, easy. Don’t freak out,” I tell myself like the bee crazy spaz I am.
Trembling, I back away from the hive slowly until there’s plenty of space between me and the bees.
Then I squeal.
I start dancing on the spot.
This isinsane!
A surprise miracle that feels like it was planted here just for me to find.
I throw my fist up and whoop, listening to the way my voice echoes back from the forest.
So maybe I have issues.
But I also need to investigate. If this is what I think it is—
No. No, I need to check first. Don’t get too excited.
I can’t go popping off, making big claims without hardfacts. If there’s anything Dad taught me, it’s that.
I don’t even bother getting my phone before I go vaulting over the fence at the edge of the garden and head straight to the woods, looking for—well, I don’t know what. Something out of the ordinary.
Something the bees have been using to craft this magic honey.
I rush forward, holding my hands out to the dappled sunlight making its way through the trees. The whole runaway bride thing feels like a bad dream now.
Who cares what’s happening back home—this is why I’m here.
Bees. Honey. Somethingimportantthat doesn’t mean pleasing everybody else.