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But before I can say anything, I get another whiff of her smell, this time from her hair. I close my mouth before anything stupid comes out.
“So next we need to uncap the honey to collect it,” she says, standing next to a metal trough. Beside it, there’s a gleaming chrome drum with one half of its lid open. “Do you want to try this, Colt? Careful, it’s hot.”
“Sure!” He takes the knife Winnie gives him and slices down the frames on both sides, which peels the honey off surprisingly neatly. He’s intently focused on keeping his hand steady, biting the inside of his cheek.
That’s the boy I’m used to, a workhorse with a genuine interest in solving problems, always fascinated by the world around him and willing to learn more.
Not the little shit who sneaks out behind my back to dick around with fireworks.
This Colton Rory will always make me proud.
Winnie shoots me a glance like she knows what I’m thinking—hell, maybe it’s written on my face—but she accepts the frames as Colt finishes them, putting them neatly in the extractor.
“Okay! Now we extract the honey. Easy-peasy.” She makes sure everything’s in place and closes the lid. Almost immediately, the machine whirs, and she nods with approval. “This is a nice newer model.”
“Sure,” I agree.
I guess my crew must’ve thought of grabbing some honey for themselves. I didn’t even know this stuff was in here.
“Now we just need a jar. Anything like that around?”
“Yeah! I bet we can find something in the kitchen.” Colt grins at her.
Winnie sends another quick look at my folded arms. The smile that flashes across her face is small and knowing.
“Let’s wrap this up. Better to get your dad out of here before he bursts a blood vessel or something from all this fun.”
This time, Colt laughs with glee. It’s almost worth being the butt of her dumb jokes to see that expression on his face again.
On the way back to the house, Winnie showers us with more bee wisdom. There’s no end to her facts, it seems, and half the stuff washes over me.
Somehow, Colt soaks it in. There’s something almost endearing about how animated she gets over them.
Bees. Fuckingbees.
And yes, I hate the fact that I’m even thinking she’s endearing at all when she’s rambling on about her ugly stinging bugs, how they’re basically telepathic or some shit with the chemical signals they use to communicate.
I don’t know why I’m listening at all. I’m not interested in bees, their future, or this magic purple honey. I blame her voice, soft and inviting, this light echo humming in my ear.
The sooner we get the hell out of here, the better.
“Oh, and Archer.” She touches my arm lightly, then flinches back like I’m made of uranium. “Now that I’ve seen this, I mighthaveto stay the full month.”
“The full month.” I raise my eyebrows at her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Even if she pays top dollar for her time, how the fuck will I survive a full month of this?
“Yes. This place would benefit from a full-time beekeeper. You didn’t see it, but those frames were full of honey. The bees can’t make more if there’s no more space.”
“Tragic,” I clip.
Winnie’s soft green eyes flare.
“D-ad, come on.” Colt tugs my arm.
“Okay, okay. I’m sure a full-time beekeeper could manage this better, however…” I can’t find the words.
Not when I’m lost wondering what she’ll get me to agree to next.