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“You’re a beekeeper?” We sit across from one another at his table.
“I have a few hives on the far northwest side of the property.”
“I didn’t trespass far enough to see them, I guess.” I open the box of donuts and slide it toward him as he sets a few napkins between us.
“You aren’t allergic to bees, are you?” he asks with concern.
“No, not at all.”
His smile is hesitant, almost shy. “I’d be happy to introduce you if you’d like to meet the bees sometime.”
Meet his bees? How can a man as physically intimidating as him be so adorable at the same time? It’s the only description that fits him at this moment. “I’d love to meet your bees. Do you have one of those suits?”
He swallows a bite of the apple fritter and nods. “I have an extra one.”
It strikes me how strange things work out sometimes, how much has changed for me in such a short time. Not three years ago, I was working two terrible jobs and was absolutely miserable. Six months ago, I was a total recluse, hiding from two crazy psychopaths. Now I’m free, sitting at a table with an intriguing new friend, stoned, and eating donuts at midnight.
We devour two donuts each, still talking and getting to know each other. By the time I head home with the jar of honey he insisted I take, most of my reservations and suspicions abouthim have been alleviated. He isn’t creepy or dangerous. I’ve known dangerous men.
He’s different, soft spoken and funny, but his smiles seem so hesitant and fade quickly. Shyness or sadness? I don’t know, but there’s something about him that’s attractive in a way I can’t place. The quiet way he conducts himself, his easygoing demeanor. It’s as calming as his voice, and as I drift off to sleep, I realize that my edgy day was turned around the moment he showed up.
CHAPTER 6
ARLOW
Calliope—shewas aptly named, although muse doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. If witnessing her from afar is inspiring, spending time with her impels me straight to the barn as soon as I see her front door shut behind her.
Inspiration or obsession? Is there even a difference? If there is, I can’t measure the distance between them.
It’s dawn when I come out of the barn, covered in sweat, spent, but satisfied for now. I couldn’t get her out of my head, and I knew there would be no sleeping until the early hours regardless. I’m not complaining. This is the most alive I’ve felt in a long time. Exhaustion takes over once I lie down and the next thing I know, the afternoon sun is beaming across my room.
My hand aches from last night but I know I’ll be back at it later tonight. I’ve just showered and turned my coffee pot on when my phone rings with a video call from Mom. We usually talk a few times a month, but typically on the weekend.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hi! Are you busy?” Her smiling face fills the phone screen.
“No, not at all. Is everything okay? Dad alright?”
“We’re fine.” She hesitates before getting to the point of her call. “Listen, I saw Chris Handleman’s mother post on social media that he’ll be getting released from prison soon.”
A weight instantly settles on my chest at the sound of his last name. Guilt is a heavy vest to wear.
Mom continues, “It didn’t say when, but if I see?—”
“Mom, it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. You don’t need to stalk them online.” I’m one to talk, watching as Calli comes out of her cabin to get into her car.
“I’m not stalking! I’m sure he won’t give you any more trouble after all this time, but she mentioned he’d be staying with her.”
“Did you get the honey?” I ask, changing the subject and pouring myself a cup of coffee.
“I did, and it’s absolutely delicious. I put it on our pancakes this morning. Oh, you’ll never guess what your father brought home!”
“Is it another roadkill horror?” Shit-faced drunk at a local flea market, Dad once bought a taxidermy possum that bears very little resemblance to an actual possum. It’s a cross-eyed monstrosity that he still won’t admit he hates. Mom set it on the fireplace mantel in his office and it’s lived there for years now, haunting the room.
“No, these are alive! Let me show you.” It’s good to hear her enthusiastic voice. Mom has always been the cheerful family optimist, desperately dragging me up to see the bright side with her. It’s impossible to hear her excitement and not smile. Two little calico fuzzballs appear on the screen, mewing as she holds them up. “A little girl was trying to rehome them outside the hardware store, and he surprised me with them.”
“Have you named them yet?” I ask, once she sets them loose and comes back to the camera.
