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“No. You’re good.”
We both strip out of the suits and deposit them in the wagon. Before we can get moving again, a honeybee appears and lands on her forearm. Most people’s instinct is to swat at them, but she doesn’t react that way or flinch. Instead, she watches as it crawls lazily down to her wrist, then grins at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a good look at a bee up close. Hey there, Bee-nadict. Don’t sting me, okay?”
“Bee-nadict?”
“Bee-nadict Honeybatch. Look how cute he is.”
“You’re cute.” The words spill out without forethought, and she gives me a shy glance. The bee flies off back toward the hives. “Okay, let’s get this to the shed before the rest of them get wind of it.”
She wraps her hand around the wagon handle beside mine again on the walk back. The shed has warmed up considerably in the hour since I turned the little space heater on. “Cold honey takes forever to spin, but fresh out of the hives like this and in a warm environment, it’ll require a lot less effort.”
“Put me to work,” she says, watching as I pull the top off the tangential extractor. I love how excited she is and I’m eager to teach her.
A single bee emerges from the storage box, flying straight at me. This one isn’t happy. As soon as it touches my neck, it stings me, getting caught in my skin for a second before I brush it off.
“Did it get you?” Calli asks, stepping up close to me.
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
Her breath wafts over my neck as she looks closer. “Do you want me to get the stinger out?”
“You can try scraping your fingernail over it and see if that works. If not, I’ll get it later.”
She presses her hand on my head to tilt my neck and runs her finger tenderly over the swelling skin. Christ, her touch. So light and heavy at the same time. Her thumbnail scrapes over the sting and my eyes fall closed.Don’t get hard, for fuck’s sake.
“Am I hurting you?”
Such concern in her sweet voice. “No, Peach.” I’d cover myself in stingers to feel her hands on me.
Steadily, she runs her nail over the same spot until the stinger comes free. “Got it.” The tiny barb sits on her thumb as she holds it up to show me, then brushes it off. “You had them crawling all over your hands when you were pulling the frames but only got stung by a rogue stowaway.” I want to kiss the impish grin from her lips as she adds, “It made a beeline for you.”
“It was definitely a premeditated attack.” The air is thick with more than the heat as she looks up at me, and I know I’m not the only one who feels it. It takes me a few seconds to break away and step back to reach into the storage box again. “Alright, let me show you how to uncap them. Will you grab that black bucket?”
Propping the frame over the bucket, I take the large, flat knife and show her how to drag it across the surface to remove the beeswax. After flipping it over, I hand her the knife and she takes over, uncapping the other side and scraping the wax into the bucket. “A few of them aren’t covered in wax,” she observes.
“There are always some like that but as long as about eighty percent of the cells are capped, then it’s ready. If we take them too early with too many of them uncapped, it’ll be more nectar than honey, and that can ferment. So, you have to let it ripen to this point first.”
“Does it matter which way it goes in the extractor?”
“No, you spin one side then the other. Just slide it into the slot.”
With a wide grin, she grabs the next one, moves it over to the bucket and starts uncapping it. Once we get the extractor loaded with frames, I grab the honey bucket, set the strainer on top of it, and place it under the spout.
“Now turn the crank to spin the honey out. It’ll drip down and gather at the bottom.” I flip a five gallon bucket over and pat it. “You can sit here. I’ll take over when you get tired or bored of it.”
She turns the crank slowly, glancing at me.
“Faster, there you go. Just like that.” Her tongue makes an appearance again, tucked between her lips, and I don’t manage to cover my smile fast enough.
“What?” Continuing to crank, she regards me with a curious look. “What did I do?”
“Nothing. You’re doing great.”
She rolls her eyes, then narrows them at me. “You were laughing at me about something.”
“I wasn’t laughing. You stick your tongue out when you concentrate. It’s endearing.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “My teachers used to tease me about that when I was in school. It’s a habit I’ve never broken. Kind of like the way you dip your eyebrows and rub your collarbone when you’re trying to figure something out.”
