Page 19

“Thanks!”

Watching Paisley dart out the door wasn’t nearly as fascinating as watching Blaze track his daughter along the path to the hives.

“She’s never like this at the apartment,” he said softly.

Was that gratitude? Or an accusation? Should I be apologizing? Should I even respond…

“Like what?” I heard myself ask. I’d never been good at not interjecting myself into situations where I might not belong.

“Excited,” he said first. “Carefree.”

A pang hit my chest. “This is just something new for her,” I tried to downplay it. It seemed like the safest thing to do. “In a few days, she’ll be tired of this, too.”

The muscle of his jaw tightened in silent disagreement. And then, recollecting himself, he faced me again, reaching inside his jacket pocket.

“Almost forgot,” he muttered and pulled out a folder that was creased in half, extending it to me. My heart started to flutter— “From my brother—” and then it froze.

“Oh.” I took it from him and shrank back.

“Everything okay?”

I blinked, convinced I’d imagined the question—and Blaze caring about anything that was going on in my life.

I hadn’t imagined it, and somehow, that was almost worse.

“No,” I answered, hardly seeing the point in lying as I flipped open the folder and skimmed the papers inside. “Not yet, but hopefully soon.”

I kept it vague because he couldn’t want to know. Not really.

“Things are rarely okay at the point where Wade needs to get involved,” he murmured, but with empathy and not accusation.

“Yeah.” I blew out a breath, fluttering the wayward strands of hair that escaped my braids. “I guess that’s true.”

Blaze glanced out the window once more, and then his eyes snagged on Paisley’s drawing.

“If you’re not going to use her drawing, you shouldn’t let her think you will.”

My brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I use it?” I asked, confused and hurt. “I wasn’t lying when I said I loved it. Her bee is perfect.” And a child’s drawing was definitely something I couldn’t be accused of copying.

Blaze didn’t respond except to look at me with those blue eyes, always the color of a cloudless summer day in all the posters I’d ever had of him, and now the dark blue of a tempest-ridden sea.

“Although, I’m not sure she should be too excited for me to put it on my jars. Right now, it doesn’t look like they’re going to go very far,” I mumbled and then grimaced because I’d said too much and why would he care?

“Why not?”

I lifted my eyes, unsure I’d heard him right.

“I thought…” He cleared his throat. “I heard your business was going well.”

“It was—is,” I said, my smile filling and then deflating like a balloon with a hole. “I’m just dealing with a PR nightmare, but it’s fine. It’ll be fine. I’ll just sell my honey at the Stonebar stores for the rest of my career, and it’ll be fine.”

“PR nightmare?” One of his perfectly formed brows rose.

My throat worked. “You don’t want to know,” I said bluntly because I knew he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Not really. Not the way I would interpret it if he did.

Again, his jaw muscle fired, and I hoped that was the end of it—waited for him to turn and walk off. And then his chin lowered, his head cocked to the side like he already regretted what he was about to say.

“I’ve dealt with a lot of PR nightmares in my career. Maybe I can…help.”