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The house had three bedrooms: two upstairs and the master on the main floor. When I’d moved in, I’d picked one of the rooms upstairs because I didn’t need anything big, and I wanted to use the larger room downstairs as a stock room; well, the demand for Harper’s Honey had quickly outgrown that space, so my supply moved to the garage I’d built last year, and the master became overflow.

After Blaze and I agreed to this arrangement, I’d assumed he’d be happy with the largest bedroom, and Pais would take the other one upstairs. Well, come to find out—this morning—that wasn’t ideal. As soon as Blaze realized I’d expected them to take rooms on two different floors, he’d pulled me aside and told me how afraid Paisley was of things, especially at night. The dark. Thunderstorms. Creaks from gusty winds. He worried if her room was upstairs and his on the main floor that it “wouldn’t be good.”

Of course, I agreed to swap rooms. It didn’t matter to me. I just cared about making sure all my stuff was out of the room before Blaze moved into it.

I wasn’t nervous per se. It wasn’t like my room was still plastered with movie posters of him like it had been in high school. Still, I’d been a little more than anxious to make sure I got everything out of there discreetly.

While Blaze and Paisley began bringing her boxes of toys and clothes up to her room, I started moving the contents of mine.

My underwear drawer was the first to be emptied into a pillowcase. I listened and waited until I’d heard Blaze and Paisley bring a load of her stuff into her room before darting downstairs with the makeshift bag like a thief in the night.

One trip was all I got before Blaze and I started crashing into each other it felt like at every turn no matter how I tried to avoid it. Closet, dresser—I cleared everything of my clothes when I overheard Paisley wanting to put her toys in the bathtub.

The upstairs bathroom was a Jack-and-Jill style between the two bedrooms, so I’d quickly changed course to empty my things out of the bathroom.

“I told Daddy I want to paint my room yellow.” Paisley’s voice became distinct as she and Lou ambled back toward me, stopping at every hive along the way.

“Like honey-yellow or lemon-yellow?” Lou asked.

No. Her genuine question went off like a grenade in my mind. Had I…No, I wouldn’t have left that. I froze and clawed back through every trip I’d taken earlier. My underwear. My clothes. My toiletries…I’d never made it back to my nightstand.

“Oh god.” I cupped my hands over my mouth and then slid them around my throat. I’d left my lemon—my vibrator—in the bottom nightstand drawer. “No, no, no.”

I heaved in breaths. There was no reason to panic. I could get back up there and get it. What were the chances he’d open every drawer today? He wouldn’t. Hopefully. Maybe.

And if he did, it looked like a lemon. Maybe he’d think it was some kind of decor. Or a beauty product. Or a fancy mothball.

Seriously? He’s going to mistake a masturbation tool for a fancy mothball?

This was Blaze Stevens we were talking about. I didn’t just read all the rumors about the parties and the partners and the NDAs. I knew they were all true because his brother was part of my family.

“Crap,” I muttered, panic welling in my chest.

I had to get back to the house. I had to get that out of the room before he found it, and then everything would be fine. With everyone at the house today, it should be easy. All I had to do was make sure Blaze was downstairs and then pop into the room, grab my vibrator, and he’d never know. Never find it. Never complete the cycle of mortification I’d started because of him.

We just had to go back now. Like right now.

“Are you okay, Harper?”

I spun and gasped, finding Paisley standing right behind me. My palm pressed over my racing heart.

“Wow, you startled me,” I said and managed a weak laugh because I didn’t want to worry her. “Are you done? Ready to head back?”

“Yeah.” She nodded just as Lou reached us and we started to walk back toward the house.

We didn’t go far before Paisley asked, “Where are all the boy bees?”

I balked, my system jolting from one cortisol-induced catastrophe to another. “Well, um, the boy bees aren’t born yet. Remember how I told you the sister bees are born first to help build the hive and the boys come later?”

“Do the boy bees help build the hive, too?”

“Ahh.” I swallowed hard. “No, they don’t.” Even in generalities, a “yes” would’ve been a lie. “Why don’t we go back to the house⁠—”

“Then what do the boy bees do?”

Oh no.

Her valid, innocent question was like a sucker punch to the gut. I looked at Lou who didn’t understand my wide-eyed look of panic. How was I going to answer her? What could I say? Not the truth, that was for sure: the only purpose for male, drone bees was to have sex. With other queen bees.