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Stop it. Get over it. He’s gone.
And so is the protective gear from its spot out on the back porch where Gramps and I suit up before going out to tend the bees. It’s not strange that Gramps would be out there with his on, but where’smysuit? I head out back and stop dead, not certain I’m seeing things right. I blink, but nothing changes. Zorion is leaning over one of the hives alongside my grandfather. As if hebelongshere.
He’s way too big for my suit, and while the netted helmet fits all right, his arms jut out of the smock sleeves. The gloves, which are huge on me, are skin tight on him and barely cover his wrists. The bees are peacefully bobbing around in the fumes of the smoke Gramps pumps at them to keep them calm and it only takes me a second to realize I’m not dreaming. They’re talking to each other in low, jovial tones as if they’re old friends, and Zorion moves with calm gentleness around the bees.
But why is he here?
Gramps notices me first and comes up to greet me, easing himself into a chair on the patio. “What’s going on?” I ask in a low voice, nodding toward our massive visitor. I can’t take my eyes off of him.
“This young man just strolled out of the woods and started asking about the bees,” he answers. “Seems fascinated by them, and he’s a real natural, too. He’s helped out a lot.”
“Well, that’s nice,” I say, drawn to Zorion as if I’m one of the bees and he’s the biggest, juiciest flower in the garden.
I walk slowly so as not to upset the bees and watch as he pulls the trays out of one of the hives. Up close I notice that his bare arms are covered in a swirl of tattoos in designs I can’t seem to make out. It’s as if they move as my eyes rest on them, and the ink isn’t dark, but almost shimmering. Strange, but mesmerizing, just like everything else about him. A bit dangerous too, although the only time he’s been even a little bit rough was during that kiss.
He finally realizes I’m behind him and when he turns, his eyes flash under the netting as he takes me in from top to bottom and back up again. There were no rays of sun reflecting off his honey-colored eyes now, but the way they change when he looks at me is there all the same. I lick my lips without meaning to. His gaze is fiery hot even though he looks a bit silly busting out of my too-small-for-him protective gear. His smile is slow, drawing his already handsome face into a masterpiece. No, I hadn’t imagined it all day at work. He really is that gorgeous.
“Kara,” he drawls. “How’s your ankle?”
Gramps comes back into the yard to stand beside me, looking surprised at Zorion’s words. “Do you two already know each other?”
I try, but can’t spare a glance at Gramps. “We met in the woods yesterday,” I say, keeping my eyes locked with Zorion’s. “What are you doing here?”
I hear Gramps making a small noise, trying to stop me from being rude to our guest. Zorion doesn’t seem offended in the least and when he steps away from the hives and takes off his helmet to shake out his long mane of thick, dark hair, I find myself reaching for the nearest fence post to hold myself upright. All I can think about is how the locks felt between my fingers the night before.
“I saw the hives when I dropped you off last night,” he says. “Your grandfather was kind enough to indulge my interest in beekeeping.”
That is just as odd as everything else about him, but I can’t make myself think I’mnotglad he came back. As much as I tried to accept the fact that he meant it when he said he wasn’t coming back, I’m both relieved and happy to see him again. Maybe I’ll get the chance to touch him again. The way he looks at me with such a deep hunger tells me thatI’mthe real reason he returned, and I have to admit it gives me a thrill.
It feels like we just stand there staring at each other, everything around us fading into the background, when I hear Gramps inviting Zorion to dinner.
I splutter, suddenly shy. Wondering what he’ll think of our small, modest home. It’s not just his expensive looking clothes, but there’s an air about him that says he’s someone important, probably rich. He might think beekeeping is interesting and charming, but how will he react to Gramps pounding on the stove to get it to work? Zorion seems to notice my discomfort and starts to shake his head to reject the offer.
“Come now,” Gramps says, clapping a friendly hand on Zorion’s arm. He’d never be able to reach his shoulder. “Make an old man happy and enjoy a meal with us. It’s been a while since we had company but I think I can rustle up something nice.”
Gramps looks at me, clearly eager to keep talking bees with his new buddy. “He makes a mean macaroni and cheese,” I say.
Zorion grins. “My favorite. I’d be honored.”
“Well, don’t go overboard,” I mutter as Gramps hurries as fast as his arthritic legs will take him back to the house.
Zorion only laughs and holds out his big, muscled arm for me to hold onto as we cross the yard. My ankle feels much better, but I still have to be careful on it. As soon as he notices, he whisks me into his arms again, only setting my feet back on the ground when we’re on the porch.
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly, not used to being lifted up like a doll at the smallest sign of distress. Do I hate it? Not at all. Not even a little bit, though I probably should.
I watch him strip off the protective gear and roll his sleeves down to cover the strange tattoos. He catches me looking at them and holds out his arm. “It signifies my regiment,” he says. “And my family.”
The shimmering ink doesn’t seem to be moving anymore, but I still can’t seem to make out a distinct design. It’s almost like the tattooswantto remain secretive.
I ask him about his military service, and he’s a bit strange about it, only talking about serving alongside his brothers and wanting to retire soon. He gives me a long look when he says that and my blood seems to heat up under his gaze.
“Get in here and help out,” Gramps hollers from the kitchen, breaking the spell.
Zorion grins and hurries inside. By the time I catch up, he’s gazing slack jawed at all the figurines that are still spread out on the kitchen table.
“More of these marvelous little figures,” he murmurs, picking them up one by one and sniffing them.
“I make them,” Gramps says proudly. “We sell our beeswax and honey at the local grocery store and gift shop.”
