October 23, Thursday
spirit loss liquid lost during barreling and aging, including through leaks and evaporation
THE AUTUMN air smelled minty clean as I drove toward Jett's farm, my van rattling slightly as I navigated the winding gravel road.
Golden leaves drifted from the oak trees that lined the drive, creating a carpet of amber and rust beneath my tires.
It was a perfect fall day—the kind that made Kentucky look like a postcard advertising rural paradise.
I pulled up to the farmhouse and immediately spotted the large white tent that had been erected in the meadow between the house and the distant hives.
Following my suggestion, Jett had rented not just the tent but round tables and chairs that were currently stacked under the covered porch, waiting to be arranged.
"Perfect timing," Jett called from the tent entrance, looking pleased but slightly overwhelmed by the scope of the project. He wore jeans and a navy flannel shirt, his sleeves already rolled up despite the morning chill. "I was starting to wonder if I'd bitten off more than I could chew."
"This is going to be amazing," I said, surveying the setup with growing excitement. The tent was positioned perfectly to take advantage of the farm's natural beauty while maintaining a safe distance from the active hives. "Your first sold-out event—you should be proud."
We spent the next hour moving tables and chairs into the tent, arranging them in a configuration that would encourage conversation while providing plenty of space for people to move around.
The physical work felt good, and I found myself enjoying the easy rhythm we'd developed—Jett carrying the heavier items while I focused on placement and spacing.
Once the furniture was arranged, we began setting up each table with the honeybee-themed tablecloths I'd helped him order online. The cheerful yellow fabric was printed with tiny bees and wildflowers, instantly transforming the plain rental tables into something festive and charming.
"These turned out perfect," Jett said as we smoothed the tablecloths into place. "You have a good eye for this kind of thing."
The honeybee-themed paper napkins completed the look, and then came the real artistry.
On each table, we arranged a wooden cutting board surrounded by small glass jars of honey in different varieties—wildflower, clover, orange blossom, and a limited-edition autumn blend that Jett had created specifically for the event.
Alongside the honey, we placed thick slices of fresh bread from a local bakery, rosemary crackers that would complement the honey's sweetness, an assortment of fresh fruit, and soft cheeses that Jett had sourced from a nearby dairy.
"The combination of flavors is going to be incredible," I said, stepping back to admire our handiwork. "People are going to taste honey in ways they never imagined."
For the finishing touch, I placed a mason jar of wildflowers on each table—a simple arrangement of goldenrod, purple asters, and the last of the season's black-eyed Susans Jett had gathered from the edges of his property. The flowers added a rustic elegance that tied the whole aesthetic together.
We stood at the tent's entrance, surveying the spread we'd created.
The autumn sunlight filtered through the white canvas, casting everything in a warm, golden glow.
The farm stretched out behind us—a lush backdrop of rolling meadows, distant hills painted in fall colors, and the orderly rows of white hive boxes that represented Jett's life's work.
"Thank you," Jett said quietly, his voice carrying genuine gratitude. "I never could have pulled this together without your help."
"You would've figured it out," I said, but I was touched by his appreciation.
There was something in the way he looked at me then—a warmth that seemed to have nothing to do with gratitude and everything to do with something deeper. The moment stretched between us, and I felt my heart begin to race.
Then the crunch of gravel announced the arrival of the first guests, and the spell was broken.
A rental car pulled up beside the farmhouse, and my stomach dropped as I recognized the figure emerging from the driver's seat.
"Surprise!" Naomi called out, waving as she approached the tent. She wore a burgundy sweater dress that hugged her slender curves, and tall boots. "I wouldn't miss your first event, Sweetie!"
Jett's face lit up with obvious pleasure. "I can't believe you came all the way back for this."
"Are you kidding? This is exactly the kind of authentic local experience my readers want to hear about." She kissed his mouth with the casual intimacy of someone who'd earned that privilege, then looked around the tent with obvious admiration. "This setup is gorgeous. Very rustic chic."
"Bernadette helped," Jett said, as if he'd just remembered I was there.
"Hello, Naomi," I managed, forcing a smile. "Great to see you again."
But even as I said the words, I was already stepping back, making space for her natural assumption of the hostess role beside Jett.
More cars were arriving—actual paying customers who had come to experience Jett's honey-tasting event—and I busied myself greeting them, checking names against the reservation list, and making myself useful in the way that kept me occupied and invisible.
As the event got underway and I watched Naomi seamlessly slide into position next to Jett, playing the role of co-host with the confidence of someone who belonged there, I felt the familiar ache of being on the outside looking in.
They moved together naturally, her hand occasionally touching his arm as she laughed at something he said, both of them glowing with the satisfaction of a successful venture.
I slipped away from the tent without saying goodbye, climbing into my van with the intention of driving back to the campground. But as I sat there with the engine running, a stray honeybee landed on my hand resting on the open window.
The bee moved slowly, made lazy by the cooler October weather. Its wings caught the afternoon light as it crawled across my knuckles, and for a moment, I was too fascinated to be afraid. Then it lifted its abdomen and stung me.
"Ouch!" I jerked my hand back, watching the bee fly away while the sharp pain spread across my skin.
I frowned, rubbing the growing welt. Message received. Even Jett's bees were telling me I didn't belong here.