Chapter 14
“And all the bees in the colony are female, except for the drones, but their only job is to fly around and look for queens to mate with.” Winter plucked a stem off another green bean, depositing each part in its appropriate bowl as they sat on the steps of Mal’s parents’ porch.
“And they mate in the air, while they’re flying, and they leave this piece of themselves in the queen, it’s called the…
the phallus or something. And it kind of rips off them and they actually die—”
Across the porch, Quinn coughed into her hand. “Phallus is a hilarious word.”
“You should watch the video, Dad,” Winter continued. “It’s so cool.”
“I will, buddy, I will.”
Since his beekeeping lesson, Winter was living on a steady diet of YouTube videos about honeybees, all of which he’d been describing to Zander in excruciating detail. Zander was thrilled to see his kid excited to talk to him about something, even bee phalluses.
The problem was that talking about bees meant thinking about Penny. And thinking about Penny was… complicated.
As soon as she’d gone up on her toes last night, the control he’d barely grasped all night broke its leash, and he gave in to his urge to kiss her.
It was supposed to be a quiet kiss—just a soft brush of lips to satiate his curiosity and close the taunting loop in his head that yearned to touch her. And after he’d gotten that, after feeling the plush softness of her mouth against his, he was going to walk away.
He’d really meant to walk away.
But then his hands were on her and Penny’s back was against the door and she—fuck, he’d never forget it—she was practically riding his thigh as her fingers scraped along his neck and through his hair.
He’d come to Sullivan’s Glen hesitant, but knowing just what to expect: a summer of packing up some bad memories and throwing others away completely. He’d sell the house—something he’d never asked for, never wanted—and get this whole town out of his life once and for all.
But Zander hadn’t counted on his beekeeping neighbor to fog up his brain and wake up his body.
Mal popped her head out of the door. Her face was devoid of her usually shimmering makeup, but her space buns endured. “Hey, Winter, are those beans done? Pops needs some help with the mac ’n’ cheese.”
Winter groaned. “But we were talking about—”
She held up a hand. “Let me guess. Bee sex. I’m sure Dad and Quinn have heard enough. Come in and help please.”
He sighed but carried the beans inside. After he’d slid past Mallory, she nudged Zander’s shoulder with her knee. “Thanks for blessing us with your presence, Z.”
Zander had thus far declined the multiple offers to have dinner at Candace and Isaiah’s house since they’d all arrived in town.
This was the place where he’d once slept in the bushes under Mallory’s window because he’d rather be near her than in his sad room down the hall from his papou.
The house where he’d pulled up in his old beater Toyota—the car he’d saved for a year to buy—to help Mallory skip town, blowing up her relationship with her parents for years.
And who was he to the Robinsons besides that kid? Not a son-in-law, just their daughter’s ex. The father of the grandchild they were still getting to know.
So yeah, he’d always found something else to do when Mallory said he should come over for dinner. Which was fairly shitty of him.
“Sorry it took me all week to come over.”
Mallory mussed his hair. “I get it. I’m just glad you’re here now.” She crossed to Quinn and bent to drop a kiss on her mouth. “Come inside soon, babe.”
Quinn beamed up at her. “Will do, babe.”
Zander groaned dramatically. “Enough of being unbearably cute. I’m trying to brood out here.”
Mallory headed back inside. “I’ve had enough of your brooding to last a lifetime, so I’ll leave that to Quinn. And babe”—she lowered her voice to a fake whisper toward Quinn—“ask him about Penny.”
Zander dropped his head into his hands as the door closed behind Mallory. “Please don’t.”
Quinn slid down the porch to sit beside him.
“You know I have to,” she said. “You’re being very mysterious. What’s going on?”
“I’m not mysterious.”
“Zander. Every time I try to engage, you give me one-word answers. It’s like communicating with a fucking caveman. You think I don’t know what that means?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“It means you’re spiraling and afraid to talk about it because saying things out loud makes them real.”
Zander ran his hands through his hair. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“You just hate it when I’m right.”
“I’m not—” Zander shook his head.
At this point, he knew Quinn well enough to predict their conversations.
Sometimes if he needed advice, he just asked the Quinn in his mind and took their pretend conversation to its natural conclusion.
Which meant he already knew that, now, if he said anything about Penny, the conversation would end with Quinn telling Zander that he’d been a lonely grump for long enough and he should shoot his shot, even if it was just for a summer fling.
The problem was, Penny Becker was more than summer fling material. At least for Zander. And he couldn’t square that fact with the reality that he was desperate to see her again.
So he told Quinn the truth.
“I’m not ready to talk about it.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed at him, but she nodded. “Fair enough. But you’re not totally off the hook. If you won’t talk about Penny, we will talk about the house.”
“The house is fine. Yes, I’m a little bit shitty at home repairs, but I’m figuring it out. A real estate agent is coming tomorrow to get the listing started.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “And?”
“And… what? Winter’s room is almost done.”
Her knee hit his. “And?”
“For the love of god, Quinn,” Zander said, wondering why he’d chosen a best friend who was so annoying. “Just say what you’re thinking.”
She pulled her legs under her as she faced him. “When are you going back in his room?”
Zander stared between his knees. “Maybe we should talk about Penny.”
“Too late for that, my dear. When we got here you told me you moved all his stuff into his bedroom. You haven’t gone back in?”
“No, Quinn. I haven’t gone back in. I’ve been busy.”
“Busy avoiding,” she quipped.
“You think I don’t have more important things to do than sort through my grandfather’s crap? I’ll tell you what’s in there—ratty furniture, clothes he would never throw away, and seventy-five years’ worth of newspaper clippings.”
Papou used to spend every morning at the wobbly round kitchen table, snipping articles out of the paper.
Sometimes he’d wave one in Zander’s face, telling him about some terrible crime two counties over, or the price of soybeans.
His tone always implied that it was somehow Zander’s fault, that if Zander would just shape up like everyone wanted, he could solve the world’s problems.
“I should probably just have someone come in and put everything in that room in trash bags,” he said. “Would save me some time.”
Quinn groaned into her hands. “You are such a shit. What happened to your old song and dance about looking our demons square in the face and determining our own course in life? When you came with me to get my first hormones and I almost chickened out, you told me I’d be a fucking coward if I let the people who raised me define who I was. ”
“I said it in a loving way.”
“I know you did, you jerk. And I’m saying this in a loving way. You’re being a fucking coward.” Her hand covered his knee softly, carrying the love and tenderness beneath her tough words. “You have unfinished business here. And it’s not just selling the house.”
“He’s dead,” Zander said flatly. “I missed my chance to finish any business with him.”
Maybe he could have, if he’d come back in time.
His mom had told him that his papou was sick.
But she hadn’t talked to her father in years and wasn’t planning to visit.
And if she wasn’t going back, Zander had told himself, he didn’t have to either, right?
He and Papou didn’t have a relationship; the old man wasn’t awaiting the return of his prodigal, no-good grandson.
Quinn looked like she’d like to truly kick his ass, but before the argument could continue, he was saved by the front door opening again.
“You two aren’t hiding out here, are you?
” Candace peered at them from the doorway.
She had Mallory’s dark skin but looked her daughter’s opposite in almost every other way.
She was short and soft, her hair dusted with gray, cut close to her head.
Even now, three weeks after a hip replacement, she was in slacks and a fancy blouse with a string of pearls.
“Um, no, ma’am, no hiding.” Quinn stood quickly and wiped her hands down her jeans.
Ma’am? This was a new side of Quinn. It was cute to see how desperate she was for the Robinsons’ approval. He’d make fun of her for it later.
“Quinn, again, please call me Candace.”
“Yes, of course, Candace.” Quinn nodded. “I think Mallory needs me in there, so I better, uh—”
Quinn slipped back inside as Candace lowered herself onto the porch swing behind him.
Zander rose. “Do you need some help?”
She shot him a look that could stop a bull in its tracks. “The next person who offers to help me will be sent to the next county. But come sit with me for a minute. We haven’t had any time to catch up. Since you haven’t been coming over.”
Zander swallowed hard as he took a seat. Now he was tempted to call her ma’am, too.
Though now retired, Candace had been a doctor at the closest hospital, where she’d often worked nights. Her husband, Isaiah, was also a doctor—they’d met in medical school in New York City and moved upstate for a peaceful life for their daughter.