Chapter 18 #2
The next one, unhelpfully, was very similar.
It, too, was smooth and floral, and whilst this one had more of an aftertaste, it was hard to tell the difference in the tasting notes between it and the one before.
I thought about the meads I hadn’t guessed yet, and there were two that I was pretty sure used similar-tasting honeys, even though the meads themselves were quite different.
They were also the ones Jen and Teddy had gotten mixed up.
Just to make sure, I went ahead and tried the last sample, and immediately I knew I was right about which two were left. This last honey was intense and almost smoky, and I knew that, if I looked at it, I’d see a dark amber colour in the jar.
“This last one is definitely the Golden Dragon,” I said confidently. But then I was left with the other two yet again, and I still had no idea which was which.
I went through the process of elimination in my mind.
One of them, I knew, would be the acacia honey, used for the Nos Da mead.
The finished product had an almost chamomile taste to it, though I wasn’t getting that specifically from either honey.
The other would be the wildflower honey, used for the original honey mead – or Gwenynen Gold, as it said on the label.
That one had slightly different floral notes in the final mead; differences I knew I’d be able to get instantly if I could just have a drink. But that wasn’t the game.
I deliberated for a long moment that I knew I would have to edit out of the video.
I thought about asking for more samples of each, but that wasn’t the game, either, so I had to make a decision.
In the end, it was that hint of vanilla that I leaned into, hoping I was right that it brought out those chamomile notes.
“I think the third one is the Nos Da, and the fourth is the Gwenynen Gold,” I said, as confidently as I could manage.
Jen and Maggie both burst out in clapping and cheers. I pulled the blindfold off in surprise and checked the jars for myself, almost giddy with excitement when I realised I’d been right.
I looked up at Teddy, expecting her to be annoyed that I’d bested her, but instead she looked … impressed, maybe? She was smiling, at least, her chin bobbing as she nodded her approval. I smiled back at her, then remembered I was still recording and ran over to stop the video.
By the time I’d made sure it saved to my camera roll and turned around, Teddy was already wandering off again, and I thought about calling her back. But I didn’t actually need anything from her, nor did I have anything to say. I just wanted to share the moment with her.
* * *
Teddy surprised me after lunch by suggesting we have a little beekeeping lesson for some content.
We’d recorded one a few weeks ago, but the audio had been bad, and I’d requested that we reshoot it.
So she suited me up in a spare bee suit, adjusting the veil with careful precision.
Just like with the blindfold, her hands were gentle but efficient as she checked the fit, making sure no gaps would allow bees inside.
She wore only a veil herself, as she often did, tucked into the neck of her T-shirt.
“The most important thing is to move slowly and deliberately,” she said as we approached one of the hive boxes in the flower garden, near the lavender.
I’d told her off enough times that she remembered to say it directly into the camera, which was attached to the end of a small gimbal in my hand.
“Bees respond to alarm pheromones, so if you’re tense or afraid, they’ll sense it. ”
“So, no chaos,” I said. “Got it.”
She opened the hive with practised ease, the smoke she released calming the bees as she lifted the top cover. “This is a healthy colony,” she said, pointing to the organised patterns of comb. “See how they’ve built it out? The way they’re moving together?”
I watched through my phone screen – mesmerised, despite having heard this lecture multiple times before – as she lifted a frame heavy with honey and developing brood.
Her passion was intense, almost to the point of being overwhelming – the way she explained how each bee had a role, how the pollination process was essential for regenerative agriculture, and how the hive was a perfect example of sustainable community.
“Here,” she said, offering me the frame. “Feel the weight of it.”
I set the gimbal down on the stone wall to keep recording. Our hands brushed through my gloves as she passed me the frame, and I felt that now-too-familiar electric shock run up my arm. Teddy must have felt it, too, because she jerked back ever-so-slightly.
“Watch it,” she said, her voice gruffer than necessary. “Don’t scare them.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I snapped back, my own voice sharp and defensive.
But I’d seen the way her breath had caught. The way her eyes had lingered on our joined hands for just a moment longer than necessary. She felt it, too, whatever this was. It wasn’t just me.
* * *
Once we were done with the lesson, I tucked myself into my favourite tree and ate my sandwich du jour from Phil – pesto, tomato, and mozzarella – this time with ketchup-flavoured crisps stuffed in it.
Phil had cottoned on to my crisp sandwich habit and had started curating flavours for me that best paired together.
As I finished eating, I pulled out my phone to check the notifications from our Wench, Please group chat, which had been going crazy whilst I’d been filming at the hive.
JACK
Whose idea was it to camp this soon after a huge rainstorm?
MORGAN
As the person sitting three feet to your left, I think it’s safe to say it was one of the two of us. And it definitely wasn’t me.
PHIL
Three whole feet? Trouble in paradise?
MORGAN
It’s so humid out here. Jack’s just ditched me to go swimming for the third time today.
I laughed as I tapped out a reply.
CHLOE
It’s been hot here too … for lots of different reasons.
I had three responses within ten seconds:
FATIMA
Is that so?
AMY
Do tell…
MORGAN
Still????
I realised we were all online at the same time, so I hopped over to the girls’ chat we had.
CHLOE
Okay, I could really use another perspective actually, or 3, so if you’re free pls help
I started a video call, then waited as, one by one, the three of them joined, breaking the screen into four quadrants.
We were all outside; Amy was in Ethel’s back garden (now her back garden, too, I supposed), Fatima seemed to be walking along the river in the town centre, and Morgan was at hers and Jack’s favourite camping spot by a local reservoir – not far from Gwenynen, actually.
“What’s the emergency?” Fatima asked.
“No emergency,” I said, “I just feel like I’m getting so many mixed signals from her. And, honestly, I’m probably giving them, too.”
“Break it down for me,” Amy said, nodding along as I spoke. “What happened?”
I told them about everything that had happened over the last couple of weeks.
I told them about the blindfold, and the frame of honeycomb, and the cold reception in the greenhouse.
I detailed the way I’d tried to get her to stay at the cheese festival with me and she’d said no, despite what had happened with the hair-braiding.
I recounted the day of the storm – the change of clothes, the tea incident (which earned a squeal from Amy and a jaw drop from Fatima), the hair tuck (which broke Morgan, too), and the conversation we’d had at my house.
I didn’t mention the post-tarot moment at Fatima’s, but Amy remembered, and she threw that into the conversation for good measure.
“Classic enemies-to-lovers vibes,” Morgan said sagely. “She’s clearly into you but fighting it for some reason.”
I rolled my eyes. “She’s not some shadow daddy from one of your books, Morgan.”
“Sounds like Chloe’s the one fighting it,” Fatima said, ignoring me.
“I’d pull a card,” Amy said, “but I don’t have a deck to hand. And besides, I feel like I already know what it would say. The universe is practically screaming at you.”
“The universe can scream all it wants,” I said. “One of us keeps pulling away every time we have a moment.”
“So, stop,” Morgan said firmly, as if it were that easy. “You’re tenacious about everything else. Why not this?”
“What if she really does just want to be friends?” I asked. “What if I’m reading signals that aren’t there? Or that she doesn’t mean to be giving out?”
“Then you’ll find that out,” Fatima said. “But right now, you’re stuck in this weird limbo where neither of you is being honest about what you feel.”
After we hung up – no closer to an answer than when we started, but at least I’d gotten to vent about it to someone other than my journal – I sat back against the tree, thinking about what they’d said.
Morgan was right; I was tenacious. I was passionate – about this job, about the farm, about all of it.
And maybe that was why things with Teddy felt so messy.
Because it was clear there was something between us, but maybe my success and hers were mutually exclusive.
If I got the job permanently, would that keep her from being able to stay at Gwenynen like she so clearly wanted?
And would I have to be sacrificed to give her that?
Would going there with Teddy condemn me to disappointment, or would it condemn her?
Or, maybe, like the tarot cards had suggested, I was overthinking the hell out of all of this, and I should just let it burn.
Maybe it was time to start being direct.
Not just with Teddy, but with Jen, too. Because, if Teddy and I were really in competition with one another somehow, I needed to know.
Otherwise, I’d stay stuck in this weird limbo, as Fatima had put it, jumping every time that electric shock passed between us.
And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could take it.
* * *
The universe clearly decided I didn’t feel enough urgency on the matter, because the tension refused to let up.
Just before I left for the day, I was helping load up the van for the artisan market we were attending over the weekend.
I grabbed a crate of mead and headed for the van, climbing in to arrange everything properly.
I was just sitting on the edge to climb back out when Teddy appeared at the doors.
We ended up face-to-face, our bodies inches apart, my legs on either side of hers, her hands braced above me on either side of the van opening.
For a moment, neither of us moved. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, could count the individual freckles on the part of her stomach visible where her T-shirt rode up, could see the way her pupils dilated as she looked at me.
We were like magnets, the air between us so charged it was almost painful, and she was bracing herself so we wouldn’t collide with cataclysmic force.
All I would have to do was lean forward slightly, and our lips would meet. I could imagine her nudging my legs further open with her knee, me pulling her forward on top of me in the van, tangling my hands in her hair, bracing myself against the crates as I arched into her…
Jesus, I needed to get laid.
Teddy seemed to realise how close we were and pulled back abruptly, practically stumbling away from the van.
“That’s everything, I think,” she said, backing up, her voice carefully neutral. “We should be set for this weekend.”
“Teddy, wait,” I said, unable to let her just walk away again, and she hesitated for a moment. “What’s happening?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, the edge a desperate whine.
I could see the panic in her eyes when I asked that – when I finally put the question out there between us.
I was acknowledging the thing we’d apparently had an unspoken pact not to acknowledge.
I’d said next to nothing, really – I hadn’t asked her, “Do you want to fuck me as badly as I want to fuck you?” like my body was screaming for me to do.
But based on the look of terror on her face, I might as well have.
She didn’t answer me. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times like she might, and I leaned forward slightly in anticipation, but she bailed each time it seemed like an answer might come.
Instead, she just sighed, shook her head slightly, and turned away from me, practically sprinting back to the warehouse.
I exhaled what felt like every ounce of air inside me and climbed out of the van. The girls were right; I couldn’t keep doing this. I didn’t want to. I needed to know one way or the other, once and for all.