CHAPTER NINE
Wes had been thinking about Bee’s blue-flower video since he watched it again that morning. The mistake still made him smile. She had walked through the store with a bouquet and complete confidence that she had understood Grandma correctly.
The comments were no longer focused on the mistake. Strangers had started saying Bee had been gone too long. Some called her too city, while others claimed she thought she was better than everyone back home because she did not know what Blue Bird flour was.
Wes scrolled with a growing frown. A harmless misunderstanding had become proof of whatever people already wanted to believe about her.
His mother noticed him checking his phone while she folded laundry at the kitchen table. After his third quiet sigh, she set a shirt in her lap and looked across the room.
“What are they saying now?” his mother asked.
Wes turned the phone toward her. “They think she doesn’t know anything about home anymore.”
His mother read several comments before handing the phone back. “She’s been gone for a while. Of course she’s going to forget some things.”
“I know,” Wes replied.
His mother picked up the shirt again. “She probably really thought her grandmother said flowers.”
Wes smiled despite himself. “She did.”
His mother shook her head with a quiet laugh. “Then people need to leave her alone.”
Wes locked the screen. “They probably won’t.”
“That’s the internet,” his mother replied.
Wes slipped the phone into his pocket and leaned back in his chair. He had only been dealing with strangers online for a short time, yet they had already formed an entire version of him from a few videos.
They had seen him in the background of Bee’s vlog and decided he was mysterious. One nervous video had made him shy and sweet. Hearing that he was single had apparently permitted people to act as though they knew everything else about him.
Bee had lived with that attention for years. Wes understood now that being watched was not the same as being known.
His mother folded another shirt. “You feel sorry for her.”
Wes shrugged. “Maybe.”
“You could take her some flour,” his mother suggested.
Wes looked at her. “Why?”
“You’re going to the store anyway,” his mother replied.
“I am?” Wes asked.
His mother gave him a patient look. “You said you needed work gloves.”
Wes had mentioned the gloves that morning and forgotten about them almost immediately. His mother had remembered, especially once the errand gave her an excuse to suggest the flour.
“You just want me to take it to Bee,” Wes said.
His mother smoothed the shirt across her lap. “I didn’t say that.”
“You’re thinking about it,” Wes replied.
“I think about many things,” his mother said.
Wes stood and reached for his keys. “You’re nosy.”
His mother started folding the next shirt. “I’m your mother. I’m allowed.”
Wes slipped the keys into his pocket. “I’ll get the flour.”
His mother smiled. “Good.”
The store was busy when Wes arrived. He found the work gloves first, then worked through the rest of his mother’s list. He checked it twice because forgetting one item usually meant hearing about it for the rest of the evening.
Wes slowed when he reached the baking aisle. Several familiar Blue Bird bags sat together on one of the shelves.
He picked one up and turned it over in his hands. The same bag had been in his mother’s kitchen countless times, but he had never thought about how strange the name might sound to someone who had forgotten it.
Bee’s confidence with the bouquet returned to him. Wes smiled and placed the flour in his cart.
After checking out, Wes loaded everything except the flour into his truck. He stood beside the passenger door with the bag in one hand and pulled out his phone with the other.
Talking to a camera still felt strange, though he had become better at ignoring that feeling. He held the Blue Bird label toward the screen and started recording.
“For anybody who doesn’t know what people mean when they say Blue Bird, this is it,” Wes explained. “It’s flour. If somebody sends you to the store for Blue Bird, this is what they mean. Don’t come home with blue flowers like somebody I know.”
Wes watched the recording once. He considered removing the last sentence, but the teasing felt harmless compared with the comments people had left beneath Bee’s video.
He posted it and put the flour on the passenger seat. His phone started vibrating before he had closed the door.
The views climbed while Wes stood beside the truck. Some people thanked him for explaining the name. Others laughed because they knew exactly who had brought home the flowers.
Several comments asked whether he actually knew Bee. Wes ignored them. He did not want to turn her mistake into another reason for strangers to demand pieces of her life.
The bag of flour waited on the passenger seat when he climbed into the truck. Wes looked at it for a moment. Then he started the engine and drove to Bee's Grandma’s house.
He parked in the familiar driveway and picked up the flour. Wes crossed the yard, climbed the porch steps, and knocked.
Bee opened the door after his first knock. Her eyes moved from his face to the bag in his hands.
“Is that Blue Bird?” Bee asked.
“Yeah,” Wes replied.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Did you bring me flour?”
Wes shifted the bag into his other hand. “I was already at the store.”
Bee gave him a skeptical look. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Wes glanced at the flour. “I saw the comments on your video.”
Some of the amusement left her face. “Yeah. Those.”
“They were being harsh,” Wes said.
Bee leaned against the doorframe. “They were being horrible.”
Wes nodded because she was right. The bag suddenly felt like a strange peace offering, but it was already in his hands.
Bee studied his expression. “Did you make a video?”
Wes hesitated. “Yeah.”
“About the flour?” Bee asked.
“About what Blue Bird is,” Wes explained.
Bee narrowed her eyes slightly. “Did you mention me?”
Wes shifted his weight. “Kind of.”
Her eyebrows lifted again. “Kind of?”
“I said somebody I know accidentally brought home flowers,” Wes admitted.
Bee closed her eyes and took a slow breath. “Oh my God.”
“It wasn’t bad,” Wes assured her.
Bee opened her eyes. “People already think I’m ridiculous.”
“They don’t,” Wes said.
“They do,” Bee insisted.
Wes held the flour against his side. “They think the mistake was funny.”
Bee looked away from him. “They think I’m stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Wes replied.
Her shoulders lowered as she leaned more heavily against the frame. “You didn’t read all the comments.”
“I read enough,” Wes said.
Bee looked at him again. The tiredness in her expression showed how deeply the comments had settled, even though she kept trying to laugh at the mistake.
Wes lifted the bag slightly. “I brought this.”
Bee looked down at the flour. “You really brought it to me.”
“Grandma asked for Blue Bird,” Wes replied.
Bee’s mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “I was going to get it.”
“Now you don’t have to,” Wes said.
Bee shifted her attention back to him. “You could’ve just texted me.”
“I know,” Wes admitted.
“Instead, you drove over here with flour,” Bee said.
Wes looked at the bag. “It seemed more useful.”
Bee reached for it, and her fingers brushed his as he handed it over. She held the flour against her hip and smiled.
“Thank you,” Bee said.
“You’re welcome,” Wes replied.
Bee studied him for another moment. “You’re nice.”
Wes looked down at the porch. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Bee insisted.
He shook his head but did not argue again. Bee stepped back and opened the door wider.
“Do you want to come in?” Bee asked.
“If you want me to,” Wes replied.
Bee smiled. “I do.”
Wes followed her into the kitchen. Grandma noticed the flour in Bee’s arms as soon as they entered.
“You got my flour,” Grandma said.
Bee placed it on the counter. “Wes got your flour.”
Grandma looked at him and nodded once. “Good.”
Bee glanced at Wes. “At least you explained Blue Bird without making me sound completely stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Wes replied.
Bee’s smile softened. Grandma put the flour away and kept her attention on the pantry. She did not interrupt while Bee and Wes talked.
Wes stayed until the conversation slowed on its own. He thanked Grandma before picking up his keys, and Bee followed him onto the porch.
The evening air had cooled while he was inside. Bee held the door open behind her and looked toward his truck.
“Thanks again,” Bee said.
“You’re welcome,” Wes replied.
Bee glanced at him. “Thanks for the video too, even if you told everyone about my flowers.”
Wes smiled. “I didn’t use your name.”
“You didn’t need to,” Bee pointed out.
“That’s probably true,” Wes admitted.
Bee looked down at the porch before meeting his eyes again. Wes could still see the doubt the comments had left behind.
“You’re not stupid,” Wes repeated.
Bee’s expression softened. “I know. I just forget sometimes when enough strangers tell me I am.”
Wes understood more of that feeling than he would have a week earlier. “Then stop listening to strangers.”
Bee gave him a look. “You make that sound very easy.”
“It probably isn’t,” Wes admitted.
Bee laughed softly. “At least you’re honest.”
Wes smiled and headed toward his truck. When he glanced back before getting inside, Bee was still on the porch smiling at him.
His mother was in the kitchen when he arrived home. She looked up as Wes carried the grocery bags inside and noticed his smile before he could hide it.
She waited until he had put most of the groceries away, then looked at the empty space on the counter. Wes kept his attention on the refrigerator.
“Where’s the flour?” his mother asked.
Wes opened the refrigerator. “I gave it to her.”
His mother smiled. “Of course you did.”
“Grandma needed it,” Wes replied.
His mother leaned against the counter. “Did Bee like the flour?”
“Grandma did,” Wes said.
“That isn’t who I meant,” his mother replied.
Wes reached for the last grocery bag. “You’re being nosy.”
His mother picked up the empty bags. “I know."
Wes laughed and helped her finish putting everything away. He did not tell her about the smile Bee had given him on the porch. His mother looked pleased enough to have guessed.
Later that night, Wes’s phone buzzed with a message from Bee. He opened it and smiled before he had finished reading.
Bee: Thank you for saving me from buying another bouquet.
Wes typed a response, erased it, and tried again. Anything longer felt like he was trying too hard, so he kept the answer simple.
Wes: No problem.