2. Gideon
Chapter two
Gideon
The scent of melted beeswax and sweet sunflower honey fills my apiary’s workshop.
I scrape a block of raw, yellow wax down the side of the metal melting pot, the steady scrape of the blade is the only sound in the quiet room.
Outside the screened window, the steady hum of thousands of honeybees fades into the background.
After years of touring stadiums, dealing with aggressive paparazzi, crazy stalkers, and managing the chaotic lifestyle of my favorite rock band, Arcade Lake, this quiet routine is exactly what saved my sanity. I traded adrenaline for agriculture, and I haven’t regretted a damn thing.
Mostly.
I set the scraper down and wipe my hands on a heavy canvas apron.
My boots thud softly against the wooden floorboards as I walk into the small office adjoining the workshop.
I don’t mean to look at the desk. I tell myself I’m just checking my order logs for the week.
But my eyes gravitate to the top drawer anyway.
I pull it open. Resting right on top of my ledger is a square of rainbow paper. It’s a ridiculous, bright contrast to the dark wood and heavy leather of the office.
Five months.
Five months since Foggy Basin’s first Pride. Five months since a whirlwind of sunshine and bright laughter stumbled into my life. Where is Avery now? Has he thought of me at all?
I still remember the way he looked in that tiny crop top, dancing out in the open with all the partygoers from the Pride parade.
He was flushed, wide-eyed, and entirely too vibrant for a dusty farm town.
After I asked him out, we took our time chatting and just enjoying each other’s company.
He could have spent the whole evening talking about color theory and fabric swatches, and I would have just listened, completely mesmerized.
But then we went back to my place, and the memory of his soft skin and eager, breathless gasps still makes my blood run hot if I think about it for too long.
I pick up the bright stationery. On it, he’d drawn a tiny, lopsided bee, followed by his neat, loopy handwriting.
Dear Gideon,
You sweet, handsome man. What have you done to me? I’ve never written a note to anyone after a one-night stand. And yet, I’m sitting here looking at your handsome face, and I can’t leave without saying something.
Don’t hold the cheesy words in this letter against me, but last night was… magical.
I know! I told you it was going to be cheesy. But it’s also the truth. Thank you for such a wonderful evening. I hope our paths cross again someday.
With love,
Avery.
A sudden heat crawls up my neck, hot and entirely uncharacteristic.
I’m a thirty-eight-year-old ex-bodyguard.
I’ve taken bullets and stood down screaming crowds, yet a simple note from my one-night stand has me completely bashful.
Then again, he was the first man I’d ever been with.
Just because I knew I was bi, didn’t mean that I ever acted on it until that night.
“If you stare at that piece of paper any harder, you’re going to burn a hole through it.”
I don’t flinch. I just place the note onto my desk before turning around.
Olly Black is standing there with a smirk plastered across his handsome face, his dark hair falling perfectly into his eyes in that way that used to drive teenage fans crazy.
The retired rock star walks with a slow confident stride.
He’s casually dressed in a black tank top and a long pair of shorts.
Olly used to be a massive celebrity, but now he just looks like a guy who enjoys the quiet life.
“Don’t you have a wedding to plan?” I ask, my voice rough from disuse.
“It’s still a while out, and Ezra is doing the heavy lifting,” Olly says, leaning against the edge of my desk.
“Which brings me to my point. He just hired a new assistant at the boutique. Ezra’s throwing a collaborative launch party for the new line and wants to use your honey-infused waxes and balms.”
I nod and point toward the supply room. “Already packed the samples. You know where everything is.”
He grins, studying me for a moment. It’s so nice to see Olly relaxed.
He’s so different from the man I used to know when I was just his bodyguard.
If his twin brother were here, I’d probably have a hard time telling them apart.
They used to be such opposites, but Olly has really mellowed out since falling in love with Ezra.
As he makes his way out of the office, he calls out over his shoulder.
“I have a surprise for you, by the way. Someone is here to see you.”
“Hmm,” I hum absently, eyes catching on that damn stationery again. It only takes a minute or so before someone else knocks, and my eyes jerk up to spot Emery, my closest friend and lead singer of Arcade Lake, leaning against the doorframe with a wide grin. “Hey, you,” he greets.
I rush to his side and throw my arms around my friend. Unlike Olly, Emery isn’t retired. “Holy shit. I had no idea you were visiting. How was the tour?”
Emery chuckles, waving my words away. “Of course you didn’t know. It was supposed to be a surprise. We finished the last leg of the tour early.”
“That’s good. I’m happy you’re here.”
“What’s up?” Emery asks. “I walked in to see you staring at that rainbow piece of paper like it’s a ransom note.”
Blushing, I place the piece of paper back into its hiding spot and peer over at Emery with a shrug. Off in the distance, I can hear Olly moving boxes around in the storage room. “Wait, did Olly say that Ezra has a new assistant?”
Emery nods. “Some kid from Olivia Cove who used to work at Dee Rama Magazine.”
His words slam into me. My chest tightens, a strange, uninvited spark of intuition lighting up in my gut. Southern California. Fashion Magazine. Could it be? My heart races faster.
“What’s the assistant’s name?” I ask, trying to keep my tone level.
Emery shrugs, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his thigh. “Don’t know. Ezra just said he’s a breath of fresh air. We’re heading over to Beauty and the Boutique now to drop off some display crates. You should come. Get out of the beehive, big guy.”
I look back at the closed drawer. It’s a small town. The odds are slim, but there’s only one way to find out.
“Fine,” I grumble, unbuttoning the canvas apron and tossing it over the back of the chair. “Let’s go.”