5. Avery #2
“Oh, absolutely,” I agree, taking another step until I’m standing just a foot away from his muscular chest. I tilt my head up, looking into his dark eyes.
“But I didn’t fight him on it. I was actually really eager to see you, Gid.
I wanted to make sure you hadn’t gone back to being shy.
” Damn, I can’t even turn off the flirting if I tried.
Gideon’s jaw tightens slightly, his eyes darkening with that familiar, intense heat. He handles the bees with absolute gentleness, but the way he looks at me feels completely dangerous in the best way possible. He steps closer, his large frame blocking the sun from my face.
“I’m not shy when it’s just us,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, private rumble.
“Good,” I whisper, my heart doing a little dance. “Because I really like it when you’re not.”
Gideon clears his throat, his ears still a little pink as he gestures toward the open door behind him. “Come inside. It’s too hot out here. I’ll show you the wax pots.”
The inside of the workshop is warm, but not as bad as being in the sun.
Plus, it smells heavenly. The area is clean and organized, with stainless steel counters, heavy metal pots, and shelves lined with glass jars and blocks of refined wax.
A large fan is blowing in the corner, circulating the sweet, heavy air.
“This is where we filter the wax after the honey is spun out of the combs,” Gideon explains. His tone shifts into something professional but comfortable as he walks over to a large, heated stainless steel vat.
I follow him, watching as he lifts a heavy wooden ladle. Inside the pot is a thick, smooth liquid; the color of liquid gold.
“We heat it slowly to strain out any remaining impurities,” he continues, his large muscles flexing as he stirs the liquid wax.
“If it gets too hot, the wax scorches and loses its natural elasticity. For Ezra’s silk, you need it to be perfectly filtered so it doesn’t leave greasy residue on the fabric. ”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, stepping up right next to him to look into the pot. “The color is so rich. It’s exactly the tone I want for the accent stitching on the dresses.”
“It changes slightly depending on what the bees are eating.” He sets the ladle down and turns to face me, leaning his heavy hips against the metal counter. “The sunflower wax is a brighter yellow. The wildflower wax from earlier in the spring is darker, almost amber.”
“Show me.” I lean in close.
Gideon reaches for a finished block of refined wax sitting on the counter.
It is a solid, perfect rectangle, stamped with his family’s apiary logo.
He holds it out to me. "No beekeeper around here can guarantee a hundred percent purity, since bees like to stray. But this is about as close to perfection as you’re ever going to get. "
Our fingers brush as I take the block from his hands. A sharp jolt of excitement shoots up my arm. I hold the heavy wax, bringing it up to my nose to inhale the sweet sugary scent.
“Wow,” I breathe, looking up at him. “This is perfect, Gideon. Seriously. The quality is incredible. You do all of this yourself?”
“My mother and sister were in charge of this farm before I came back, and my cousins helped with the heavy lifting during harvest,” Gideon says, his dark eyes watching me intently as I handle the wax.
“But now that I’m here, I do the refining and the body salves myself.
I love collecting the wax. It requires patience. You can’t rush it.”
“Patience,” I tease. I set the heavy block of refined sunflower wax back onto the counter. The sweet, clean scent lingers on my fingertips. I turn to face Gideon, my eyes dark.
Gideon leans his hips against the metal counter, his thick arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes are fixed on me, completely attentive. He doesn't say much, but the quiet way he listens makes me feel like the only person in the room.
"Okay, so here is the plan," I say, my hands moving as I try to explain the textile concept.
"Scott Woods is coming from Dee Rama Magazine to critic the new line Ezra and I are creating together.
He expects us to show a typical, boring country clothing line.
But Ezra and I are going to give him high fashion with materials from this valley. And your bees are the secret weapon."
Gideon raises a thick black eyebrow. "The bees?"
"Well, the wax," I clarify, stepping a little closer to him.
"It's a real, historical method called a wax-resist technique. Usually, designers use melted wax to block out patterns before dyeing fabric. But I want to do something different for the Fall launch. We want to coat the hemlines and the main structural seams of our heavy silk pieces in your pure, refined beeswax. We’re combining several methods to make something unique. "
Gideon looks down at the golden block on the counter, then back at me. "Wax makes fabric stiff, Avery. Silk is supposed to be soft."
"Exactly," I say, my voice rising with excitement.
"That is the beauty of it. When the raw beeswax absorbs into the silk fibers, it alters how the fabric behaves.
It stiffens the edges without making them brittle.
It gives the silk an architectural, structural drape that you never see on a runway.
Plus, it adds a beautiful, subtle sheen to the borders and makes the hems water-resistant. "
A slow, appreciative nod comes from Gideon. He appreciates craftsmanship; I can see it in the way his serious expression softens. "It sounds precise. But how do you get it out when the garment is finished?"
"For the parts that need to stay soft, we use heat," I explain.
"We place the silk between sheets of absorbent paper and run a warm iron over it.
The paper absorbs the excess wax, leaving the silk completely safe and clean.
And the best part? It's totally sustainable. I’m going to collect all the wax shavings and the wax-soaked paper from the studio and bring them right back to you. "
Gideon blinks, his dark eyes softening even more. "Back to me?"
"Yes." I offer him a warm, playful smile. "You can remelt the shavings to make your candles, or use the wax-soaked sheets as eco-friendly wraps. Nothing goes to waste. It’s a complete circle between the studio and your apiary. A real partnership."
Gideon stands up straight, stepping away from the counter.
His massive frame towers over me, causing me to glance up.
Oh yeah, I totally have a size-difference kink.
He looks down at me, his chest expanding as he takes a deep breath.
A dark, intense blush starts creeping up his neck, coloring his tan skin a deep red.
Fuck. I can grow addicted to this man’s blushing.
"A partnership," he rumbles, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register that makes my skin tingle. "I like the sound of that, Avery."
"Yeah?" I whisper, my heart skipping a beat as the professional talk completely melts away into something heated.
"Yeah," Gideon says, his large hands twitching at his sides before he finally reaches out, his thick fingers lightly catching my waist. "You have a beautiful mind, Avery. And I have plenty of wax for you. I’ll do anything I can to help you."
“It’s going to require a lot of patience while we test things and learn.”
“I have a lot of that, too.”
I take a step closer to him, my eyes locking onto his bare, muscular arms. “Is that what you learned in the military? Patience?”
Gideon rubs the back of his neck, his thick fingers twisting in his wavy black hair.
“Let’s just say, I learned how to stay calm under pressure.
Still amongst the chaos. The bees are a lot like the crowds.
If you’re angry or nervous, they feel it.
They react to your energy. You have to be calm and completely steady when you move among them. ”
“Steady,” I repeat, reaching out. My hand looks so damn small as I flatten it against his massive chest. The muscle is rock-hard beneath my palm, burning hot to the touch. I caress him there, wanting more. “You feel pretty steady to me.”
My thumb grazes his nipple.
Gideon lets out a sharp, ragged breath. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his large hand comes up, his thick fingers gently wrapping around my wrist, holding my hand against his chest. His grip is firm, but so incredibly careful, as if he’s afraid he might break me.
“Avery,” he rumbles, his eyes searching mine. “You are testing me.”
“Maybe a little,” I admit, my voice dropping to a flirty whisper. I step into his space, my chest brushing against his green tank top. “Can you blame me? You’re incredibly handsome, Gid. And we lost five months. I feel like I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”