6. Gideon
Chapter six
Gideon
The farmer’s market is even busier than usual.
Main Street is blocked off with plastic orange cones, the asphalt lined with white pop-up tents, local food trucks, and a small stage where Olly is strumming his guitar.
More than half the town is here. I stand behind the wooden counter of the Honey Meets Pandesal booth, arranging jars of our golden sunflower honey and stacking rows of handmade soaps.
My mother and sister are next to me, chatting as they work.
Eventually, they wander off together to buy supplies for the farm, leaving me to man the booth on my own.
My hands move automatically, but my mind is stuck in the workshop from three days ago.
I can still feel the exact weight of Avery’s body pressed against mine, and the taste of his lips. It was a perfect, intoxicating moment, but the second he drove away in his old truck, the reality check set in.
I glance across the narrow walkway toward the Beauty and the Boutique booth.
Avery is there, a bright splash of energy in a short-sleeve graphic tee with a bold floral print.
He’s laughing, the silver glint of the rings on his fingers catching the sunlight as he helps Ezra arrange a rack of silk wrap tops.
He looks like a damn super model. God, he’s too beautiful.
What the hell does he see in an old washed up introvert like me?
He’s twenty-six. I remind myself, my chest tightening as I grip a heavy glass jar. He just left Olivia Cove. He has big dreams, so much talent, and a massive career ahead of him.
And me? I’m thirty-eight. I spent my twenties looking for snipers in desert terrain and pulling screaming fans off of celebrities like Emery and Olly.
Hell, we even had a situation a while back with a dangerous stalker.
My soul is tired. I came back to this town to bury myself in the quiet, predictable routine of insects and dirt because it is the only thing that keeps the noise in my head silent.
What happens when the novelty of a quiet farm town wears off and he realizes a stoic, scarred ex-bodyguard who barely speaks three sentences at a time isn't enough to keep him entertained?
"You're doing it again," a lazy voice says.
I drop the jar of honey back onto the table with a soft thud. Emery is leaning against my display pole, a paper cup of iced tea in his hand, a silver hoop glinting in his ear. He is watching me with a sharp, knowing look.
"Doing what?" I rumble, pulling my canvas apron tight.
"Pining," Emery says, taking a sip. "You look like a giant gargoyle watching a puppy. Just go talk to him. He’s been looking over here every five minutes."
"He’s working," I say shortly. "So am I."
"Sure you are, big guy." Emery chuckles, tapping my shoulder as he walks away. "Just don't wait too long. Someone else might buy him one of those tasty pastries from Don’t Go Bakin’ My Heart. God, I love that bakery."
I grunt, turning back to my display, but my eyes gravitate right back across the aisle.
Kennedy, Avery’s chaotic best friend, is currently hovering by the edge of the Beauty and the Boutique tent.
He catches me looking, gives me an exaggerated wave, and then violently nudges Avery in the ribs, pointing directly at me.
Avery’s head snaps up. His face instantly lights up with a brilliant, sunshiny smile. He says something to Ezra, dusts his hands off on his jeans, and immediately struts across the hot asphalt straight toward my booth.
My heart does a heavy, irregular thud against my ribs. I wipe my palms on my apron, my throat suddenly going dry.
"Hey, Honey Bear," Avery beams, leaning his elbows right on my counter. His graphic tee dips low, revealing his smooth, tan collarbone. "You look very serious over here. Are the bees okay?"
I get the impression he wanted to say something else, but I let it pass.
"The bees are fine," I say, my voice a low, gravelly rasp. I try to keep my face completely stoic, but Avery has this way of causing my body to react whenever he’s nearby. "How is the boutique booth?"
"Ezra is a perfectionist, so we’ve rearranged the silk rack four times. Four freaking times." Avery sighs dramatically, though his brown eyes are dancing with mischief. "I needed an escape. What do you have for me today, Gid? Any new treats?"
I look down at the display, trying to find my grounding. I reach behind the counter and pull out a small glass jar with a handwritten label. It is a deep, rich amber color—the official first yield of our new experimental batch.
"Blueberry blossom," I explain, unscrewing the lid. I pick up a clean wooden honey dipper, swirling the thick, slow-moving liquid around the ridges. "I brought a jar from my cousin's farm to test the market."
"Ooh, let me see," Avery says, leaning closer.
He doesn't reach for the dipper. Instead, he just tilts his head up, his eyes locking onto mine, his lips parting slightly in an open invitation.
My breath hitches. We are out in the open, in the middle of Main Street, with half the town walking past us.
My bodyguard instincts scream at me to keep my distance, to maintain a professional wall so nobody starts gossiping about the new fashionista and the quiet farmer.
But looking at Avery’s bright, expectant face, my restraint crumbles.
I lift the wooden dipper, my fingers steady despite the sudden rush of adrenaline. I bring it to his lips, carefully letting a single, heavy drop of golden-purple honey fall onto his tongue.
Avery closes his eyes, a soft, appreciative hum escaping his throat. He licks his lips, his tongue catching a stray drop of sweetness at the corner of his mouth. The gesture is innocent, but it makes my cock jump.
"Wow," Avery whispers, opening his pretty brown eyes. "Gideon, that’s incredible. It’s so sweet, but it has this sharp, fruity bite at the very end. It tastes exactly like a fresh berry orchard."
"It has a high sugar content," I explain, my voice rougher than usual as I set the dipper down.
"I wonder how this wax compares to your sunflower honey for the silk treatment. It would probably hold the structured shape nicely."
"Always thinking about the work," I say, wanting to lean in and kiss the honey from his lips. I shake my head and take a step back.
“Oh, don’t worry. I work hard and play hard,” Avery teases softly, his voice dropping so the passing tourists can't hear. He reaches across the counter, his small, soft fingers brushing lightly against my forearm. "Are you avoiding me, Gid? We exchanged numbers, and yet, you haven't texted me."
The touch is light, but it anchors me right to the spot. I look down at his hand against my dark skin.
"I’m not avoiding you, Avery," I say honestly, my dark eyes meeting his. "I’m just... giving you space. I need to give you space. You just moved here. You have a new job, a new life. I don’t want you thinking I’m stalking you."
Avery’s smile fades a little, replaced by a softer, more serious expression. He looks at me for a long moment, his thumb tracing a tiny circle on my skin.
"Just for the record, I don't mind being stalked by you, Gid," he says quietly. "In fact, I was kind of hoping you'd go to a barbeque with me later tonight. Ezra and Olly invited me."
My chest aches with a strange, heavy mixture of desire and fear.
He is so young, so sure of what he wants in this exact moment.
But I know how fast the world can change.
I know how easy it is for a bright light to burn out in a dark, quiet place.
I hate that my insecurities seem to win.
Would it be so bad if I gave in for a while?
Maybe spoil the young man while I’m still in his sights.
Because damn, I’d do anything to make him smile.
I hold up a finger. “Pause that thought. I have something for you.” I rummage around under my makeshift counter and pull out a small gift basket I prepared. Fuck. I don’t usually do things like this…no. That’s a lie. I did something similar at the Pride parade.
But I didn’t know him back then. Not the way we know each other today. Each item in this basket has a purpose. Everything was made with the kindness of my heart, with Avery in mind. “Open it when you get home,” I say, handing it to him.
He peers inside quickly and gasps. “This is so thoughtful, Gideon—I”
"The barbeque starts at eight," I rumble, my fingers twitching against my apron. "I'll find you then?"
"It's a date," Avery whispers, giving my arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back. He flashes me one last, sunshiny smile that completely blinds me, then turns and jogs back across the street toward Ezra.
I watch him go.
He’s completely out of my league. My brain tries to warn me in that annoying way. I need to shut it up. I need advice. Pulling out my phone, I tap on the Arcade Group Chat, happy that they decided to include me.
(Group Chat: Arcade Lake + The Bee Guy)
Gideon: Thanks for inviting me into the chat, guys.
Gideon: I can use some advice.
Dallas: Oh look! The infamous bodyguard graces us with his presence. About fucking time.
Emery: Are you going to finally bring up the fact that you’ve been pining for Ezra’s new assistant?
Olly: I WAS WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO brING IT UP.
Zayden: Wait, wait, wait. Our Gideon has a crush on someone?
Emery: You should have seen it.
Emery: Bro was standing there at his booth like he was ready to stab anyone who spoke to the pretty man.
Gideon: Was not. And he’s a business partner.
Emery: A business partner. Right. That’s why you’ve been staring at him from across the farmer’s market like an adorable puppy waiting for a treat.
Zayden: who is he anyway?
Gideon: His name is Avery. He’s Ezra’s new design partner from Olivia Cove.
Dallas: No shit?
Emery: HE IS SO PRETTY, GUYS. He looks like he belongs in one of those expensive cologne ads.
Dallas: What’s he doing in Foggy Basin??
Gideon: That’s my point. He’s a fashion designer. He belongs under runway lights, not with an old bee farmer.
Dallas: …did you just call yourself an old bee farmer?
Beckett: bro is having a midlife crisis at 38. Get with the times, dude. 40’s are the new 30’s.
Gideon: I’m serious. He’s twenty-six. He’s got his whole career ahead of him, huge dreams. He’s temporary. There’s no way a fashion designer will stay here in Foggy. Plus, I’m twelve years older than him. There’s nothing glamorous about me. He’s out of my league.
Emery: Shut the hell up.
Zayden: Gid, respectfully, stop it right now. You’re literally hot as fuck. You own a thriving business, you’re the most loyal, protective guy we know, AND you make your own honey.
Olly: You’re a massive catch.
Emery: Facts. Stop overthinking it, Gid. Age gap or not, I saw the way he looked at you. He wasn’t looking at some “old-ass bee farmer.” He’s been checking you out since the moment he saw you.
Olly: For real man. City guys don’t look at someone like that unless they’re down bad. Plus, who said he won’t stay. Ezra has made a name for himself in the fashion world and he doesn’t plan on leaving.
Beckett: Exactly bro. If you let your weird brain talk you out of this before it even starts, I’m banning you from our next album release party.
Gideon: I just don’t want to mess it up. Or drag him down.
Olly: You won’t drag him down, Gid. You protect people and make them feel safe. Just take a breath, let him show you what he wants, and stop coming up with stupid ass excuses.
Emery: Follow your heart for once, man.
Dallas: Or at the very least follow your dick. You’ve worked damn hard your whole life. Go after what you want.
Gideon: …
Emery: brO!
Olly: Not bad advice. You’re a good guy. Honestly, you don’t have much to lose. It’s obvious you both are into each other.
Gideon: Fine.
Gideon: And guys… thanks.
Emery: Anytime man. We got you!
A warm feeling settles in my chest. They’re right. I want to prove to Avery that I’m worth it.
Out of all the jobs I took throughout the years, I never expected a famous rock band to be some of my closest friends. People I consider to be family.