Chapter 4
FOUR
JOE
Wednesday, Two Days Before the Summer Swap
Last night certainly hadn’t turned out as Joe had expected, he thought, while he finished cooking his oatmeal over the fire. He stirred the oats in his bowl, mixing in a heavy splash of milk, trying to think about anything other than Krista and the way she dominated his thoughts and dreams.
A faint chill clung to the campground air; it was the kind of midwestern summer day that would pretend it was fall until noon. It would climb to ninety degrees by afternoon, but at night it still dipped into the fifties.
Joe pushed up the sleeves of his thermal while catbirds called in the trees above. He nudged the campfire with a stick, letting the heat rise. Steam rose into the air while the milk started to boil around the edges.
Joe finished his breakfast just as a bright blue Chevy pickup rumbled into view, tires crunching over the gravel. They’d meet with Elsie later to go over her official plans, but until then, they were going to spend the next two days getting to know one another .
When Krista pulled up and climbed out, her hair was twisted and pinned up high, her gold necklace shining in the morning light, and Joe’s chest tightened.
So, no—it hadn’t been a fluke. Whatever spark had flickered between them last night was still here, humming in the air between them, somehow even stronger in the morning light.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said. “You ready to see where you’ll be sleeping this week?”
Krista eyed the tent. “Tell me you at least have an air mattress.”
“Of sorts. I like to travel light. Everything I need fits in my backpack—it makes life easier on the road.” He grinned. “Don’t tell me your grandparents run this place and you hate camping.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love the great outdoors,” she said. “I just also love the little luxuries in life, like proper bedding and comfy pillows.”
Joe chuckled. “Guess you don’t know how to make coffee over a campfire then, huh?”
Krista tilted her head toward the metal kettle near the flames. “Instant coffee?”
Joe smirked, crouching beside the fire to stoke it again. “Give me some credit, honey girl. I grind my own beans.”
Her laugh came soft and surprised. The morning air smelled like smoke and dew, and with her there, the world felt more alive than it had in years.
“Okay, first lesson,” Joe said, standing up.
“Bet you love being my teacher, huh?” Krista teased.
Her tone was light, just enough to throw him for a second. He wasn’t used to women flirting with him so openly.
He found his balance again, smiling slow. “There are a lot of things I could teach you, if you’re interested.” His brows lifted. “But let’s start with the coffee.”
Krista laughed. “Probably for the best. ”
A quiet grin tugged at his mouth. He’d been half afraid he’d imagined the spark between them last night, that maybe he’d read too much into the smiles and lingering looks.
But now, with her standing this close, voice lilting with amusement and challenge, he knew he hadn’t been wrong. The current ran both ways.
“Just tell me what to do,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. “I assume you don’t have an espresso machine around here…which reminds me, the Hideaway is closed on Wednesdays, but we can still head there in a bit, and I can show you the ropes.”
“Alright. Espresso later. But first, cowboy coffee.”
“A cowboy and a teacher. How did I get so lucky?” Krista teased.
Joe just shook his head, struck by how effortlessly she disarmed him with her mix of gorgeous looks and a smart mouth.
“First,” he said, reaching for the kettle, “we fill this up.”
“Check.” Krista lifted the small metal pot and filled it from the jug of water beside his tent.
The fire popped softly, its dancing light painting his skin in warm tones. He set the kettle over the grate and leaned back on his heels.
“Next, we grind the beans.” He opened a small canvas pouch and poured a handful of glossy brown beans into a hand grinder.
“You travel with that?”
“Never go anywhere without it. Life’s too short for bad coffee.” He started grinding and the earthy, rich scent curled toward them.
Krista closed her eyes for a moment. “That,” she said softly, “already smells like heaven.”
“Exactly. Now, you just pour the grounds in.”
“Directly, into the pot? ”
“Trust me. It’ll be the smoothest coffee you’ve ever tasted.”
“Okay, whatever you say, cowboy.” Krista looked skeptical as she carefully poured in the grounds.
“We’ll let it boil for a couple of minutes, then pull it off to the side here.”
“Then what?”
“Then,” Joe said, smiling, “you pour a little cold water on top, and the grounds sink to the bottom.”
When it was ready, Joe poured two tin cups and handed one to her. “Moment of truth.”
Krista blew gently across the dark surface before taking a sip. “Smoky, smooth…a bit sweet.” She looked up at him. “Okay, you weren’t kidding. This is insanely good.”
Joe grinned. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“Well, I haven’t met a lot of cowboy teachers before.”
Her voice had a soft lilt, playful and warm, and it pulled a quiet laugh from him. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Joe grabbed his camera and snapped some photographs of her, with her hands clutched around her cup and her wild copper curls catching on the breeze. “First photos of our Summer Swap,” he murmured.
She looked perfectly at home here, even if she preferred soft beds and hot showers to canvas tents and campfire smoke. He watched her through the lens, fixed on the way her lashes brushed her cheeks as she looked down at her coffee.
Her eyes found his again. “Are you ready for a lesson from me now?”
Joe lowered his camera and arched a brow. “What are you planning on teaching me?”
“The sweet art of honey collecting.”
“Not sure if this makes me less manly, but I’m a little nervous,” Joe confessed as they followed the narrow trail that curved behind the cabins.
The air smelled of pine and wildflowers. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the steady hum of bees. The hives came into view at the edge of the clearing—a neat row of white wooden boxes, their tops painted with fading yellow flowers. Bees floated lazily through the air like falling petals.
“You’ll be fine,” said Krista softly beside him. “They’re gentle if you’re gentle. Just keep calm.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Joe muttered. “You’ve got home-field advantage.”
She shot him a teasing look. “Please. I got stung my first day helping Grandpa. I cried for an hour. Now I just talk to them.”
“Talk to them?”
“Of course.” She stopped at the first hive, resting her hand on the lid like she was greeting an old friend. “They know my voice. Right, girls?”
The hum deepened, a soft chorus rising from the hive. Krista’s tone shifted, warm and low. “Morning, ladies. I brought someone new today.” She turned her head slightly toward Joe. “This is Joe. Be nice to him, okay? He’s a little nervous.”
“You’re really introducing me to the bees?”
“Of course. You don’t walk into someone’s home unannounced, do you?”
Joe lifted his camera instinctively. Her curls were pulled up in a knot, a few honey-colored tendrils brushing her neck. She wore jean shorts and a soft linen shirt knotted at her waist. There was something about the way she moved—confident, unhurried—that felt utterly magnetic.
Krista picked up the small smoker from a wooden crate and squeezed the bellows, releasing a puff of pale smoke that curled in the warm air. “This just helps calm them down. Masks their warning pheromones so no one panics.”
“Good to know,” Joe said, stepping closer despite the instinct screaming to stay back.
“Here.” She handed him the smoker. “Give them a few puffs near the entrance. Slow, steady.”
He crouched beside her. The hum of the bees vibrated through the air, close enough to feel it in his chest. The scent of smoke mingled with the sweetness of honey and warm wood.
When she lifted the lid with a hive tool, sunlight spilled over the golden combs. The bees shimmered like living jewels, crawling across the surface of the honeycomb in a slow, synchronized movement. Joe stood frozen at the sight. “Beautiful.”
Krista smiled. “Right?”
One bee drifted lazily upward and landed just above her collarbone, its tiny legs glinting in the light. Krista didn’t flinch. “Hey there,” she murmured.
He froze. “Uh— Krista?—”
“It’s fine,” she said, still calm. “They can feel fear. If you panic, they panic.”
“Right. No panic.” He swallowed and his hand hovered instinctively before he could stop himself, fingers brushing the air just above her skin. “Want me to?—”
Krista’s gaze flicked to him, eyes warm and steady. “She’ll move when she’s ready.”
The bee crawled a few inches, then lifted off and disappeared into the sunlight. Joe let out a breath.
“See?” Krista smiled, lowering the frame.
She set the hive lid aside and reached for one of the wooden frames, her movements fluid and confident. She slid it free with a soft scrape, the sunlight catching on the amber honey sealed behind pale wax. Bees still crawled along the edges, eager to stick around and sample their hard work.
“Look at that,” she said, holding it up so the light shone through like stained glass. “This one’s ready to harvest. See how the cells are capped? That means it’s sealed and cured.”
Joe leaned closer as the sweet scent of honey filled the air. “How often do you do this?”
“Depends on the bloom. Right now, they’re pulling mostly from clover and wild rose.” She brushed her thumb lightly along the frame. “We’ll take just one. Always leave plenty behind. Balance, you know?”
He nodded, though he was mostly focused on the way sunlight pooled along her skin, the way her voice softened when she spoke to the bees. “You make it sound almost spiritual.”
“It is,” Krista said quietly. “They give so much. We respect each other. They’re part of our family.
We have this tradition where we visit the bees to tell them about big life events, like when someone dies, or gets married, or a new baby is born.
It’s an old superstition my great-grandmother Isabel brought in. ”
“The one from the photo.”
“Yes, she’s the one who started the family tradition of keeping bees.”
Krista stepped over to a small workbench set up under the trees.
There was an old metal knife resting in a bowl of warm water, a honey strainer, and a row of glass jars waiting to be filled.
With careful hands, she scraped away the wax cap from a small corner of the frame.
Thick honey oozed out, glistening in the light.
She dipped a wooden spoon into the dripping honey and turned toward him. “Here. Try it.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then leaned in. The honey touched his tongue, warm and impossibly sweet, tasting of flowers and smoke and sunlight. “That’s unreal.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them felt charged again, like the space just before a summer storm. A bee drifted between them, and the spell broke.
Joe’s cell phone rang then. He looked down at the call. It was Marcus, his friend and editor, no doubt wanting an update and plan for his next article.
“I’m going to step away; I need to take this,” Joe said, backing away slowly so as not to agitate the bees.
He held the phone between shoulder and ear.
“ European Traveler asked about you,” Marcus said when the line connected. “They loved your Appalachian piece. Think you’d be up for a coastal feature? Something about pulling in more American tourism. Malta still a bucket list for you?”
“You know it is.” Joe smiled, because Malta was the kind of yes he never overthought.
“Perfect.” Marcus’s voice shifted into its usual businesslike cadence—then immediately slid into something more personal. “So. You’ll be back in Chicago this weekend, right? Guest room’s all yours until you fly out again.”
Joe snorted. “Your spare room is full of your girlfriend’s Pilates equipment.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Marcus replied flatly.
Joe’s stomach dipped. “Hell. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t.” Marcus exhaled. “It’s fine. We’ll do a post-mortem over a Cubs game when you get here Saturday.”
“About that…” Joe looked back over at Krista, and the gentle way she worked the hives. “I’m not coming Saturday. I’ve been roped into this week-long life swap with one of the local business owners. Her name’s Krista,” Joe supplied.
Marcus made a pleased sound. “And she’s attractive.”
Joe turned, keeping his voice extra low. “There’s something about her. I won’t deny it, but I think this swap will be good for my piece too. I’ll be here a week. Ten days tops.”
“Ten days?” Marcus cut in. “Joe, no. I need you wheels-up Friday. European Traveler wants a proposal by Monday so they can decide on the coastal feature.”
“Friday?” Joe’s stomach tightened. He glanced back at Krista—at the careful way she worked the hive like it was something precious. “No. It’s going to have to be next week. I can work with you on the proposal from here.”
“Fine.” Marcus’s tone went flat. “But if you’re not out by the end of next week, I’ll have to hand it to someone else. And Malta?” A beat. “That goes with it.”
“Understood.” Joe hung up the phone and turned back to Krista, watching the way she gently brushed the bees away while collecting honey. He lifted his camera, snapping a photo, telling himself it was just for the piece.
Truthfully, he knew he wasn’t just documenting a story here.
It had only just begun, and yet in this town, with Krista, he felt like he was falling into the biggest story of his life.
But he was only passing through Maple Falls.
One more town in a collection of many. Would this really be just another chapter in his life on the road?