Chapter 35
SAGE
Sage sat back on her heels while Gran removed the small trap on the side of the brood box where the bees deposited their pollen. Early afternoon sunlight bathed the garden in a warm, burnished glow, as if offering her hopeful assurance that the new day would ease the pain of last night.
As if that were even possible.
In less than twenty-four hours, she’d lost Flynn. Their partnership. The boat. Her best chance to finally open her bookstore.
And the worst part? She knew she should accept what happened and move on. She needed to be like her mom and Gran, and every woman who came to the Honeybee Retreat. She needed to put the broken pieces of her life back together and build a better future for herself. Without Flynn.
And yet, despite the knowledge that life would go on without him—that she’d be okay—she missed him so much her whole body ached. And she couldn’t help wondering if walking away had been a horrible mistake.
Her phone hummed in the side pocket of her long cotton skirt, but she ignored the vibration for the hundredth time that day.
Flynn hadn’t stopped calling since last night. And texting. And leaving countless voicemails.
But she couldn’t bring herself to look at her phone, too afraid her resolve would slip.
She wanted to forgive him, to grasp at any excuse to give him another chance. But what would that say about her? That she was weak? That she’d given a man too much power over her heart again?
An image of her father crouched on the worn carpet in their old house, his bags stacked by the front door, crept into her thoughts. He’d tugged on one of her pigtails and teased, Why the sad face, kiddo? We’ll still see each other all the time.
She’d clung to that promise for far too long, desperate to believe him. The first Christmas after he left, she wouldn’t let her mom put the star on the tree, convinced he’d show up to carry on the tradition. The top of the tree remained bare that year.
On her seventh birthday, she’d made her mother wait to cut the cake. It sat in the fridge for ten days until speckles of mold mingled with the rainbow sprinkles.
Countless times, she’d given her father the benefit of the doubt. Until one day, her well of faith ran dry. She only wished it hadn’t taken so long.
Her phone buzzed again, harmonizing with the hum of the honeybees.
“Maybe you should get that before it vibrates a hole right through your pocket,” Gran teased, scooping the pollen pellets into a glass jar.
“It’s probably Flynn again.” She let it go to voicemail.
“Why don’t you want to answer it? Did something happen last night?” Gran slid the thin drawer back into the brood box.
Sage winced. She still hadn’t told her mom and Gran what happened. Saying the words aloud would lend a note of finality she wasn’t ready to face.
“I just think it might be time for me to move on and focus on my future. I don’t need Flynn, or any man, to live a fulfilling life.”
She vocalized her thoughts for her own benefit as much as Gran’s, but even though she believed the statement, her chest constricted.
You have your friends and family. And that will always be enough.
Gran knelt on her padded gardening mat in thoughtful silence as honeybees danced around her.
“That’s true,” Gran said slowly. The bees darted to and fro, dispersing in different directions as she nodded her head. “Being single is a blessing. For many reasons. But so is finding your person and going through life together as a team.” A honeybee perched on her shoulder, a willing audience to her wisdom. “A man shouldn’t be your whole world. But he can be an important part of it. As long as you choose wisely.”
“And how do you know you’ve chosen wisely?” The expression blinded by love had become a cliché for a reason. And both her mother and Gran had married men they’d loved only to be betrayed and abandoned.
“‘Look not at a ship’s prow, with its intricate carvings and figureheads, or its lustrous sails. Instead, look to the wake it leaves behind.’”
Sage blinked, startled by the quote from her favorite book. Had everyone read The Curious Quest of Quinley Culpepper ?
Gran’s eyes twinkled.
Although she’d quoted the passage out of context, Sage guessed what her grandmother meant. What did Flynn’s life say about his character?
She thought of his love and loyalty toward his brother and the way he cared for Cap. And even though his parents could be exasperating, Flynn treated them with respect. And what about the way he’d treated her? Giving her the bed without a second thought. Taking care of her after her fall. Reading her favorite book simply to be close to her.
Her fingertips tingled at the memory of his touch, the night they’d fallen asleep holding hands—the night he’d apologized for the past.
Had he meant the words he’d whispered in the darkness?
Was it possible last night had been a misunderstanding after all?
Her phone buzzed again.
She jumped, startled from her reverie.
Should she answer it? If she let Flynn back into her life, she’d be chancing another broken heart.
Was a future with Flynn worth the risk?
Her heart fluttering with apprehension, she reached into her pocket for her phone.
“Ouch!” A sharp prick pierced her finger. As she withdrew her hand, a twitching honeybee tumbled to the ground.
“Oh, no! The poor dear.” Dismayed, Gran scooped the crumpled little body into her palm.
“I’m sorry, Gran. I didn’t realize she had crawled into my pocket.” Wincing, Sage plucked the stinger from her flesh. Growing up at the Honeybee Retreat, she’d been stung before. And she’d been taught to treat the helpful pollinators with care and understanding, not fear. A bee only stung when threatened. And it cost the creature its life, versus the few seconds of pain she endured.
“It’s not your fault. These things happen. It’s just such a shame. I wish we could communicate better, to let them know we’re not a threat. To think, a simple misunderstanding—a rash reaction out of fear—cost this little bee everything.”
Gran sniffled, cradling the lifeless bundle of black and yellow with the utmost care and sympathy.
Sage watched as honeybees converged around them, responding to the pheromones released with the stinger.
In the bee’s death, she’d sent her hive a warning of a potential threat.
And, in a way, she’d sent Sage a warning, too.
Sometimes, a miscommunication could cost you more than you realized.