Prologue #3
I drive to June's place already zipped into my bee suit, windows down, the spring air warm and sweet with the smell of orange blossoms. The same black Ford is parked in the same spot by the fence, and as I pull up, I see Taz standing on the tailgate, just like before.
But there are no bees.
I stop my truck and get out slowly, squinting at the mirror, the hood, the bed of the truck. Nothing. There isn't a single bee anywhere.
"Where's the swarm?" I call out.
Taz climbs down from the tailgate. He's wearing a different shirt today, a soft gray henley that stretches across his shoulders, and he's holding a paper-wrapped bundle in each hand. It takes me a second to see they're sandwiches.
"There's no swarm," he says.
I look from the sandwiches to his face. "Please tell me June has already eaten. If those are her payment, she overcharged you."
He takes a deep breath. His ears are already going red, and he hasn't even said anything yet.
"I didn't know how else to see you again," he says.
"I spent all week trying to figure out an excuse to come to your grandmother's farm, but I couldn't think of anything that didn't make me sound like a stalker.
So I called June and asked if she could—" He stops, jaw tightening.
"This was stupid. I'm sorry. You can go. "
He turns away, shoulders hunching like he's bracing for a blow, and my chest aches for him.
"Taz," I say.
He stops but doesn't turn around.
"What kind of sandwiches?" I ask.
Now he turns. The look on his face is half hope, half disbelief. "Turkey and avocado. I made them myself. They're probably terrible."
"What's the worst thing you've ever cooked?" I ask, nodding at the bundles. "I need to know where these sit on the scale."
"Biscuits." He winces at the memory. "Dad used one to prop open a door. But there's no baking involved here. I stayed within my abilities."
I should leave. I should get back in my truck and drive away and chalk this up to a weird interaction with a weird neighbor. That would be the smart thing to do.
But Taz is standing there in the morning light with his homemade sandwiches and his ears that turn red every time I look at him, and the smart thing has never been my strong suit.
I walk toward him.
"You faked a bee emergency," I say.
"Yes," he says, without a flicker of shame.
I fold my arms. "You got June to lie for you."
"She volunteered." He looks miserable and hopeful in equal measure. "She said you were single."
"She ought to start charging for intelligence," I say. "She's wasted on flowers."
He rubs the back of his neck. "I'd rather ask you myself next time."
"Good," I say. "Start with lunch. Leave my medical history and credit score out of it."
We're standing close now, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes and the nervous jump of his pulse in his throat. He's so big, this man, so broad and solid and imposing, and he's looking at me like I'm the terrifying one.
"I've been thinking about you all week," he says. "I don't even know you. But I keep thinking about your hands in the bees and the way you laughed at me and—" He stops, shakes his head. "I sound insane."
"Little bit," I agree.
"I'm not usually like this." He stares hard at the gravel between his boots. "I don't—I'm not good at this."
"At what?" I ask.
"Talking. To people. To women, especially." He grimaces. "I'm better with cattle."
"Cattle have the advantage of not repeating this to their friends," I tell him. "I can see the appeal."
He glances up, wary. "Are you going to?"
"Depends how good the sandwiches are," I say.
He glances toward June's porch. "Then I wish I'd brought dessert."
From June's porch comes a voice, loud enough to carry across the whole county: "That boy's going to marry you, Molly girl!"
Taz closes his eyes like he's praying for death.
I laugh. I can't help it. It bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, surprised and genuine, and when I look at Taz again, he's watching me, and he isn't wishing for death anymore.
"Can we start over?" he asks. "I'm Taz Williams. I'm twenty-five.
I run my family's cattle operation and I have a bachelor's degree in animal science and a minor in business and I spent three years learning from ranchers in Montana before I came home.
I don't like parties or small talk and I'm terrible at making friends, but I can't stop thinking about a woman who handles bees like they're kittens, and I would really like to buy you lunch. "
My heart is pounding behind my ribs.
"I'm Molly," I say. "I'm twenty-two. I help my grandmother run her farm and I keep bees on the side and I have a degree in biology that I'm not using.
I talk too much when I'm nervous and I have a bad habit of saying exactly what I think, and I'm probably going to eat both those sandwiches because I skipped breakfast."
Taz smiles.
It transforms his whole face. The hard lines soften, the suspicious eyes warm, and suddenly he doesn't look like a grumpy cowboy at all. He looks like he's just been handed a gift he didn't dare ask for.
He holds out a sandwich. "Then you should sit down."
I take it.
And I sit down on the tailgate next to Tazio Williams, with no idea that one day I'll wish I'd driven away.