“No, of course not. I mean…I actually, um, don’t know any other beekeepers.” She reddened. “I’m sorry, that was silly of me to assume.”
He gave her an amused smile. “Just so you know, I do like beer but I drink wine now and then. When I had my first business I actually drank a lot more wine. Client dinners and all that.”
“What was your business?”
“Land use, sustainable projects.”
She tipped her head, interested. “What kinds of projects?”
“We created a tree grid for the parking lot at the Elm Street shopping center and sited a greenhouse at the high school. That kind of thing. I only took on projects I believed in.”
“Why’d you get out of it?”
“Lilah’s mother had just left, and I needed to be a full-time dad. I couldn’t handle it—employees, clients. Dinners out. All of that. It was the right time to sell.” He shifted uncomfortably at the thought of getting into a long story about his marriage. He definitely did not want to go there.
Cassie gazed at him thoughtfully. “So why beekeeping? Was it because of your grandfather?”
He sat back, surprised she’d remembered. “He was definitely my mentor. I wouldn’t have gotten interested in bees in the first place if not for him. He helped me set up a few hives when I bought the house but he was in his late eighties by then and ready to wind it down, so I took his bees. Your dad sort of reminds me of him,” he said with a smile.
“How so?” she said softly.
“The way he’s so devoted.” Glenn chuckled. “Your dad would have climbed into the truck bed with that box of bees if I’d let him. My grandfather was that way. It used to kill him when he lost a colony after the winter. He always took it personally.”
“I can see that. I actually feel bad about those mites, the way they can wipe out a hive.”
“Are we turning you into a beekeeper?” He smiled.
“Oh no! Not me. I’ll leave that for the professionals.” She twinkled at him over her wine. “The first couple of times you came over I thought you didn’t like me.” She said this in a teasing way, but she might have been half serious. He couldn’t tell. He had a sudden urge to blurt out the truth—that she was smart and beautiful and he looked forward more than he wanted to admit to seeing her. But he took a long sip of his wine instead.
“So what do you think now?” he said.
She glanced at him mischievously. “I think the waiter’s coming.”
They ordered what the people at the next table were having: fried calamari to start and a couple of pastas. Vodka penne for her and rigatoni with meat sauce for him. Over another glass of wine she confided that Andrew hadn’t returned to school on Wednesday.
“So what’s he going to do?”
She looked weary all of a sudden. “Stay here for the time being, I guess. I want him to talk to a therapist. I’ve never seen him like this, so depressed.”
“The powdered sugar seemed to liven him up the other day.”
“That’s the only thing that got him out of the house all week. Something’s going on with his dad too. Andrew doesn’t want to be in the wedding.”
“Do you care?”
“Not really, except they’ve always been close.” She pushed a bit of lemon around the plate. “I’m just worried about him.”
They were sharing the calamari at this point. At first, they’d politely tipped a few onto separate plates, but something had shifted, and now they were picking up bits of fried squid from the serving plate with their fingers, like they’d shared food together a dozen times.
“What about you? How long will you stay?” He hadn’t meant to ask this. He dipped a calamari into the sauce so he wouldn’t have to look at her. New York wasn’t far, but the city was another world. Her world. He’d never see her once she left.
She sighed. “I was supposed to be back already. I never thought I’d be here this long. But now, I don’t know. I need to get my dad settled, and I’m starting to think it’s time to sell the house.”
“Sell the house?” Something tightened in the pit of his stomach. “Didn’t you find a lady to help out?”
“Yeah, but it’s not going great. She’s keeping the place clean, which is a plus. But he doesn’t let her do anything else, even put away his laundry. He had a fit about that the other day.”
“Would he agree to sell?” He couldn’t picture Mr. Linden giving up the house and hives that easily.
