“No really, it’s fine. I don’t usually eat meat, but this looks delicious and—”
“You don’t eat meat, do you?”
“No.” She looked like she’d been caught cheating on a math test. “I’m sorry. I haven’t in years but the potatoes look great and I see you have green beans. I’ll be fine with that. I should have said something.”
“I should have asked,” he said glumly. He’d bungled this. Cooking a roast for someone who didn’t eat meat. He felt like a complete jerk.
“Let me see what else I have.” He rummaged through the pantry, but the pickings were slim. All he could find with any potential was a package of spaghetti and a can of crushed tomatoes. “I could make sauce or we could order takeout.” Takeout was starting to sound like the better option.
“No, don’t order takeout. Why don’t you eat the roast and I’ll have veggies? I do it all the time.”
“Lilah and I can have the roast tomorrow.” The idea of tucking into a hunk of meat while Cassie nibbled on vegetables felt indecent, like unwrapping a Christmas present in front of a kid who didn’t get one. No way was he going to do that.
“Then spaghetti sounds great. We can throw in the green beans and if you have lettuce, I’ll make a salad.”
“I have lettuce,” he said, relieved. “Cucumber and tomato too.”
“Excellent. If you tell me where everything is, I’ll set the table.”
He sautéed garlic for the sauce while she found plates and silverware. “Napkins?” she said.
“Just paper towels.” He nodded to the counter. “Over there.”
The garlic was sending up a fine pungent aroma, and he turned down the flame and threw in a little chopped onion. She was a good sport and he was starting to feel better, like maybe the evening wouldn’t be a total disaster after all. Now might be the time to toss in the green beans—or should he wait until he got the sauce simmering. He was thinking hard about that, and should he chop up some of that fresh tomato, when he realized she’d gone quiet.
“They’ve started clearing that property.” She glanced up from the newspaper, which he’d left on the counter. “It must have just happened. I haven’t been by there in a few days.”
“Yup.” He felt a sharp surge of anger thinking of the earthmovers and how much they’d already destroyed. He couldn’t even look when he drove that way.
“What about the hives you keep there?”
“I brought them here for now.” He’d heard persistent rumors around town that Weber was after her father’s property too, which gave him a tight unhappy feeling. He knew she was under pressure but she wouldn’t do that. Would she?
The juice from the tomatoes had pooled on the edge of the cutting board and spilled onto the counter, making a runny mess. He mopped it up with a dishtowel. Talking about the development had taken the shine off his mood.
Cassie seemed to sense it. She set the newspaper back on the counter and touched his shoulder. “Hey, I’d love to see your hives.”
“You would?”
“I can’t imagine what three hundred beehives look like.”
“Like your dad’s, but a few more.” Her touch smoothed him out, and after he got the sauce simmering they took their wine out to the deck. The hives looked like pale barracks in the May dusk.
“Do I need a veil?” Cassie said.
“We should be fine. They won’t be too active now that it’s getting dark.”
They crossed the yard, the grass kept long to encourage the dandelions and white clover the bees loved. Other people might call them weeds, but he considered them forage. No one would ever accuse him of having an overly manicured lawn.
“So how many bees are in all these hives?” Cassie said.
“Anywhere from ten to fifty thousand per hive, depending on the season.”
“Good God, that’s a lot of bees!” She glanced around apprehensively. “Don’t you worry about them getting up near the house?”
“Their flight path doesn’t take them that way. They tend to head up and out. The hives are in a good spot, morning sun and afternoon shade. That’s pretty much ideal. And down there—” He tipped his chin toward the marsh. “That’s wetland. Depending on the time of year there’s usually water there. I didn’t know I was going to get into bees when I bought the place but I liked that the wetland can never be developed, even after my time. It’ll always be protected.”
“Your own little oasis. I can see why you never wanted to sell.”
