I gave in to my desire to laugh, rubbing my eyes with one hand. "I mean, if you're going to panic your mouth in the direction of my dick, by all means?—"
"Benjamin," she scolded, sitting up straight and glaring. Her cheeks were strawberry red, and it set off the flecks of blue and green in her hazel eyes.
I gave her a crooked grin, relaxing again and stretching my arm out along the back of the couch. "Be honest. That's the first time you've touched a dick."
"It is not," she replied with prim huffiness. "But it is definitely the first time I smashed my face into one."
"That's a shame," I said gravely. "I can return the favor, and you can sit on my face if you like."
"Why would I sit on you?" she asked in irritation. I stared. She stared back cluelessly. I opened my mouth, intending to set her straight, but she stood suddenly. "I have to check on the mead."
It wasn't enough to distract me from the image of Evie sitting on my face—or the irresistible possibility of introducing her to it—but I stood up with her, anyway. "You make mead?"
"Yes, and I might drink a significant amount of it," she muttered.
Chapter Eleven
FROST
It took a full two days for Evie’s face to heal enough that there were only faded residual bruises across her nose. Even then, she had to make up a story about tripping into the stair railing on her way down from the loft.
Nan hadn't bought it, not entirely. She'd volleyed a suspicious look between us, lingering on me, and my neck had gotten hot. And then she'd made it worse by advising us to keep our "physical exertions" safer. Evie had not picked up on that nuance, of course. But I had, and the gleam in her Nan's eye nearly caused the heat in my neck to reach my face. I never blushed, but Grandma just about had me there.
I kept busy and away from Nan's shrewd gaze after that, which, it turned out, wasn’t hard at an apiary. Especially when Evelyn was a walking disaster. This morning alone, she'd taken out a fence trying to move a hive, spilled a five-gallon bucket of honey, and gotten beeswax stuck in her hair. I couldn't do anything about the last two, but I had a basic understanding of how a screw gun worked and a burning need tonotbe constantly tempted by an alyssum-scented hymenopteran witch.
As the sun beat down on the back of my neck, I drove the last screw through the fence post and into the slat. A slight breeze stirred the dewy perspiration along my hairline, and I glanced up at the bright sun through my sunglasses. It was one of those spring days where it was too hot in the sun, but it would be chilly in the shade. The air was heavy, steaming from a fresh rain the night before, and I was starting to feel like a boiled shrimp.
Tessa sauntered over, her hands tucked behind her back and head tilted as she surveyed my handiwork. Today, she wore a rainbow-striped shirt with an orange tutu skirt that couldn’t have clashed harder if she’d tried. Although, I appreciated that she had a specific aesthetic that she refused to deviate from. The mix of tomboy and fairy princess somehow fit perfectly with "The Farm," as they called it.
She gave me a critical once-over. “You sure you did that right?”
I set down the screw gun, stepped back, and eyed the fence. It was one of those picket-style setups with three horizontal slats between the posts. I’d replaced two of them and screwed them in tight. I made a "maybe" face. “Will it withstand your cousin? I’m not sure. But it’ll probably survive rain and wind.”
"I'll check it." Tessa climbed up onto the fence, hooked her knees around the top, and dangled herself upside down like a bat. Her orange tutu fanned away from her black bike shorts, and then she was a cheeky cupcake with her hands on her hips. She bounced a few times, testing the weight, and then she planted her hands on the ground and flipped backward before returning upright with the confidence of someone who’d done it a hundred times before.
She grinned up at me, and I noticed she was missing a tooth near her canine. "Yep. That’ll do."
I scratched my cheek. "You should meet with OSHA. I'm sure they can add that as a standard somewhere."
She scrunched up half her face. "I don’t know what OSHA is."
I grabbed my tools and started back toward the house. "Trust me, you’re their worst nightmare."
Tessa trailed after me, hands clasped behind her back again like she was my pint-sized assistant to whatever chaos I was fixing that day. I made my way toward the small shed behind Evie’s house where she kept the tools and unused equipment.
"We’re going to make candles. Do you want to help us?" she asked.
That sounded messy. "I will supervise the candle-making from the safety of the table."
Tessa gave me an inscrutable look. "All you do is supervise."
"And you meddle. We all have our strengths." We reached the shed, and I opened the squeaky door, stepping inside and heading straight for the chaos that was Evie’s version of organization. I’d picked up the tools from three different, totally illogical spots, and I figured I might as well put them back the same way. I put the screws back into a jar on the shelf, returned the screw gun to the floor near what looked like a stuffed jackalope, and set the hammer on the table next to a random needlework hoop that had the phrase "All Oopsies, No Daisies" cross-stitched into it.
Tessa leaned against the door, watching me. "How long are you staying here, anyway?"
I wasn't sure how much Evie had told her cousin about the situation. I pulled in a breath to give me a second to think, wiping my hands on a handkerchief I'd found tied around the jackalope's antler. "Uh, until my friend finishes his research. He needs the venom from your bees, and I'm keeping it… safe."
"Why?" she frowned.
