Corin rose, brushing dirt and frost from his knees. "Maybe. I'm still figuring it out."
Finn studied him for a moment, that sharp Vane perception cutting through his usual restlessness. "You've got that look. The one Elias gets when he's about to punch something."
"I don't punch things."
"No, you just get real quiet and then fix whatever's broken." Finn shrugged. "Same energy, different execution. Need help?"
"Not yet."
Finn nodded, accepting that without argument. That was the thing about family, they knew when to push and when to let itlie. "Alright. But if you figure out what's killing your bees, let me know. I'll help you bury the body."
Corin huffed. "Nobody's killing anything."
"Sure." Finn was already heading toward the shed. "Tell that to your face."
Corin watched him go, then turned back to the hives. The bees had settled again, that strange lethargy pulling them back into their confused clusters. He should document this. Take samples. Call the agricultural extension office and see if anyone else in the county was reporting similar issues.
But his gut told him this wasn't a county problem.
This was Hollow Oak.
He thought of Chloe again. The way she'd saidstrugglingwhen he'd asked about her starts. The way her hands had hovered over the soil like she was attempting to feel something that kept slipping away.
She'd been in town about a year now, working with Freya, keeping her head down, learning the rhythms of a place that didn't explain itself to newcomers. Corin had watched her navigate it with more grace than most. Quiet. Careful. Stubborn in a way that didn't announce itself.
He liked watching her work. Liked the way she talked to the plants when she thought no one was listening. Liked a lot of things about her that he had no business cataloging.
His bear rumbled, a low vibration in his chest.
Not now.
Corin closed his eyes, breathed deep, and filed the worry away. The bees. The soil. Chloe's failing herbs. He'd keep watching. Keep listening. Figure out what connected them before it got worse.
That was what he did. He tended things. Fixed them quietly, without fanfare, without anyone noticing until it was already done.
But as he walked back to his truck, the cold biting at his exposed skin, he couldn't shake the feeling that this particular problem wasn't going to be fixed quietly.
3
CHLOE
The Griddle & Grind smelled like cinnamon and fresh bread and the particular warmth that only came from a place where people actually wanted to be. Chloe wrapped her hands around her mug of chamomile and let the steam curl against her face while Twyla Honeytree held court behind the counter.
"—and I'm thinking red and pink, obviously, but not the garish kind. Soft. Romantic." Twyla's wheat-colored hair was piled in a messy bun today, loose strands framing a face that looked barely thirty despite the centuries of fae blood running through her veins. Her light brown eyes sparkled with the particular intensity of someone who had already planned the next six weeks down to the hour. "Maybe some of those paper hearts the Brewster kids made last year. They were sweet."
Diana Merrick sat at the counter, nursing her own tea with the expression of a woman who had heard this speech before. Her honey-blonde curls were damp at the ends from walking over from the inn through the morning mist and her amber eyes held fond exasperation. "Twyla, Valentine's Day is barely two weeks away."
"Which is barely enough time." Twyla set down the cloth she'd been using to wipe the espresso machine. "You can't rush romance, Diana. You have tocultivateit."
"It's a café."
"It's avenue for connection."
Chloe snorted into her tea.
Twyla's gaze swung to her immediately. "Don't think I've forgotten about you. I need someone with actual taste to help me with the flowers this year. Maizy's good with arrangements, but she overcomplicates things. Too many ferns."
"I don't know if I'm the right?—"
