But her older sister clearly had no qualms about putting her suspicion on full display. She tipped her chin up, waiting for my answer.
“We travel,” I said. When the silence stretched, I cleared my throat. “A lot.”
“Travel where?”
“Around.”
This was, by far, the longest conversation we’d had in the last two weeks. Izzy’s eyebrows knit in clear irritation at my evasion. I didn’t particularly like her verbal dissection either.
“I remember your mom. It’s been a long time since she up and left this place.”
“Hey.” Eva speared her sister a warning look. “Would you back off?”
“I think we deserve to know a little more about our guest.”
I huffed. “What, you afraid I’ve got an ax on me or something?”
To my surprise, Izzy didn’t laugh. She tilted her head to one side, considering.
“Seriously, Iz?” Eva’s cheeks were aflame. She turned to me. “I’m so sorry. Izzy’s girlfriend watches too much true crime.”
“Granted,” Izzy hummed. “But my point stands. We don’t know anything about him.”
Something about Izzy Moreau’s protectiveness put me in mind of a badger all too keen to tear out throats if a predator got too close. It was strangely grounding to feel that for once I might not be the most vicious person in a room.
“Left my ax behind,” I said.
Eva coughed a laugh, and Izzy’s surprise melted into a quicksilver grin.
Jack ducked under the workshop’s too-short doorframe. “In pairs,” he said, passing each daughter a corded knife, which they plugged into opposing outlets. All three beekeepers sat on a pair of benches facing a wide, shallow basin, Izzy across from Eva, Jack across from an empty seat he motioned for me to take. I sat, feeling a little self-conscious.
Jack set one of the frames into a pair of clamps between us and nodded to the blade in his hand. “We use a hot knife to cut the comb away.” He did as he described. The layer of waxy cells protecting the honey made a delicious crackling sound against the hot serrated edge before tumbling into the bin.
The smell of warm honey and melting wax intensified.
“Leave the comb in the bin for now. When you’ve cleared a frame, set it in the extractor.” Jack leaned back to indicate the steel cylinder in the corner of the room. Then Paul Bunyan held the hot blade out to me.
I blinked. “You trust me with a knife?”
The monster winced internally.
Jack lifted a brow. “Should I not?”
“He’d prefer an ax,” Izzy deadpanned.
“What?”
I laughed nervously. “Nothing.”
“Whatever you say, Fairy Eyes.” Izzy turned to her sister. “They are, aren’t they? Vivid hazel. Damn.”
The bee girl flicked me a too-quick look. “He’s too tall for a fairy.”
I flushed, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. Then Eva smiled at me, and a seed of warmth sprouted between my ribs.
Jack passed me the knife.
Once I got the angle right, it wasn’t a difficult task, and it was strangely satisfying to watch the comb release all that hot dripping gold. Jack was patient, explaining the process to me as we went. The extractor would spin the bulk of the honey off the frames, he said, making it easier to bottle and seal.
