“A gift, since you’ve been so patient with me lately.”
“You shouldn’t have,” Bea whispered, though there was no weight behind her words. Her eyes were locked on the box, her fingers twitching against the instinct to snatch it.
“Go ahead,” Milo urged.
Bea needed no further encouragement before her plate was shoved to the side, and she was gasping at the contents within. Milo stood, walking around the table to peer down at the necklace over her shoulder. It was a statement piece, to be certain, with five oval stones in a row.
“Citrine, Hauyne, Emerald, Amethyst, and Topaz. In that order.”
“I’ve never heard of Hauyne,” Bea whispered, running a reverent finger along the sapphire look-alike.
“That stone was the most important part of the collection, in my opinion. It’s incredibly rare. It reminds me of you,” he whispered in her ear, reaching beyond her shoulder to lift the delicate chain from the box.
“What I find so fascinating is that the exorbitant price of this gemstone is heavily driven by how difficult it is to craft with. You see . . . it’s a very brittle little gem. Very likely to shatter right there in your hands and cut you open,ifyou dare work with it. Even once it’s been set into a piece of jewelry.” Milo ran a thumb over the bright blue stone before turning the necklace around and resting it at the base of Bea’s neck. “Even after it’s found its home, it’s still prone to breaking apart and ruining the entire design. And yet,” he continued, “people find themselves helplessly infatuated with its brilliant, bold nature and continue to seek it out—paying the most outrageous prices for the simple opportunity to collect such a rare piece.”
Bea’s hand rose to touch the necklace that now rested an inch below her collarbone, then froze when Milo’s handlingered at her neck for a moment longer, tracing an invisible line across her shoulder and down to her elbow.
“W-what are you doing?”
“We’ve both been so caught up in life that we haven’t had time for each other in a few weeks. I thought we could take this to the bedroom next?” Milo whispered, running the tips of his fingers up the back of her arm.
“I–no. . . I mean, just . . . not tonight.”
“Oh?” Milo asked, striving to keep the laughter out of his voice—she did have a much more pressingitchto scratch at the moment. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, notat all,” Bea emphasized. “It’s just, uh, you know . . . that time of the month.”
“That’s not right,” Milo said, very proud of the ringing note of faux concern he could hear echoing in his voice. He pulled up the Flo app on his phone and flashed Bea the screen. She’d sent him the link years ago, so that he could surprise her with care packages. “You’ve still got another two weeks. If it camethatearly, we should probably get you an appointment to make sure things are alright. Though . . . you don’t suppose it could be menopause?”
Bea gasped, affronted. “I’mthirty-four.”
“Yeah, I agree, not exactly a spring chicken. But maybe we should still schedule the appointment, just to confirm?”
Bea sputtered, her face reddening. “It’s not fucking menopause. I’m not on my period!”
“Oh?” Milo answered, snagging the wine bottle and his glass from the table and filling it to the brim. “I apologize for assuming. What did you mean bythat time of the month?”
“Just, well, you know . . .”
Milo drew his lips back as he shook his head, then took a long swallow. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“It’s that time of the month when work picks up.Obviously.” Bea snapped. “I’m exhausted.”
“That’s . . . interesting,” Milo mused, holding her glare. “The only time I typically see a rush of customers on the financials is after the fresh honey harvest in July, and that’s already occurred.” Milo clucked his tongue, idly rubbing his chin as he pretended to consider her words.
It was a pointless endeavor. She wouldn’t know when the busy season was, even if she did spend her days at the shop. Bea may have requested that the store be put in her name, but it was Milo running the logistics behind the scenes. It always had been. He managed the finances, placed the orders, and handled the bees. The shop was lucrative, but only because of Milo’s beekeeping and the top-notch manager he’d insisted she hire. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure if she even truly knew how much he did.
“I didn’t see a crazy influx of customers on the bank statements either this past week. And Ijustcame in Tuesday evening to restock, so there shouldn’t have been inventory concerns. Are you feeling overworked? Maybe we should look at hiring a second manager to help with those day-to-day tasks.”
“No,” Bea snapped. “I don’t need another manager. I just mean that it’s been a long day and I’d like to rest.”
Milo held up his hands in mock surrender. “I understand, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to come across as pushy. You’ve just never reallynotwanted to, so I thought something must be wrong.”
Bea fidgeted, twisting the napkin in her lap. “Nothing’s wrong. And I really appreciate dinner. And the gift. It means a lot.”
Milo nodded graciously. “How about another quickdrink, and then we call it a night? It is a special bottle after all.”
Bea’s eyes darted down at his words, and she gasped aloud. “What are you doing? We were supposed to save that for our twenty-year anniversary!”
