She hesitated, fingers worrying the edge of her glove. “You can’t laugh.”
“At bees? That feels risky.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Bennett.”
That’s right, Arabella. Say my name.
I held my hands out in front of me. “No laughing, I promise.”
She studied me for a long second, like she was deciding whether I was trustworthy enough for whatever this was. Finally, she nodded.
“I joined the apiary club at my university,” she said, voice softer now, almost cautious. “Not because I was obsessed with bees from the start. I mean, I liked the idea of them—pollinators, honey, the whole ecosystem thing—but really, I joined because I was trying to make friends.”
She glanced at me quickly, then back at the hive, like she was bracing for judgment. She wouldn’t get any from me.
“I actually tried a bunch of clubs, pottery, gaming, hiking, but nothing ever clicked until I found the apiary club. The people there were different. Nobody cared if I kept to myself or said the wrong thing. I just had to show up and care aboutthe bees. And eventually, people started talking to me.Realconversations. I made actual friends.”
She looked up then, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at her lips. “So, yeah, I like bees. They don’t judge.”
Something in my chest twisted. I knew that feeling all too well.
It didn’t matter how many ballparks I had played in; at the end of the day, I was just the Deaf kid from Indiana.
I accidentally let out a soft huff of laughter.
“You promised.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” I said quickly. “Believe me, we have a lot more in common than you think. I’m also not great at the whole peopling thing.”
She arched a brow. “You could’ve fooled me.”
“Seriously. Being with the guys or my family is one thing, but take me out of my element and I freak. Especially at large gatherings or charity functions or—”
“Bachelor auctions?” she offered.
I winced, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah, about that . . .”
The words stuck in my throat. I hadn’t planned to bring it up, but here we were, and the memory of last year’s team fundraiser—the lights, the crowd, her hand shooting up to win me for a ridiculous amount of money—still haunted me.
“I should’ve said something sooner,” I started, voice lower. “The bachelor auction was too much for me. Not because of you.Neverbecause of you. I’m just not great in crowds like that, and when you bid on me, I panicked. I thought if I played it cool and kept it light, it’d be easier, but I ended up making things . . . weird.”
She blinked, processing. “I thought that you maybe didn’t like me. Or that I’d embarrassed you—”
“No.”
Her expression softened, surprise flickering there before it settled into something warmer. “Okay, I believe you.”
Relief hit me hard. “In any case, I’m sorry about mucking up our date.”
“It’s okay,” she said, turning back to the hive, but not before I caught the curve of her lips beneath her veil. “But just know, if you ever want to hide out with the bees instead of dealing with the rest of the world, you know where to go. They’re excellent listeners.”
I grinned. “I might take you up on that.”
She slotted the last frame into place and latched the lid, then peeled off her gloves, flexing her fingers in the cold air. “Speaking of the bees, they’ve been busy this season. I’m pulling the first harvest next week.”
I leaned against the fence post, watching her. “Would this be a bad time to tell you that I’ve never actually liked honey.”
Her mouth dropped open in exaggerated horror. “You’re joking.”
