Betty Lou from the Buckhorn Diner yells at someone to make room for her casserole.
Music floats from a portable speaker, something twangy and cheerful that doesn’t match the tension in the air.
And the sky, dark around the edges, hangs heavy with the scent of oncoming rain.
No rain yet, though. Just the kind of thick, muggy pressure that makes my bees restless, and me too.
“Tryin’ to hide?”
The voice comes from behind me, and I flinch before turning, expecting a stranger.
Instead, I find Maeve with her brightly patterned scarf blowing in the wind like a flag, declaring she’s already in charge of everything happening here.
“I’m not hiding,” I lie softly.
Her eyebrows lift. She doesn’t believe me. “You’re standing under a tree, practically facing away from literally every person here.”
“I’m… observing.”
“Mmhmm.” She grins. “Well, observe yourself over to the dessert table at some point. We have three lemon bars leftover, and that’s a crime.”
I nod because Maeve expects a nod, and she squeezes my arm before sweeping off to reorganize a tablecloth that’s threatening to blow away.
She’s a cheerful hurricane, impossible to stop and impossible not to admire from a safe distance.
I breathe in slowly and look back at the crowd.
This would be easier if there were bees here.
Bees, I can read. Bees, I understand. With bees, the rules are clear.
With people… not so much.
A child shrieks a little too close, and I shift further under the tree, trying to look like I’m not… well, hiding.
But then:
“Miss Abilene!”
I blink.
And then I see them.
Eliza and Caleb.
Two tiny, unstoppable whirlwinds of energy barreling toward me across the grass.
Eliza’s blonde braids are coming undone, little wisps flying everywhere. Caleb’s shirt is untucked and missing a button that I’m fairly certain was there yesterday. Both are holding half-melted chocolate chip cookies in their fists.
I barely have time to put down my tea before they collide into my legs.
“Whoa, easy, easy! Hi!”
Eliza bounces on her toes. “Do you have any honey sticks?”
Caleb nods vigorously. “Please?” he adds as an afterthought.
“Of course.” I reach into the little canvas tote I brought, just in case. I always bring honey sticks to the potluck because, well… the twins always find me. “What flavors today?”
