I pull on my leggings and an oversized sweater, tug my hair into a loose braid, and step quietly into the main room. The kidsare still asleep, thank goodness. The coffee pot gurgles softly on the counter, already half empty.
Someone else is awake.
I don’t see Jesse. The absence is… noticeable.
I tell myself that’s normal. That, of course, he wouldn’t be hovering this morning after everything that happened. That it’s better this way. Easier.
Still, my chest feels tight as I pour myself tea instead of coffee, hands shaking just enough that I have to hold the mug with both palms.
I can’t stay here today.
The thought arrives fully formed, sudden, and undeniable.
I love my bees because they’re busy. Purposeful. They don’t sit and spiral. They work. They move. They check and recheck and adjust.
Sitting in this cabin, replaying last night on an endless loop, is the opposite of that.
I step to the window and peer out at the rain-darkened trees. The lake is a dull gray sheet, mist rising from its surface like a held breath. Somewhere out there, beyond the trees and roads and fire lines, are my hives.
I need to see them.
“Morning.”
Wyatt’s voice comes from behind me, gentle enough that I don’t jump. He looks rumpled in the way people do when they didn’t really sleep, glasses crooked, hair flattened on one side.
“Morning,” I say, managing a small smile.
He pours himself coffee and takes a sip, grimacing. “This might be the strongest thing I’ve ever willingly ingested.”
Marshall comes in a moment later, jacket already on, hair damp because he’s been outside. His gaze flicks to me immediately, sharp and assessing, as if he’s checking for damage he might’ve missed.
I look away.
“We’re heading out,” he says. “Going to check the ranch. Fire crews said containment improved overnight. The evacuation order has been lifted.”
My heart jumps hard enough that it almost hurts. “You’re going back?”
“Just to assess,” Wyatt says. “See what needs fixing.”
I nod, already knowing what I’m going to say next. “I’m coming with you.”
He opens his mouth, probably to argue. I don’t give him the chance.
“I need to check on my bees,” I say, firmer than I feel. “I can’t sit here wondering. I won’t. Please.”
The word slips out softer, more vulnerable than I intend.
Wyatt studies me, then nods. “That makes sense.”
Relief floods me so fast my knees go weak.
Wyatt sets his mug down and glances toward the hallway. “Jesse will stay here with the kids.”
My stomach flips.
“Oh,” I say, far too quickly. “Right. Of course. That makes sense. Keep the kids safe.”
“Let’s go,” Marshall says.
