The fire popped softly, its dancing light painting his skin in warm tones. He set the kettle over the grate and leaned back on his heels.
“Next, we grind the beans.” He opened a small canvas pouch and poured a handful of glossy brown beans into a hand grinder.
“You travel with that?”
“Never go anywhere without it. Life’s too short for bad coffee.” He started grinding and the earthy, rich scent curled toward them.
Krista closed her eyes for a moment. “That,” she said softly, “already smells like heaven.”
“Exactly. Now, you just pour the grounds in.”
“Directly, into the pot?”
“Trust me. It’ll be the smoothest coffee you’ve ever tasted.”
“Okay, whatever you say, cowboy.” Krista looked skeptical as she carefully poured in the grounds.
“We’ll let it boil for a couple of minutes, then pull it off to the side here.”
“Then what?”
“Then,” Joe said, smiling, “you pour a little cold water on top, and the grounds sink to the bottom.”
When it was ready, Joe poured two tin cups and handed one to her. “Moment of truth.”
Krista blew gently across the dark surface before taking a sip. “Smoky, smooth…a bit sweet.” She looked up at him. “Okay, you weren’t kidding. This is insanely good.”
Joe grinned. “Don’t look so surprised.”
“Well, I haven’t met a lot of cowboy teachers before.”
Her voice had a soft lilt, playful and warm, and it pulled a quiet laugh from him. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Joe grabbed his camera and snapped some photographs of her, with her hands clutched around her cup and her wild copper curls catching on the breeze. “First photos of our Summer Swap,” he murmured.
She looked perfectly at home here, even if she preferred soft beds and hot showers to canvas tents and campfire smoke. He watched her through the lens, fixed on the way her lashes brushed her cheeks as she looked down at her coffee.
Her eyes found his again. “Are you ready for a lesson from me now?”
Joe lowered his camera and arched a brow. “What are you planning on teaching me?”
“The sweet art of honey collecting.”
“Not sure if this makes me less manly, but I’m a little nervous,” Joe confessed as they followed the narrow trail that curved behind the cabins.
The air smelled of pine and wildflowers. Somewherenearby, he could hear the steady hum of bees. The hives came into view at the edge of the clearing—a neat row of white wooden boxes, their tops painted with fading yellow flowers. Bees floated lazily through the air like falling petals.
“You’ll be fine,” said Krista softly beside him. “They’re gentle if you’re gentle. Just keep calm.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Joe muttered. “You’ve got home-field advantage.”
She shot him a teasing look. “Please. I got stung my first day helping Grandpa. I cried for an hour. Now I just talk to them.”
“Talk to them?”
“Of course.” She stopped at the first hive, resting her hand on the lid like she was greeting an old friend. “They know my voice. Right, girls?”
The hum deepened, a soft chorus rising from the hive. Krista’s tone shifted, warm and low. “Morning, ladies. I brought someone new today.” She turned her head slightly toward Joe. “This is Joe. Be nice to him, okay? He’s a little nervous.”
