Page 26 of Once Upon A Bear

“And if it isn’t necessary, then you have a jar of the best honey around,” he said grandly.

“You believe that strongly in your bees?” she teased.

“Of course I do,” he said fervently. “And you should too. They liked you.”

“What do you mean, they liked me?” she asked.

“They didn’t grow agitated when you arrived,” he said. “They grow agitated for a lot of people.”

This was surprising. She wouldn’t have assumed that the bees liked her.

“Maybe it’s because they think I’m beautiful,” she teased.

“I think it’s because you’re like a sunflower.”

Guinevere simply looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You have a very sunflowery way about you. I think maybe they can tell.”

“I’ve never been called a sunflower before, but I like it.”

“Oh, good,” he said, “because I wasn’t going to take it back.”

Gideon gave her a grin, and Guinevere simply looked at him. This was a much more confident Gideon than the man she’d been spending so much time with lately.

Was he really that bolstered by being with his bees? It seemed odd, but maybe they truly did make such a difference for him.

“Have you been eating honey?” she asked. It had put him in a good mood yesterday, too.

He nodded. “Shall we bring these jars to their final destination?” he asked, offering his arm.

“I suppose so,” she said. “I have something for you.”

Gideon’s expression dimmed. “It’s ready?” he asked.

It was. Guinevere wasn’t sure she was ready to give it to him. She ought to be more confident in her work—she knew that—but it was hard to be confident. She had no formal training, and every one of her patients told her that the potion she’d given them was the worst thing they’d ever tasted. It was hard, sometimes, and she wondered if perhaps her skills would have improved if she’d had more time with her grandparents.

Not that it would have made a difference. She was just bad at potions.

But since she was the only option the Northlands had, she would continue to do it for as long as she was needed.

“I hope the potion works,” Gideon said suddenly, his voice quiet.

“I do too,” she admitted, “but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

As much as she wanted to help him, she had no reason to expect that it would work on the first try. Her potions rarely did.

“I believe in you,” he said, looking down at her.

“I’m glad you do,” she admitted, “even if I’m not sure you should.”

“You don’t have to give me a reason to believe in you,” he said. “The fact that you’re willing to help is enough.”

And though she had struggled with doubting herself for so long, and even on this walk home, she began to believe in herself a little more. Because if Gideon had faith in her, having never seen what she could do, then perhaps she was someone worth believing in.

Though, to be fair, he hadn’t tried her potion yet. That usually made people no longer believe in her skills.

At least verbally.