5. Calvin

CALVIN

B ee ownership—or rather, beekeeping—isn't as stressful as I thought it would be. I wasn't sure about Elvis moving an entire hive over to my apartment's rooftop garden, but after getting permission from my landlord, who practically screamed with delight when I told her, it seems everything is going just fine, so long as I give her free jars of honey occasionally. It's not as difficult as my day job, at least, which means it might make for a decent enough hobby.

Jules left me several books and favorite channels she watches online, but also gave me her number just in case anything gets too difficult. Yesterday evening replays in my mind as I stare at the hive, my arms crossed in front of my chest.

"We need some iced tea or something. I've worked up a sweat," Jules said. The three of us sat in a few lounger chairs in front of the hive, exhausted but satisfied from a job well done.

Elvis laughed. "Yeah. Could do, but my mom's the one who makes the killer iced tea. Calvin over here just buys the boxed powder shit from the store, so don't ask him for any."

Jules rolled her eyes and swatted my brother on the knee. "At least give your brother two seconds before taking the piss out of him again."

"I'll take good care of it," I said, and Jules smiled.

"I know you will," she said, a twinkle gleaming in her eye.

"And if you don't, you'll never hear the end of it," my brother interjected with a playful chuckle. "But seriously though. Don't fuck up my bees. I've been working on this for weeks and I'm weirdly attached at this point."

No pressure or anything.

I leaned forward in my chair and shot him a grin. "I promise as your older brother that I will do my best not to let anything bad happen to your bees."

Now, I'm staring down at the hive and wondering what I should do with it now. Opening it up to check on the little guys is only going to irritate them. But how do I know if things are going well?

I decide to sit down beside the large box in one of the garden chairs and pick up a book from the stack Jules left behind.

" Beekeeping 101: A Beginner's Journey ," I read out loud, then drop my voice to an almost whisper. "Bonus … hive inspection checklist included. Exactly what we need, I think."

"Who are you talking to?" The voice behind me makes me jump with a yelp. When I whirl around, my eyebrows creep into my hairline as the blond man from the other day pins me with a sardonic smile and crosses his arms in front of his chest. I hate being caught off-guard, especially by someone who has been so suspicious.

He takes a step forward and asks, "What's in the box?"

"Gwenyth Paltrow's head," I fire back with an eye-roll. Shit, I have no idea why I just said that. Kyle continues to stare at me without so much as a twitch of his lips.

"Funny." He tilts his chin up at the hive again. "That a bee box?"

The hair on my arms stands on end, and I put myself between Kyle and the beehive.

He chuckles. "Easy, man. I'm not going to hurt it. I just wanted to know who you were talking to, but it looks like a giant box. I was worried I was hanging out with someone with a few screws loose."

"No one said you have to stay up here," I mutter, turning back to the beehive and placing the book back down on the stack. "I'm not even sure why you are here, actually. You don't live here."

"Nah, you're right. I don't," he says, and takes another step forward. "Just waiting on my friend again, and you have a nice view up here. Better than his rank apartment. Reeks of weed."

I snort. "Ratting your friend out for having weed in his apartment, really?"

Even though Sugardove City has made marijuana legal, it still isn't permitted in the apartments. No smoking of any kind is. When I turn around, Kyle tilts his head at me. "You a cop?"

"Do I look like a cop?" I answer. A beat passes between us, and his brows knit together. "No. I'm not a fucking cop. I'm a scrum master."

I shouldn't have even bothered telling him that, because now he's looking at me like I'm a math problem and he forgot his calculator. "The hell is that?"

"It's— Never mind. Sorry. Enjoy your view, or whatever," I say, then sit back down in the chair. I'm not leaving the hive unattended. Not with Kyle looming nearby. He said he has no interest in harming the hive, but I really have no idea what he's capable of.

"You're unfriendly," he says, and for half a second, I hear a twinge of pain in his voice. It's enough to make me regret being so cold toward him, and I open my mouth to apologize, but he shakes his head. "No, it's cool. I won't bother you anymore. Just … it gets pretty boring up here."

I scrub a hand through my hair and sigh. "Sorry. I don't mean to be such a dick. I'm just … not great with people, I guess. Life of an engineer, maybe." Turning back toward the hive, I gesture to it. "Do you want me to show you what I'm doing?"

Kyle pauses, working his jaw. I'm pretty sure he's going to say no and walk away, but then he grins as he steps closer. "Sure. So, you really do have bees up here?"

I toss one of the books from the stack at him to catch. "Yeah. Just joined the beekeepers' guild at my brother's behest. He wants me to look after his bees while he's away next week and the guild was kind enough to let me host it here so I don't have to drive all the way across town."

"Cool," Kyle says before crouching down in front of the hive. I kneel beside him, and memories of when I was twelve years old come flooding back to me. Showing off my ant farm to a local boy in town, the only one who liked to hang out with me. He moved away when we were going into high school, and I never saw him again. My heart aches at the memory, like it's taunting me. Sometimes, when it's the middle of the night and I can't sleep, I'll think about that kid with the missing front tooth and shaggy mop of brown hair and wonder what became of him.

"Just so you know, I don't normally do this on a Friday night," I say.

Kyle gives me a sidelong glance. "What? You mean you're usually at a strip club or something instead?" He nudges me in the side. "I'm teasing. I think this is pretty awesome, actually."

"Really?"

He nods. "Really."

We spend the rest of the night up on that rooftop, laughing and talking about our lives. The full moon peeks out from behind the clouds, and eventually, Kyle's friend comes up looking for him, leaving me alone with the bees once more. I sit in the chair just like the night before and pull out a banged-up copy of William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream that I grabbed from the library.

I know it's stupid, reading to the bees like this. And I know this isn't what they mean by "telling the bees," but I figure if I'm going to be up here keeping an eye on things, I might as well read to them—like how my mom insists on talking to her tomato plants. She says it helps them grow better. So … maybe reading the bees classic literature will help them produce more honey? Can't hurt.

I kick my feet up, flip the page, then adjust my glasses. "Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draw on apace," I begin in a deep, dramatic voice. "Four happy days bring in another moon…"