7. Nate

7

NATE

Eden's friend Marsha is… a whole lot. She showed up on a motorcycle, chrome glinting in the morning sun, and strode right in like she owned the place. I wish she was the owner. She seems like she'd be better to work with than some out-of-state guy who never emails complete sentences.

"You the guy to see?" she asks as I fumble with my clipboard. The guys start the bandsaw just as I open my mouth to tell her about the situation. Eden isn't here yet. It all feels foreboding.

I swallow and hold out a hand, which she grips in a firm shake. "I'm Nate Donovan. Eden is… oh, there she is." Relief floods my system at the sight of her, fresh and fragrant with her hair spilling everywhere, wearing just a tank top and those damn tiny cut-offs. She doesn't have a veil with her today. Marsha catches me staring and gives me a look. I fake a cough behind my fist and try to regroup.

"Marsh!" Eden throws her arms around her mentor, and I'm a little surprised to see the good doctor embrace Eden warmly. Marsha snaps right back into business mode upon release and pulls a pair of coveralls from her bag.

Marsha steps into the heavy garment, shaking her head in Eden's direction. "I still think you're nuts going in there like that. A bee flew up my nose yesterday. That was with the veil on."

"They like me." Eden shrugs. "I don't know how to explain it."

I almost say that everyone likes her. I should say something —offer Eden and her friend… what exactly? I can't pull an espresso out of my rear end. I only have electricity because we've got a generator going.

Marsha frowns with her whole body, scolding Eden from inside her veil. "You don't have smoke with you?"

Eden shakes her head. "They're mostly gone. I'm sure they hated leaving their brood behind…"

The two of them chatter about best practices in these cases, and I can tell they care more about the bees than the structural integrity of the house.

By the time I make it to the third floor behind them, they're both crouched next to the hole in the wall, murmuring quietly. I stand back and watch Eden in her element, explaining how she put the exit-only tunnel on the wall outside the hive. Marsha acknowledges it would have been difficult to save the babies, and Eden's relief is apparent even to me. I hadn't realized there were babies in the wall.

"Whelp." Marsha flicks a few bees from her legs with a gloved hand. "I'd say you're on the right track. We still on for tonight?"

Eden nods and I focus on the hem of her tank top, a little damp with sweat I want to taste. She fans herself and I wish she'd step closer so I could fan her myself.

Marsha sniffs and catches me ogling Eden. "Oof. The hetero hormones here are getting too much for me," Marsha says, giving me a salute. She spins on her heel and takes off down the stairs. Eden sends me a look. It's more than a body scan. It's a hot look, suggesting I'm not alone in my struggle to hold myself together. But I have to let Eden take the lead on whatever she has in mind behind that glance. I'm the one in atonement mode, and Eden quickly reverts to professionalism.

I can just hear the roar of Marsha's motorcycle above the saws and generators downstairs, and maybe I stand extra close to Eden. She can hear me better… yeah, that's the reason. "What did she say?"

Eden plucks her plug from the wall with a smile. "The grownup bees have moved out. We will need to pull the plaster off in small bits, methodically, so we can see where the honeycomb is attached. We are good to go if you've got a crowbar or something."

I pull a power drill from my belt and rev the motor a few times. "Oh, I'm ready," I joke. I switch the head of the drill to my saw attachment kit, and Eden watches, intrigued, head tilted as if she is studying my movements as I cut through the plaster as shallowly as possible. A house this old wouldn't have insulation, so there's just a gap between the plaster and the framing. Some dusty chunks crack off and fall to the floor, revealing…

"What the hell is that?"

"Ooooh," Eden coos, leaning in. She points at a white, lumpy substance that looks like mold and tells me it's capped honeycomb. "Each of those slabs will have a few pounds of honey inside. The white caps keep it nice and sanitary. Hang on, I have to run to my van and grab something." She pushes to her feet, narrowing her eyes and pointing a disciplining finger at me. "Touch. Nothing."

As if I would reach in there. I search for signs of life in the wall and find none. Soon Eden clomps back up the steps, dragging a giant blue cooler in one hand and carrying a black bucket in the other. She's got a mini crowbar-looking tool sticking out the waist of her tiny shorts. I imagine how much easier her work would be with a tool belt, and then I can't stop picturing her in a tool belt.

I clear my throat. "Tell me what to do."

"Well, big guy, we're going to very gently pry the comb from the studs." Eden coughs and pats her chest. Her cheeks go red and I swallow, fighting a grin.

She shows me how to jimmy the honeycomb loose from the wall, and we get to work peeling it from the joists.

"Where will you put all this?" There's so much from those little buzzers.

"Hmm…" Eden taps her chin. "I guess I need to get food-grade buckets or gallon jars if I'm going to do wholesale, huh?"

I shrug. "I'm the wrong guy to ask."

She sighs. "I'm so bad at all those little details. Like, who knows what containers to order? Not me."

"I feel you on that. Apparently, I'm supposed to be ordering all the rulers and pencils and extra sandpaper for this operation. Did I do that? Nope."

We trade growing pain stories—her with her microfarm, me with my father's microbusiness. She hums. "I know it's probably nothing to file the right paperwork and get more grant funding. But even the letters USDA sound intimidating." Eden turns to face me, eyes huge, arms full of honeycomb. "Is that dumb?"

"Not at all." This woman gets me. She is so obviously good at what she does, and yet so stymied by the little things. She makes a few trips to her van for more coolers and buckets until I imagine we have the entire Yeti product line full of honeycomb.

Eden assesses her armful of comb, puts the good ones in the cooler to "process," and tells me to toss the bad ones in her bucket. "I'll melt all that and set it near my hives. My other bees will salvage almost all of this."

"You running a scrapyard?" I heave a piece of comb from the wall. It's almost as tall as Eden, and she giggles as I try to put it in the cooler.

"You'll have to cut that one in half. Gently."

I glance around. She only has one of those flat tools, so I'm not sure how she wants me to proceed. The flat-head screwdriver from my own tool belt hasn't been nearly as effective. I eventually shrug and snap the comb in half. I'm rewarded with two palms full of warm honey.

"Do you have a rubber band?" Eden whips her head around as she asks, accidentally bumping my hand into my face. "Oh. Nate, I'm sorry." I touch my cheek, a goopy drop dribbling down my skin.

Eden looks flustered. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and I can see her pulse jump at her throat. "Here, let me."

My own heart skips when Eden absently wipes honey from near my lip. My entire body is aware of her touch, until she pauses with her thumb on my cheek. I'm very, very glad I shaved this morning as Eden presses the pad of her thumb against my skin, wiping away the warm honey. And then, she puts her thumb into her mouth and sucks it clean.

I see the moment she realizes what she's doing. Her eyes fly wide in a blend of horror and embarrassment. Before I can reach for her or tell her she's very welcome to lick honey off any part of my body, she emits a tiny yip and runs out of the house, dragging the cooler behind her.