CALEB
Tim leads me down the familiar path behind his house, past the vegetable garden where tomatoes hang heavy on their vines. My skin still tingles from his touch, and I can feel the heat of what just happened between us radiating through my body. The afternoon sun slants through the oak trees, casting everything in amber light that seems to pulse with the drone of bees.
He glances back with that smile that undoes me every time, and I know where we're heading.
The apiaries come into view, a dozen white boxes I've seen before and loved, scattered across the meadow like abandoned dice. The air is thick and sweet, heavy with the scent of wildflower honey and warm wax that I've come to associate with these stolen moments. Bees move in lazy spirals between the hives and the clover, their wings catching the light like scattered gold dust.
The muscles in Tim’s forearms flex as he lifts the smoker. There's something primal about the way he moves among the hives, confident, reverent, like he
