So Sweet to Bee One
The air smells like sugar and sunshine, like honey and hay. The turnout is the biggest I’ve ever seen. Cars line the road all the way down to the river bend. People are spilling into every corner of the property, laughing and tasting and spinning through flower fields like a Hallmark special exploded on our land.
It’s beautiful.
It’s chaos.
And it’s everything Georgia built.
I should be happy, but all I can find in me to be is silently proud because I’m hanging on by a thread here.
Aurora’s toddling around with my sisters, dressed in that tiny yellow romper Georgia ordered weeks ago, the one that saysSo Sweet To Bee Oneacross her chest.
It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, but all I can think is she’s not here to see it.
I keep catching myself scanning the crowd, stupidly hopeful I’ll see those freckles and that fire again. Every damn smile I fake is a crack in the dam, and when Mrs. Widdleston from the bakery downtown waves me over, I paste another one on.
“I just had to tell you, Kade,” she gushes, clutching a honey-sampler cone in one hand. “This event is stunning. One of the best community gatherings I’ve ever been to.”
“Appreciate that, ma’am.”
“And that Georgia girl?” Her eyes twinkle. “What a gem. Organized everything so beautifully. You’re lucky to have someone like that.”
My smile tightens, heart cracking.
I don’t have shit.
“Yes, ma’am. I am.”
She leans in, brows tight. “I haven’t seen her around today, though.”
My chest hollows out. “She’s around,” I lie. “Probably putting out a fire or helping someone settle in.”
Mrs. Widdleston nods, satisfied. “That sounds like our Georgia.”
Our Georgia.
God.
It hits like a gut punch.
Can’t stand to be here, in the middle of something covered and dripping in the one woman I’d literally kill to fuckin’ see right now. Even if it's just so she can yell at me.
Sighing, I head back toward my house, leaving the happy chaos behind me. Aurora is with my sisters, probably with the goats. It's her favorite thing these days, spending time with the animals. I shoot off a quick text, letting them know where I am just in case.
Hands in my pockets, eyes on the ground, I make my way up the new walkway. I've been throwing myself into finishing the house, the front yard. It's kept my brain busy—at least I'm pretending it has.
“You planted lilies,” a soft voice chokes out.
My head snaps up, heart racing.
“My favorite flower. You filled the yard with them.”
My neck burns, and I stumble, but quickly catch myself before I can trip.
Georgia.
My Georgia.
