“You have,” Aunt Camellia said. “And you will. You’ll do big things right here in Honey. Be that discovering the next honey-based vaccine or having a dozen babies or writing a series of bee-centric children’s books...”
“Or all of the above,” Astrid interjected.
“Or all of the above.” Aunt Camellia nodded. “Whatever you decide to do will be big to us, Rose.”
“Your confrontation with Libby brought this on?” Aunt Mags sat beside Shelby, her eyes laser-focused.
All eyes swiveled to Rosemary.
“Partly.” She swallowed. “Everett.” She swallowed again. “I love him.” So much. “Even though he doesn’t want to be anything more than friends, I do. And if there’s even the smallest chance he’s doing what you all did, I should tell him how I feel, shouldn’t I?”
She hoped so, because tomorrow, bad idea or not, she was going to tell Everett Michael Taggert how she felt.
THISLATE, the back country roads between his parents’ house and his own were normally deserted. There weren’t many lights along the winding road—not exactly the sort of drive to make after dark. Even he, who made the trek a dozen times or more a week, didn’t relish being out this late. That was why it was a surprise to see an unfamiliar car on the side of the road.
He pulled far off onto the shoulder and parked, rifled through his glove box for a flashlight, and went to check out the situation.
From the looks of it, there were three people inside—triggering all sorts of red flags. He paused and fired off a text to the local state highway patrol before getting out, leaving his headlights on.
“Hello?” he called out. “You need some help?” He spied the blown back passenger tire. “I can give you a hand changing that tire, if you want?”
The passenger door opened, and a teenage boy got out. “Thanks, mister. We’ve got a friend coming.”
“You sure?” Everett pointed the flashlight into the car. Sure enough, two other teens were inside. He didn’t like the idea of leaving a bunch of kids out here on their own.
“We’re good.” The boy shifted from one foot to the next.
Everett glanced down at the boy’s feet. Black shoes. Black pants. Black shirt. Black hoodie. Not something most of the kids in these parts wore. Unless it was one of [email protected].
“Who else is in there?” he asked, leaning forward and shining the flashlight inside. “Wes? Wes Hobart, is that you?”
“Yeah. We said we got it.” Wes glared his way.
“You got a spare in the trunk?” He flashed his light into the back seat. The kid there covered his face.
“I don’t know, man,” Wes grumbled. “Probably not.”
“Let’s check.” Everett straightened and headed to the trunk. “Open it up.” He rapped on the trunk with his knuckles.
“We don’t need your help, mister.” The first kid was going an alarming shade of red now. “Thanks, though.”
“Right.” Everett shook his head. “Your parents know you three are out here?”
“You don’t know who my parents are.” The kid crossed his arms over his chest, looking smug.
“Not yours.” Everett pulled out his phone and hit Hobart’s number. “But I have Dennis Hobart on speed dial.”
Wes scrambled out of the car. “You don’t have to call him—”
“Hello?” Dennis Hobart snapped through the phone. “It’s awfully late for you to be calling me, Everett.”
Everett put the call on speaker mode. “I’m standing here with your son.” Everett smiled at the boy. “He’s got a flat. You know if he’s got a spare in the trunk?”
“What?” Dennis sputtered. “Wes is here... He’s upstairs in his room.”
“You sure about that?” Everett watched as Wes Hobart’s hands fisted. “Why don’t you go check?”
“Wes?” Dennis spat out. “You better answer me, boy.”
