The Beekeeper's Ball: Bella Vista Chronicles Book 2 (23 page)

“Sure. One thing I don’t want to happen is to let this pregnancy take over every minute of my life.”

“I understand. Come on, I think you’re going to like Shannon. She works in museum acquisitions, and she just got here from Indonesia.” Isabel liked Shannon, too, although she’d never expected to encounter her father’s secret mistress. It had all happened so long ago; it was hard to hold her at fault. Isabel knew all about making bad choices at a young age.

“Jamie’s my beekeeping expert,” she told Shannon, making the introductions. “We’re kind of obsessed with honey around here these days.”

“Among other things,” said Shannon, giving Isabel a brief, firm hug. “The place looks amazing, like something out of a dream. I’m so impressed.” She turned to Jamie, beaming. “And I do love honey. I don’t actually know anyone who doesn’t love it.”

“It’s nearly time for dinner,” said Isabel. “I’m doing a cheese and honey pairing for cocktail hour.”

“Sounds heavenly,” said Annelise. “Can we come and help?”

“No need,” Isabel said. “Just show up on the patio in about half an hour.” She turned to Shannon. “How was your trip? And is your room okay?”

“The trip from Denpasar is always a killer, but Bali is so worth it that I don’t mind. And being here is an instant pick-me-up. The room decor is fabulous. Vintage California—I love it.” Shannon gave her another quick hug. “I’m so glad you and Tess are together. You’re a blessing, Isabel, I swear.”

Isabel felt a surge of affection for both Shannon and Tess. “I’ve had way too much fun helping with this wedding. It’s addictive.”

“I hope you left some chores for the mother of the bride.”

“And the grandmother,” Annelise said.

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty to do,” Tess assured them. “Like these centerpieces.” She indicated a table draped in linen, and a basket of materials on the chair beside it.

“Yay, something to fight over,” Shannon said.

“Oh, no, you don’t. We are
not
going to fight over glassware and flowers.” Tess picked up a mason jar and some raffia and went to work.

“All right,” Shannon agreed. “And check out these woven fabrics I brought from Bali. She set a stack of colorful cloth on a table. “Ikat and songket. Aren’t they beautiful?”

Isabel and Jamie left everyone exclaiming over the decorations, pausing in the doorway to look back as Shannon excitedly showed Tess and Annelise her collection of pretty things she’d brought from Indonesia for the tables.

Shannon looked young for her age, and Isabel suspected she and Tess were often mistaken for sisters, with their Irish red hair and fair coloring. There was a lively play of light and shadow in the space as the sun filtered through the plank siding and the high windows, limning all three women in a diffusing glow. They resembled an Old Masters painting, gathered around the table, arranging the fabric, flowers and candles. There was a beautiful sense of continuity in that moment—the bride, her mother and her grandmother, humming with anticipation over the impending wedding.

Isabel felt an unbidden pang of envy. What would it be like to be standing there with her mother, filled with excitement about her future, imagining children one day, family holidays, that special bond of security a mother and daughter seemed to share? Isabel would never be in that place, never know that feeling.

She put her envy aside, knowing Tess had grown up with challenges of her own. “I wish I had a camera right now,” she said to Jamie. “The three of them look so pretty, gathered around the table in that light.”

“They do,” Jamie agreed. “I’ve never been to a wedding.”

“Really? Ah, you’re going to love this one,” Isabel assured her. “Music and feasting—what’s not to love? Let’s go. I’m going to help Ernestina in the kitchen, and you probably need a rest.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jamie said as they walked together toward the main house. “The doctor said I should rest when I’m tired. And I’m not tired. Let me help, too.”

Ernestina went to set the patio table while Isabel and Jamie worked side by side at the kitchen counter.

“Are you and your mother close?” Isabel asked as she blended a bit of culinary lavender into some local goat cheese she’d picked up at the farmer’s market. “Where does she live?”

“In Chico, and no, we’re not close.” Jamie carefully arranged some radishes and crackers on a tray. “I haven’t even told her about the baby.”

“Oh, Jamie. Really? You don’t think she’d want to help you?”

“My Mom? She’d be all, ‘I didn’t raise you to be that stupid,’ and I’d go, ‘No, you didn’t raise me at all, I did it on my own.’” She changed her voice to emulate the dialogue. “And she’d be like, ‘I was on my own, I did the best I could,’ and then I’d be like, ‘Yeah, me, too.’ That’s pretty much how all our conversations turn out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Having a mother isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” She shrugged her shoulders, then shifted her attention to the hand-labeled glass jars of honey. “Which one do you want to use?”

“Something mild to go with the cheese.”

“The milkweed blossom?”

Isabel nodded. “We’re probably the only ones who’ll notice.”

“The different flavors of honey have always been obvious to me,” Jamie said.

“Not to me. I’ve had to train my palate. Same with wines. I’m not a natural, but I love the alchemy of pairing flavors. If you were twenty-one and not pregnant, I’d give you a taste of this nice new sauvignon blanc from Angel Creek. It’s going to go perfectly with the appetizers.” She turned off the heat under the fried marcona almonds and gave the pan a shake.

“One sip,” Jamie insisted, nibbling a bit of the goat cheese and honey on a cracker.

“One, young lady.” Isabel poured a bit of the chilled white wine in a goblet and held it out to her.

Jamie savored a tiny sip, and smiled blissfully. “You’re right. It’s delicious.”

Isabel took back the goblet. “Look at me, corrupting a minor.”

“When I was younger, I used to try to get under my mom’s skin by stealing sips of her beer. She didn’t care, though. She always said it might help me be less shy.”

“You were shy in school?”

“Yeah. Didn’t really feel like I fit in. I was good at guitar, and I liked the 4-H club a lot. That’s how I got interested in beekeeping. But it was the trifecta for a total misfit—guitar, 4-H and bees. It drove my mom crazy, because she was this überpopular cheerleader, homecoming queen type who wanted me to be exactly like her. It was just something else for us to argue about.”

“I was shy in school, too, and my grandmother and I used to argue sometimes, but about the opposite situation. I was totally overprotected. Given what happened to my father, it’s understandable. But it didn’t exactly prepare me for the world. That’s probably why I’m such a homebody.”

“Pretty nice home,” Jamie said, looking around the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Isabel replied. “I do love it here, although I’d also love to travel more, see the world. But the cooking school—”

“Is not even up and running yet,” said Mac, barging into the kitchen. His hair was damp from the shower, and he was wearing clean cargo shorts and a fresh T-shirt. Isabel couldn’t help but notice that he smelled wonderful, of soap and fresh air.

“You should run away while you have the chance,” he told her.

“Suppose I don’t want to run away?”

“You do. I just heard you say it.”

“I did not—”

“Dude, where do you want her to run to?” Jamie asked, gesturing at the view. The arched window framed the rolling hills, covered in every shade of green and peppered by bursts of floral color, basking in the deep golden afternoon light. “What’s better than here?”

“Right now, nowhere,” he admitted. “Oh, man, what is that incredible smell?” He made a beeline for the salted rosemary marcona almonds, still warm in the pan.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Isabel whacked his arm with the back of a wooden spoon. “That’s for drinks on the patio. Fifteen more minutes.”

“I’ll die,” he said. “You don’t want me dying on your kitchen floor.” He looked over at Charlie, the German shepherd, who was lying with his chin flat on the saltillo tile and watching the food prep as if it was his sole mission in life.

“Here,” she said, handing Mac a tray of glasses. “Take these outside and help Grandfather pour the wine. Take the dog with you. He knows he’s not supposed to be in the kitchen.”

Mac sent her a wounded look. “Come on, Charlie. We know when we’re not wanted.”

Jamie held the door for him as he carried the tray outside. “See, he likes you. It’s so obvious.”

Isabel ducked her head, concentrating mightily on the tray of appetizers. She flashed on the day of the hot springs, and how they had been doing this flirty dance, back and forth, ever since. He took up far more space in her thoughts than she would ever admit to. She liked it. She liked
him.
She just needed to figure out how to keep herself from liking him too much. “He’s here for a job,” she reminded Jamie. “Nothing more.”

“No, he
came
here for a job, same as me. Maybe he’ll end up staying, same as me.”

“I’m not putting him on the payroll. And what’s with this romantic streak of yours? Why are you so keen on hooking me up with Mac O’Neill?”

“I’m not doing anything. Just making observations.”

Ernestina came bustling in from the dining room. “The table is ready. Shall I take that tray to the patio?”

“Sure, thanks. We’ll be out in a minute. I’m just finishing the sauce for the pork roast.” She leaned over the fragrant concoction simmering in a pan and gave it a stir. “I hope you’re hungry. We’ve created a feast.”

“I’m starved. But listen, if you want this to be a family thing, I’ll understand.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re part of the tribe now, whether you like it or not.”

“You know I like it. I just don’t want to intrude.”

“Listen,” Isabel said. “You’re not intruding. I want you to know this is your home now. Got it?”

Jamie nodded. Then she grabbed a tea towel and wiped her eyes. The sight of this hardened, body-pierced, purple-haired girl, now soft with sentiment, made Isabel glad she’d taken a chance on the girl.

Jamie went to the sink and rinsed her face, then stared at Isabel with her heart in her eyes. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“How do you just take somebody in? Treat me like I’m family?”

“It feels right,” Isabel said. “You and I click. We have from the very first day you showed up here. That’s what I felt, anyway.”

“Really?”

“No one could have done what you’ve done with the hives in such a short time, but it’s more than that. You’ve brought something special to Bella Vista—not just your skills. Your energy and your spirit, your creativity and your music. I feel lucky that you arrived when you did, and I hope you’ll stay. I mean that. I know Grandfather feels the same.”

The girl dried her hands. “I hope I can stay, too.”

“Nothing’s stopping you. We all love having you here.”

“Thank you.” She hesitated, then said, “I’d like to tell everyone what I’ve decided. The adoption.”

“Tell everyone...”

“I mean, I wouldn’t make a big deal of it, just want to get the news out there. Because if I don’t, people might be all like, ‘Congratulations,’ and you don’t really congratulate someone who’s not going to be a parent, right?”

“I see your point. But this is such a brand-new decision. Remember what the doctor said. You might want to live with it for a while.”

“Honestly, I’ve been living with it ever since I realized I was pregnant. I always knew this is what I’d end up doing.” She took off her apron and hung it on a hook. “If I say it aloud, and make sure everyone knows, then it’ll help me get used to the idea that someone else will raise this baby. Someone better than me.”

“Whoa, hang on.” Isabel held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “There is no one better than you. No one. But if you do end up choosing adoption, your generosity is going to give the adoptive family more joy than we can possibly imagine.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” She offered a shy, fleeting smile.

“You’re very amazing,” said Isabel. “You know that, right?”

“It’s nice of you to say so. Sometimes I have a hard time believing it.”

“We’re always hardest on ourselves, aren’t we?” Isabel mused. “Except right this minute, I can tell you unequivocally that
I
am amazing because I just made the most insanely delicious
agrodolce
sauce you’ve ever tasted.” She offered Jamie a sample on a piece of bread. “Figs, olives, balsamic and honey.”

“Delicious,” said Jamie. “I love your cooking. Your cooking school is going to be a huge success.”

“That’s the plan, anyway. Let’s go hang out on the patio for a while before dinner.”

“I heard the
D-
word,” said Dominic as they joined everyone.

“What,
dinner?
Or
delicious?
I can assure you, both are happening,” said Isabel, accepting a glass of sauvignon blanc from him. Tess handed Jamie a flute of bubbly water with fresh strawberries.

“What’s on the menu tonight?” asked Shannon. “And will it cure my jet lag?”

“It will cure everything,” Isabel said expansively. “We’re trying out a couple of things for the wedding feast, so I’m going to need your unfiltered opinion.”

“Last time I tried that, you whacked me with a spatula,” Mac pointed out.

“We’re going to have a honey theme,” Tess told her mother. She tipped her glass in Jamie’s direction.

“I’m glad I can help,” Jamie said.

“There’s something else,” Tess said. “Feel free to say no, but I thought I would ask.”

Jamie’s brow quirked. “Sure.”

“Dominic and I were wondering if you’d be willing to play a song at our wedding.”

The girl’s smile encompassed everyone gathered on the patio. “I’d love to. All you have to do is let me know what you have in mind.”

“That’s great,” said Tess, then turned to Shannon. “Mom, wait ’til you hear her. She’s fantastic.”

“I think it’s a lovely idea,” Shannon said. “So tell us about the baby,” she added. “When are you due?”