“Not unless you count pulling one out of a lemonade once,”Isaid, approaching. “Itdidn’t end well.”
Teddy grunted, then tipped her hand soIcould see the tiny, frantic creature. “Hejust needs some sugar water.There’sa bottle in the barn next to the spare suits.Couldyou grab it?”
I was glad for the assignment.Ijogged to the barn, found the bottle where she said, and hustled back.WhenIhanded it over,Teddygently set the bee on the biggest daffodil in the border, then twisted off the cap and dripped a clear bead onto a petal.
“There you go, little guy,” she murmured, and the bee’s tongue snapped out, impossibly fast, lapping up the sugar.
I watched the bee drink, its little legs steadying on the flower.Teddycrouched in the wet grass, the mesh veil obscuring her face, butIcould still tell her eyes were fixed on the creature with an intensity that made me feel, for just a second, likeIwas spying on something private.
But thenIremembered the phone.Ipulled it out and zoomed in on the bee; the camera was wobbly zoomed in this far, and the lighting was bad, butIcaught the way her thumb stroked the edge of the bee’s thorax, careful not to hurt it.ThenIpulled back, framingTeddy’sface as well.Shelooked up and caught me, but she didn’t bother to scold me this time.Instead, she reached up and tugged the veil off, shaking her hair loose.
“You always record everything?” she asked, wiping a bit of sugar water on her jeans.
“Not everything,”Isaid, putting the phone away. “Butthis was … really nice.”
She shrugged. “Partof the job.Theyjust need a little help sometimes.”
“Will it be okay?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “ButifIhadn’t found it, the answer would almost certainly have been no.”
The bee finished its drink, flexed its legs, and tried to fly.Thewing still wouldn’t work, but it toddled down the stem and found another flower, determined to keep moving.
Teddy stood up, brushing off her knees, and for a moment, we just watched the bee together.
“Thanks for getting the sugar,” she said, then, almost as an afterthought, “Thepath looks good.Youdid better thanIexpected you to.”
I grinned, pride welling up. “What’snext, boss?”Ijoked, but she didn’t even crack a smile.
“I need you to fold some labels for me.”
I frowned. “Labelsfor what?Ithought the honey and mead were bottled and labelled off-site.”
“They are.Thisis for something else.”
She took me into the warehouse, into the back corner, where there was a stainless-steel workstation that was so full,Icould barely see any of the surface.Therewere wooden crates of golden bars, stacks of paper, and spools of string.
“What is all this?”Ipicked up one of the golden bars; it was waxy to the touch.
“Soap,”Teddysaid, moving around to the other side of the workbench. “Imake it from the honey and beeswax.”
“And you sell it?Ididn’t know that.”
She shook her head. “Wenever have, butIwant to.It’sreally good soap.It’snaturally antibacterial, and it helps with inflammation.”
“Very cool,”Isaid, placing the bar back in the crate. “Andthese are the labels?”
Teddy nodded. “They’realready cut to size, you just need to fold them around the bars and then tie them with the string.They’regoing to be tested, so you need to be precise.”
I ignored the insinuation thatIwouldn’t have been precise without her reminding me.Ifrowned down at the labels, imagining what she was saying.Somethingwasn’t quite right, butIdidn’t want her to thinkIwas being critical.
“What?” she asked, sounding annoyed, but whenIlooked up at her, she looked genuinely worried. “Issomething wrong with them?”
“The labels look really good,”Isaid, and they did.Theminimalist, serif font she’d chosen was really nice, and the colour splash behind the words looked almost like one ofJen’spaintings in the studio. “Butthe string will cover the words.”
Teddy’s face fell. “Oh.”
“ButIhave an idea,”Isaid, even though the idea only came to me asIwas saying it.
