“What’s their background?”Iasked, forcing myself to think like the business partnerIwanted to be, not like an overlooked niece. “Marketing,Iassume?”
“Event planning, actually.Andshe’s really passionate about mead, too.”Jensexpression brightened. “Ithink she might be exactly what we need,Ted.Someonewith experience in bringing people together; making connections.She’llbe here soon, actually, for her first day.Ithought you might want to meet her, get a sense of what she’s trying to accomplish, maybe even make a friend?She’sabout your age, and queer.”
I don’t need any friends,Ithought.Mostof the peopleIknew, present company excluded, were other seasonal workers or peopleI’dmet at markets and festivals over the year, and even thenI’dnever made much of an effort to remember them.Iwas only here half the year, after all.Whatwas the point?
“I thinkI’lltakeWillowfor a hike before the new girl gets here,”Isaid asIshot to my feet, suddenly finding myself with a surplus of anxious energy to burn.Igrabbed my clothes off the bed. “Getmy bearings back.”
“Good idea,”Jensaid, standing up to leave. “Justdon’t wear yourself out–Iwant you to make a good impression.”
I paused my hurried dressing and raised an eyebrow atJen. “WhendoInot make a good impression?”
“Do you want me to answer that honestly?”
I stuck my tongue out at her, which made her laugh as she pulled the door shut behind her.Iheaved out a sigh and turned toWillow, who stood on the bed wagging her tail.
“You wouldn’t keep a secret like that from me, would you, girl?”Iasked asIscratched her wiggly haunches.ButIsupposedJenhad every right to keep it a secret if she wanted to.Becauseas much as the farm might have been home to me, it wasn’t mine.Notreally.
* * *
The pathup the hill behind the farm was overgrown, even after winter, butIcould still follow it easily.I’dbeen walking this route for years, even thoughIhad never been entirely sure who owned the land.Itdidn’t matter– no one had ever challenged me, and the view from the top was worth the risk of trespassing.Therewere no sheep to be seen, which meant it was the perfect spot to exerciseWillow; the only such spot in walking distance where we didn’t risk encountering a protective farmer.
Willow bounded ahead, following scents and chasingshadows, whileIlet my mind wander.Itfelt good to move after hours of sitting on planes and in cars; good to breathe air that smelled like grass and earth instead of exhaust and recycled air conditioning.
At the top of the hill,Isettled onto the flat, moss-covered rock that served as my usual perch.Belowme,GwenynenHollowlay spread out like a living map.
The mead production happened in the large blue warehouse that had been built five years ago along one edge of the small parking area, all clean lines and temperature control that looked slightly out of place next to the traditional stone structures of the house and barn.Theflower garden followed the side of the warehouse;I’dworked hard to make it as bee friendly as possible over the years, which meant walking a fine line between intentionality and over-cultivation.Beyondthat was the orchard, where a few rows of mature apple and pear and quince trees followed the contour of the hills.Acrossit all, the hives dotted the space, different clusters perfectly positioned for different honeys.Therainbow of colours and materials told the story of the farm’s growth;I’dstarted out hand-building the boxes from reclaimed materials, but as we’d expanded, it had become impossible to keep up, and now there was a mix of my carpentry, commercially manufactured boxes, and second-hand salvages.
The large storage barn– refurbished several years ago so it could be used as an office, too– sat nestled between the parking lot and the hill.Nextto it was a little yellow shepherd’s hut-style holiday cottage that, in theory,Maggiesometimes stayed in, though mostly it was used as overflow storage.Thenthere was the house, behind which was a patchwork kitchen garden that had grown bit by bit each year, where rhubarb, spring onions, and early cabbages were ready for harvest.Andbeyond it all, between the farm and theBroad, was the old field thatJenhad immediately given over toMotherNature, now rich with wildflowers and grasses and self-seeded willow; in fact,I’dbeen out there harvesting some for weaving six years ago whenI’dfound my little pup gnawing on one of the strands, desperate for something to eat.Henceher name.
GwenynenHollowwas beautiful and functional, andIwanted nothing more than to be a part of it for the rest of my life.Iremembered every decision that had shaped it over the years, andIhad so many more visions for it in my mind.Thethought of leaving again this fall– of packing my single suitcase and flying back toCaliforniato spend another winter drifting– made my chest tight with sadness.I’dhoped that maybe this would be the yearIwouldn’t have to say goodbye, but ifJenhad hired someone else, what did that mean for me?
Movement in the driveway below caught my attention, andIsquinted down to see a figure walking up the gravel path.Iwas too far away to make out details, but they moved with purpose; like someone who knew exactly where they were going.
“Come on, girl,”Isaid toWillow, who was investigating something fascinating in the undergrowth. “Letsgo meet the new hire.”
By the timeImade it back down the hill, the visitor had disappeared inside.Icould seeJenthrough the windows, gesturing animatedly as she spoke to someone whose back was turned to me, their dark red hair cascading over their shoulders.Ipushed open the studio door, running my suddenly sweaty palms down my jeans to dry them.Therewas no logical reason to be nervous about meeting a new team member, but my heart sped up as if it knew somethingIdidn’t.
“Jen,I’mback!”Icalled, stepping into the light-filled space.Thenthe person looking atJen’slatest painting turned around, and my world tilted sideways.
Long, auburn hair, pale skin, and the same face that had been haunting my thoughts for three months.Butinstead of glitter freckles and a ridiculous pair of wings, she was wearing tailored trousers and a silky purple blouse, looking like she’d stepped out of a boardroom, not like she’d come to work at a rural honey farm.
“Teddy,” she said, as if greeting an old friend, her pale pink lips twisting into a smirk. “Whata coincidence.”
She stuck out her hand, andIinstinctively reached out to shake it beforeIeven knew whatIwas doing.
“You,”Imanaged, my voice coming out rougher thanI’dintended, though there wasn’t much thought swirling around in my mind.Justone long, continuous whisper ofhuh?
“Me,” she said, her smirk giving way to what felt like more of a sneer, still shaking my hand.Ifelt my shock and confusion solidify into annoyance. “ChloeBarlow.Lookslike we’ll be working together.”
Like hell we would.
Chapter4
Calamity
Calamity had come back fromPandemoniumwith four things.
Three of these things were names.Itwas unclear ifTrulnurothhad been unwilling or unable to give her more– perhaps knowingeverythingwas too tall an order, even for such a tall creature– but he had given her a quarter of them.
