The Beekeeper's Ball

He was supposed to be taking care of himself after his injury. The doc said his knee would never heal if he didn’t follow a program of physical therapy and exercise.

There was a knock at the door. “Hey, Mac,” said a voice. “It’s me, Tess.”

Leaning on his cane, he hobbled over and let her in.

She was as pretty as ever, red hair, tall and willowy. Actually, she was even prettier than he remembered. He didn’t recall the brightness of that smile. “Tess Delaney. Fancy meeting you here.”

“It’s great to see you,” she said. “We didn’t know when you’d get here.”

“I caught a flight from Taipei on standby. Borrowed a set of wheels in San Francisco and here I am.”

“Wow, that was quick. Oh, my gosh, it’s been too long.” With that, she gave him a brief hug. “I’m really glad we stayed in touch, Mac. Thanks for coming.” Her eyes sparkled as she grinned at him. “What?” she asked. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“You look really good, Tess. Glowing. Hey, are you—”

“About to marry the love of my life, yes. And no, I’m not pregnant. Just...in a different place than I was last time I saw you. A much better place, literally and figuratively.”

He sensed a mellowness about her he didn’t recall from before, as if her sharp edges had been softened. Maybe it was this place—Bella Vista. Maybe it would soften him, too. Except he didn’t need softening.

She stepped back and regarded him from head to toe. “You don’t look so hot. Isabel said you got stung.”

“Stung’s the word for it,” he murmured. “I’ll be okay. She was nice enough to take me to a clinic.”

“Good. My sister’s super nice.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She set her hands on her hips. Tess had put on a little weight, and the curves looked good on her. She’d been really skinny in Krakow, skinny and stressed out. “She said you got off on the wrong foot this morning.”

“Ha-ha.”

She checked out his knee brace. “What happened?”

“Torn ligaments. I’ll heal.”

“Are you hungry?”

“You know me. I can always eat.”

“You came to the right place. Let’s grab something for you from the kitchen, and then we’ll go find Magnus.”

The “something” turned out to be a wedge of the most amazing cake he’d ever tasted. It had cream in the middle, a crust of honey and almonds on top. He crammed half a wedge into his mouth and moaned aloud. “Damn, that’s good,” he said around the mouthful. “Damn.”

“I already ordered it for my wedding breakfast,” said Tess.

“It’s called Bienenstich—bee sting cake,” said Isabel, coming into the kitchen. “Appropriate, under the circumstances.”

He turned to face her, his cheeks stuffed with food like a chipmunk’s. Then he swallowed the bite of food. “It’s delicious. Did you make it?” he asked, not taking his eyes off her. She didn’t look much like her sister. While Tess had red hair and freckles, Isabel had olive-toned skin, dark eyes and full lips, like a flamenco dancer or maybe an Italian film star swathed in veils.

“I did,” she said. “It’s a German tradition. You should have coffee with it.” She went over to an espresso machine that resembled the chrome front of a Maserati, and got to work.

Coffee. Oh, God.

He took out his phone, which was also his work computer, voice recorder and general organizer of his life. “I’m not getting a good signal here. Is there a wi-fi password?”

“I should remember that,” said Tess, “because we just upgraded. When I first got here, you couldn’t even get a signal. Isabel, do you remember the password?”

“‘CATSEX!!’ all in caps, with two exclamation points.” She shrugged. “I didn’t pick it.”

“Isabel’s the best cook in the world,” said Tess, raising her voice over the grind and hiss of the espresso maker. “We eat like this all the time at Bella Vista.”

He connected with his phone and scrolled through a depressingly long queue of unanswered emails. A freelancer’s dilemma—you were never really free. You just moved from one assignment to the next. He deleted a few nonessential notes, then pocketed the phone and helped himself to another piece of coffee cake, feeling charitable now toward the bees that had produced the deep, rich honey that flavored the topping. Seriously, he couldn’t remember the last time food had tasted so good to him.

After the espresso machine spewed forth a cacophony of grinding, whistling and a deep-throated gurgling, Isabel set a frothy cappuccino in front of him. The rich aroma rose on a wisp of steam.

“Okay, that settles it.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’m never leaving.”

“Ha,” said Tess. “You never stay.”

She knew him better than he thought. The longest he’d ever lived in one place was during college. After that, his permanent address was his literary agent’s Manhattan office.

Here, he felt like a stranger in a strange—and extremely seductive—land. In contrast to the places of his past, Bella Vista seemed weighted by a sense of permanence—the old country house with its courtyard and patios, the rustic stone barn and machine shop, outbuildings and weathered work sheds, the acres of age-gnarled apple trees, now covered in springtime blooms. He wondered what it would be like to watch the seasons change all in one place, year after year.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he told Tess.

She gave a dismissive sniff, then turned to her beauteous sister. “He never stays. Mac is a rolling stone.”

Isabel offered a bowl full of raw sugar crystals. “Good to know,” she said.

“I’m wounded,” he said, adding sugar to his coffee. “Why is it good?”

“I like to understand who I’m dealing with. So do you prefer Mac or Cormac?”

“Either.” The piercing mechanical whine of a saw came from somewhere outside. “You’ve got a lot of work going on around here,” he said. “If this is a bad time—”

“It’s a perfect time,” Tess interrupted.

He sensed what she wasn’t saying. Magnus Johansen wasn’t getting any younger.

When the shrieking of the power saw stopped, Tess asked, “So what do you think about Isabel’s project?”

What the hell did he care? The whole idea of running a vast estate, regardless of how historic it was, felt like way too much of a commitment to him.

“She’s turning the place into a destination cooking school. Did she tell you?” Tess beamed with pride.

“She’s standing right here,” Isabel reminded them.

“Cool idea, huh?” Tess asked, ignoring her sister.