“Do me a favour,” he said when they stopped to breathe, and Melissa’s heart throbbed with expectation. Will he ask me to wait for him? To believe in him, to believe in us?
“Don’t ask Marjorie to help you with your beehives.”
Oh. “Why not?”
Beck’s face crumpled, as if he smelled something repugnant. “It’s just – I don’t know. She’s kind of frail. It won’t be too late to harvest the honey when I get back from Toronto. And hopefully by then, I’ll be able to handle being around bees.”
“Fine. I won’t ask Marjorie to help. But I can’t promise you that Daphne and I won’t harvest the honey ourselves before you get back. It’s getting late in the season. The bees will start consuming their stores if we leave it too late.” Beck arched his eyebrows, surprised, Melissa thought, that she knew thi
