Free Plan Bee by Hannah Reed Page B

I’d sprayed. The only wet ones were those closest to the entrance and they would dry off just fine. I must have caught the invasion in time. As for my condition, not only did I have stingers stuck in me, I was also dripping wet.
    Just then Hunter showed up in my driveway on his Harley.
    Figures. Timing has never been kind to me.
    “Am I interrupting something?” he said, swinging off the bike and strolling over, staying dry on the fringe of the sprinkler’s range while I stayed in its spray, making absolutely sure that my mission had been accomplished. At least I’d scraped the stingers out of my hand.
    “I know you like your bees,” he continued, “but showering with them? Don’t you think that’s a little over the top?”
    I glanced at the beehive entrance. Hopefully, everything would return to normal now. “We’re bonding,” I said.
    “I can see that. Would you like a bar of soap? You could wash their wings and I could wash your…” He paused and grinned.
    That did it. Before Hunter could finish, I rushed him, catching him off guard and pulling him into the sprinkler shower. He deserved a dunking for his cocky attitude. But I promptly tripped and fell. He tried to stop my fall but ended up on the ground on top of me, the sprinkler blasting on us, and Dinky, thinking it was playtime, dove in and jumped on top of us.
    Hunter’s face was inches from mine when he said, “I was thinking of something a little more romantic, you know, something involving a walk along the river, a soft blanket.”
    “You don’t think this is romantic?”
    “Actually, I do.” Water dripped from his face as he bent the rest of the way and gave me a long, sweet kiss.
    Then I remembered my creepy new next-door neighbor on one side and nosy P.P. Patti on the other with all her surveillance equipment, and I no longer felt like Hunter and I were alone in my backyard.
    Rats.
    I gave him a reluctant shove, rolled away, and stood up. “I’ll go turn off the sprinkler and get towels,” I said.
    A few minutes later we were sitting out at my patio table. I’d changed into new clothes and Hunter wore my yellow bathrobe while his clothes were in my dryer.
    I truly
did
try to keep him inside the house while we waited, but he insisted on coffee outside. I was afraid to tell him about Patti’s telescope in case the way she used it was illegal. I didn’t really want to get her in trouble, though I had questions about her voyeuristic tendencies. Like, was it actually lawful for her to watch me through binoculars or a telescope as long as she stayed on her own property? What about Peeping Tom laws? Did Patti’s actions qualify?
    So anyway, there we sat, sipping coffee. I’m pretty sure I saw motion in Patti’s upstairs window, like a gleam of sunlight hitting a metal reflector.
    “You look cute in my robe,” I mentioned. “A little tight, but that’s what makes it special.”
    “Thank you. I’ll have to get one of my own. Yellow’s my color.”
    “It really is.” My eyes swept over the too-short sleeves, man-hair poking out of the cuffs. Our eyes locked. “You look good in yellow.”
    “Is that a pass?” Hunter asked. “Are you making sexual overtures?”
    “Maybe. But not for right now. I have work to do. We’ll have to take a rain check.”
    “No more water, please.”
    We both laughed and sipped coffee, content as I imagined we would be if Hunter and I had been living together for a long time. I snuck a few peeks at his feet, because he has the sexiest ones around and I’m a big fan of feet. Hunter’s are manly, just the right width, a little hairy like they should be, and tanned a golden brown.
    I was jarred out of my fantasy world when Hunter said, “How did last night go? Any bodies crop up?”
    “Only live ones. We opted for a process of elimination at the bar.”
    “I checked around—police dispatch, hospitals, emergency clinics. No John Does. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
    “Is Johnny Jay still foaming