I pull my thick blonde hair up and wrap the band around it pulling two parts of the hair in opposite direction to tighten it. It’s ninety out here today, but I’m ignoring it. It’s a gorgeous day and the yard needs mowed. Dad will have a cow. He hires a service for this very thing. But we have this huge expensive lawnmower in the shed for this very purpose and I still need to work some things out in my head. Okay, sure… the lawnmower looks like it hasn’t been started in years and maybe it hasn’t. Dad always hires a firm that has their own equipment.

I’ve been studying abroad. Coming back stateside has been a shock to my system, especially if you consider the fact that I’ve practically been living in Paris for the last three years. It’s been nice and I’ve learned a lot about a different culture and it’s helped me become a better chef, but it’s time for me to be home—past time really. The thing is, I didn’t expect to find my home was no longer my home. I guess that was silly. I expected my father to move on with his life, it was inevitable after Mom’s death. I didn’t expect him to have sold the family home and moved to Mason, Texas. He owned a bank here, sure. But, Dad owns lots of banks. The fact that he decided to move to a new town, sell the family home, and put all of my stuff and my mom’s stuff in storage boggles my mind. I mean, it’s not that I felt like he needed to clear it with me, but he could have told me. I had no idea until three days ago when I told him I was coming in. Then he gave me his new address. I’ve always called him on his cell so I never even knew the house phone didn’t work anymore. Plus, he’s always made a point of coming to Paris for the holidays to see me, instead of me coming home. He said we both needed memories away from the house and the sadness of Mom… I never questioned it, but I guess I should have. Dad will never understand how much it hurt to call the house after he told me and not getting our answering machine—just a recording saying the number had been disconnected.

I wonder what he did with the old answering machine… the one with Mom’s voice. Did he erase the message? Throw the machine away?

I have all these questions and yet, I can’t seem to voice them to my father. I’ve only been back a couple of days, so maybe I’ll work up to it—right now, I can’t seem to vocalize anything with him. It doesn’t help that he’s not been here either. Last night it was business meetings and today he had to go out of town to meet with the Governor of Texas. I’m used to my dad the banker. Dad the political figure is going to take some getting used to.

I put on my earphones and click my phone, finding my favorite playlist, then tuck my phone in my bra. Once the music begins blaring, I do my best to shake off some of the stress while I start the lawn mower. The front yard isn’t overly huge, but it’s much bigger than our home in Houston. I let the music take over, trying my best to still my mind and not think. Ever since I talked to Dad and he told me he sold the old house, I’ve been in turmoil. Those walls held the memories I had of my mom. The late night movie bingeing, baking cookies together, planting flowers, the times we played in the pool together, family Christmases… Everything.

I can’t get those back, and now I can’t even walk into the rooms and remember them. It’s my fault I guess. I should have come back sooner. I needed to heal, and my dad and I had never been particularly close. He’s a good guy, he really is. He’s just married to his career… and apparently that’s even more true now that he’s in politics. I’ve barely been home and he’s already leaving…

Surprisingly the lawnmower started up with just a pull on the choke and cutting the grass is helping if only because it’s giving me something to concentrate on. The smooth melody of a love song comes on and I sigh.

What would it be like to find love like that?

I never have. I seem to have an internal pheromone or something that draws all losers to me like a kid to candy.

I spend the next hour—or at least close to it—mowing the lawn. I feel sweat running down my back and along my neck. I look a mess, I’m sure, but it’s the first time I’ve felt semi-normal in a week. I’m completely zoned out…

Until the moment a yellow jacket comes hurtling at me at the speed of light. That’s probably an exaggeration, but it seems like it. I see it coming and I jerk to the side to miss it. I swat and flail like someone trying to dance the twerk without rhythm. Then the worst that could happen, happens. The damn thing falls into my shirt. Panic hits me like it hadn’t before. At least when I could see it, I could fight it off. But now I just feel it crawling around in there and I scream. I don’t want to be stung. I’m not allergic—I don’t think—but just the thought of being stung is enough to terrify me. I hate bees—of any kind—and I hate pain. Put the two together and I lose it. Which is unfortunate because I’m no longer paying attention to mowing the lawn. I’m no longer even looking. I’m pulling my shirt way out while trying to find the bee, I can’t see anything, so I rip the shirt over my head, throwing it to the ground slapping around on my stomach and back trying to find it.

I can’t find it. I didn’t see it fly away. It must have gone somewhere else. I pull off my head phones, I wear the large ones because I’ve found the smaller ones can cause me to get a headache and I’m afraid maybe the bee went up to it and will crawl in my ear.

I saw a documentary once about this guy who had a bug lay eggs in his ear. That shit legitimately left me emotionally scarred. I didn’t even know that was possible. He had like hundreds of these bugs in his ear and they would just randomly crawl out. The thought of a million colonies of bees taking up nest in my head is freaking me out so bad I’m screaming every breath. I stand up stomping on the mower, trying to shake my head back and forth. The mower is supposed to die when you stand up. This one didn’t get that memo. It’s sputtering but it moves forward and stalls out, but only after it crashes into something. I stumble back against the seat. For a second I think I’m going to save myself, but then I fall backwards and my ass hits the ground.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I look up to see a guy in a police uniform standing over me. He’s got dark hair with hints of dark blond in it and even with the long sleeves and high collar of his shirt there are tattoos visible on his neck. In any other circumstance I’d have to stop everything I was doing and just stare. I’ve always had a thing for a guy in uniform and this guy is hot as hell. That’s not what would get a girl’s attention though—at least not all of it. That would be those piercing blue eyes he has. Blue eyes which are currently staring at me like I’m crazy. He’s furious… and with good reason. Dad’s lawnmower has just plowed into the side of his squad car.

Crap.

That’s the exact moment the bee makes itself known. I’m convinced it’s probably a demon from hell only taking the form of a bee, because it appears again out of nowhere and is diving, aiming right for my face. I scream—loudly again—and swat it away.

Unfortunately, I swat it directly at the man who is already pissed at me. He tries to dodge it, but his reflexes are obviously not as great as mine and the bee lands on his face…

I can only surmise by the stream of curse words that it stings him right between the eyes.

I stand up, intent on helping him when I realize I’m in my bra and have no shirt on.

Double crap.

I scream again—for no real reason unless you count that I’m half naked and search for my shirt. I finally find it and bend down to grab it just as the guy is and our heads slam together.

This time it’s a tie as to who is cursing louder. Me or him. But there’s really no mystery in the fact that ole’ blue eyes is looking at me like he wants to kill me.

Triple crap.