“I’ve been to LA many times. Peaceful isn’t the first word that springs to mind.”

“Hmm,” I said, leaning my head back against the tree and staring up into the canopy. The green overlapped, leaves and limbs weaving together, swaying high in a breeze that didn’t make it down to where we standing. Leo leaned against his tree, I leaned against mine, and we were content to drink in the stillness of being so deep in a forest. I breathed in the smell of the dusty, crunchy leaves, the grassy scent of growing things, exhaling in a long slow sigh.

“Was that a ‘this place is boring’ sigh?” he asked from across the clearing.

I shook my head. “Hell no. That was a ‘what a good day this turned out to be’ sigh. Perfect weather, perfect temperature, perfect setting. I got to see why chickens cross the road, and see where walnuts come from. Compared to what my days have been like in LA lately, this was exactly what I needed.”

“A good-day sigh,” he repeated, pushing off from his tree and walking slowly toward me.

“A great-day sigh,” I amended.

“An upgrade? Why the change from good to great?”

He was close enough now that I could see the bit of faint red in his beard along his jaw, the spot on his T-shirt where it was worn thin from years of washing, the veins on the inside of his tanned forearm, and how strong his hands must be.

“It’s on its way from great to awesome,” I answered, wrapping my arms around the tree behind me, looking for all the world like a damsel in distress. I gazed up at him through lowered lashes, California Roxie on the case. “Especially if you keep coming this way.”

The grin that crept across his face was less friendly neighborhood farmer and more sexy neighborhood pirate. Then he was suddenly there, inside my dance space.

It was time to kick this summer romance into gear. There I was, leaning against a tree in a forest with my arms behind me, my breasts thrust forward in the international signal for kiss me, you fool. I looked like the prow of a ship. And there he was, all slow amble and eyes blazing and forearms temptation, a little bit stranger and a little sexy danger.

And then there it was—a huge bumblebee, bobbing on the unseen flower highway. It buzzed my ear, dive-bombed my neck, laughed in my face, and flew right down between my outthrust boobs.

I instantly became a flailing, screaming, beating-at-my-chest ball of freak-out. I tore off my shirt to get at the bee and ran in circles around the tree, slapping at my bra while shrieking at the top of my lungs.

“Roxie? Roxie! What the hell are you—”

“Beeeeeeeeeeee!” I shouted as he stopped me cold, closing his hands around my arms and trying—but not hard enough—to not look down at my tits, now struggling to stay inside their cups.

“Okay, calm down. It won’t sting if you calm—”

“Yes it will! Bees are assholes!” I screamed, shimmying like Charo and trying to break away.

“Are you allergic?”

“No!”

“Then stop squirming!”

“No!”

“Settle down, please.”

“Fuck off!” I thrashed as the bee buzzed inside my bra. “Beeeeee!”

My primeval brain kicked in, and suddenly a vertical escape seemed to be my only option. I climbed Leo like a totem pole. He got a mouthful of abdomen as I surged onto his shoulders. I wrapped my legs around his head, thighs to ears, and arched backward into the tree. With bark at my back and a scream at my lips, I struck at my bra again. The bee looked at me, and I looked at him, and he glared.

Though I’ve never been stung by a bee before, I’ve always had a fear of all things buzzy. I’ve left garden parties, eaten inside at barbecues, and refused to hold flowers at an outdoor wedding once, all because of one tiny buzz.

I swatted at my boobs again once more, and finally succeeded in knocking him clear. He zigged and zagged drunkenly a few times, throwing me a nasty glance over his bee shoulder, then buzzed off into the forest to do whatever he was doing before the crazy lady decided to implode. “Ugh,” I said, shivering.

“Ugh?” a voice said from below.

I remembered where I was, what had happened, and where Leo now had his face. Looking down, I brushed his sandy blond hair back from his brow to see his eyes staring up into mine.

Oh. I was so mortified. “I’m so sor—”

“Ah gawna seh oo donna,” came the muffled reply, and I scooted further back against the tree, freeing his lips from my rather short shorts.

“Sorry?” I sang out, trying to make this not at all awkward.

“I said”—he grasped my hands—“I’m gonna”—giving me a little bounce to get him out from under—“set you”—I flew up in the air before he caught me neatly—“down now.”

I stood in his arms, shirtless, hair full of bark, my chest red from my slapping. He was covered in mud from my scrambling shoes, breathing heavily, and keeping his hands firmly at my waist, holding me at a safe distance. He shook his head. “You’re a bit of a train wreck, aren’t you?”

I puffed a bit of hair away from my face. “Choo choo?”

Thank goodness, he laughed.

Then he gallantly turned around while I put my T-shirt back on, which was sweet, considering he’d already had a substantial peek at the goods. Then we began walking back toward the Jeep.

“So what’s with the bees?” he asked.

“Where?” I asked, automatically ducking. My heart rate spiked at the thought that the bee had returned to get his revenge.