The Enlightenment of Bees by Rachel Linden
English | 2019 | Romance | ePUB | 1.8 Mb
The Enlightenment : Sometimes a shattered dream leads to an amazing journey.
At twenty-six, apprentice baker Mia West has her entire life planned out: a Craftsman cottage in Seattle, a job baking at The Butter Emporium, and her first love, her boyfriend Ethan, by her side. But when Ethan declares he “needs some space,” Mia’s carefully planned future crumbles.
Feeling adrift, Mia joins her vivacious housemate Rosie on a humanitarian trip around the world funded by a reclusive billionaire. Along with a famous grunge rock star, a Rwandan immigrant, and an unsettlingly attractive Hawaiian urban farmer named Kai, Mia and Rosie embark on the adventure of a lifetime.
From the slums of Mumbai to a Hungarian border camp during the refugee crisis, Mia’s heart is challenged and changed in astonishing ways/ways she never could have imagined. As she grapples with how to make a difference in a complicated world, Mia realizes she must choose between the life she thought she wanted and the life unfolding before her.
“Their contented hum is a droning undercurrent to the ting ting of my pastry cutter against the chilled bowl straight from the refrigerator. The air is heavy with the scent of lavender, sharp and pungent from the fields of purple stretching beyond my family’s farmhouse kitchen window. One by one bees buzz through the open window and land on the rim of the bowl. I shoo them away. They are fat and slow as they fly off, legs laden with orange saddlebags of pollen, buzzing across the fields and over the silver waters of Puget Sound. On the lip of the bowl where they rested, each leaves a dot of honey that trickles down the glass in a slow golden rivulet.
When my ringing cell phone wakes me, I burrow out from under my duvet with a muffled exclamation and a shiver, scrambling to silence the cheery tune. My room feels like an icebox. I’d accidentally fallen asleep reading with the window open, and the wet April air wafts under the curtain, sharp and salty from the sea.
“H’llo,” I stage-whisper, not wanting to rouse my housemate, Rosie, who I’m guessing is still asleep across the hall after her late-night performance in a jazz club on Capitol Hill.
“Good morning, Mia. Kate here.” The activities director at Sunny Days Retirement Community where my grandmother, Nana Alice, lives.
“Good morning, Kate.” I try to match her chipper tone, covering my confusion and erasing the sleep from my voice. I open and close my eyes like an owl; “