“From what? Rogue cow poo? Roosters being loud at unholy hours?Bugs?”
“From whatever it is that makes your face look like that whenever I mention the farm. And we don’t have cows, but we do have some horses.”
“Rogue horse poo, then. Get ready to put your jacket down whenever I might step on it.”
“I don’t have that many jackets. I’ll just warn you if I see it.”
Well, surprisingly ungentlemanly when it comes to excrement. I sniff. “Guess we’ve found the upper limits of chivalry.” I grab my phone to look at the time. “I better go back to my place and pack for this adventure.” I can’t help the involuntary wince as I describe the upcoming trip as an adventure.
Beau ignores the wince, bringing back the Southern gentleman, and gets out of bed to dress. I stretch while I watch those hay-bale-lifting muscles shift and flex to accomplish the task.
“I thought you wanted to get your stuff?” Beau asks as he (subtly, and therefore politely) leers at me, topless since the covers fell down when I sat up.
“All right.” I throw the covers off and the leering gets a lot less subtle. I throw a challenging look over my shoulder as I put my clothes from last night back on, but he doesn’t take the bait.
Damn manners.
At the airport, I push my suitcase through the check-in area, wondering if anything in the wheeled suitcase is appropriate. I have no idea what one wears to a functioning farm, but I brought a bunch of denim and some flannel button-down shirts, which should cover me. I also have no idea how serious he is about the animal excrement, so I packed my oldest pair of boots.
Just in case.
The travel is smooth and pleasant. When I travel for work, mostly it’s just me. It’s nice to have someone who can watch my stuff when I go to the bathroom or get a snack and who lets me use his carry-on allowance to get more luggage on for free. Even my stone-cold heart can admit having a person around can be good in these situations.
And the constant touches and pets aren’t bad at all.
Waiting to check in, waiting in the security line, waiting to board, midflight, post-flight waiting while everyone stands up to rush the tiny aisle, doing it again for the connecting flight and post-flight waiting for our suitcases at baggage claim. Wherever we are, he reaches for my hand or puts his arm around me. Wanting to be connected to me in small ways while we go about the business of traveling.
I thought I would be annoyed by the constant contact after being used to doing things on my own, but I’m not. It feels...natural. Comforting. Nice. Arousing. All at once.
Bags found (an activity that may have taken longer because Beau was busy nuzzling my neck, drawing my attention away from the luggage carousel), we walk toward the exit.
“Are there rocking chairs in this airport?” I crane my head behind us as we walk, disbelieving there are literal rocking chairs overlooking the tarmac. Kind of adorable and a good first impression from a place I don’t know much about aside from popular culture.
“Yeah. Everyone loves a rocking chair.”
I can’t argue with that. My eyes scan the rest of the small space. I don’t think I’ve ever been in an airport this small—it’s only two gates. And a big difference from the loud bustle of JFK Airport, and even that of our connecting airport.
“Check it out. Someone’s family loves embarrassing their person. I like their Christmas spirit.” I point to a large group standing to one side of the door.
There are four adults and two kids and all of them are decked out in Christmas apparel, each person holding a handmade sign. The kids are wearing complete elf costumes, busily stomping their feet to make the bells jingle. The adults are letting it happen, eyes scanning for their aforementioned person.
“About that...” The odd tone of his voice makes me look up at him.
“What’s up?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.
Before he can answer, the Christmas enthusiasts over by the door find who they want and start screaming in welcome.
My eyes go to the distraction. “Wow. I think they found their long-lost prodigal child. Rough to be them.”
Beau says something, but the words are lost when the family walks toward us, still making a ruckus.
They stop in front of us, and I smile at them, not wanting to agitate the enthusiastic people. I look behind me to see who they could be coming for. Then a woman in a Christmas sweater walks right up to Beau and gives him a hug.
Oh shit.
Beau turns to me in the embrace. “Sonia, meet my family.”
Chapter Twenty
