“Great!” I go to hop off the stool, to flee, but Beau rests a gentle hand on my forearm. All my brain cells narrow in on his touch, the slight grease on his fingers.
“Do you want to help me?”
I blink slowly at him, confused. “Help you?”
A smirk tugs at his lips under his beard. “With the truck.”
My gaze pings over to the truck, raised up, hood up too. I’ve never even touched an engine before. I’ll probably break something. Ruin it. Like everything I touch. My thoughts must show on my face because Beau pulls his hand away, finishes wiping it with the rag, then tips his head towards the beat-up truck.
“It’s old. Easy to fix a mistake.” He heads towards the truck, and I follow, unsure of why my body won’t listen to my brain.Flee. I should be running. Beau leans against the hood, pointingdown at the engine. “I’m rebuilding the engine. It had half a million miles on it. These Fords have great shells, but the engines conk out at a certain point. You see, people use trucks hard, put them away wet. So, the engines go fast.”
My mouth goes dry as I watch him point out different parts of the engine, still shirtless, his sweaty shirt now wrapped around his shoulders. Belatedly, I realize his gaze is back on me. I swallow slowly, nodding as if I’m following along. A small chuckle breaks free from his lips, and he shakes his head ruefully.
“Anyone ever taught you how to change oil?” Beau asks, curious, not judgmental.
I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
He quirks his fingers in request for me to come closer, and I do, because I’m an idiot. The smell of grease and engine wafts over me, mixed with the sweet smell of Beau’s skin and sweat. Taking my hand in his, he guides it to where I need to go, and helps me tug out a stick that’s covered in oil.
“This tells you the health of your oil,” Beau explains, voice low, soft, sending a shiver down my spine despite the heat in the garage. “I just changed it, so it looks pretty good now, but when it’s bad you can easily tell. When it’s low too.”
I nod, pretending like I understand an ounce of what he’s saying. He proceeds to show me how to change the oil, and how to change a battery too. If I ever need to do anything to my car, I’ll know now. The man is exceedingly patient, tender even as he painstakingly teaches me about the intricacies of a truck engine. When we’re done, I’m astounded to realize a few hours have passed by, making it time for us to get ready for the rehearsal.
Beau eyes me up and down, still shirtless, hair slightly messy from running his hand over it. We silently part ways in the hallway, as he heads to shower. I keep the water cold for my ownshower, trying to wash away the want that’s boiling up in my veins.
Beau’s version of nice clothes is hilarious. Dressed in dark jeans that probably haven’t been worn to the farm yet, hence making them nice. Boots peek out from under the denim, and he’s sporting a light blue polo shirt that has definitely seen better days. But I can’t say he looks bad. He just looks like Beau.
He flushes at the sight of me when I meet him in the foyer of his house. I bite back a smile. Tight black dress pants, dress shoes, a striped shirt that plays up the color of my eyes. The nail in the coffin for Beau seems to be me rolling my sleeves to my forearms. His eyes linger on my left forearm just a little too long, as a deep blush fills his cheeks.
It seems Beau appreciates my efforts. He clears his throat awkwardly, then jerkily nods towards the front door. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah, handsome.”
Beau laughs in frustration. “Stop with the nicknames. I’m not that kind of guy.”
“But you can call me sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” Beau says as he opens the front door for me. “’Cause you’re a sweetheart.”
“And you’re not handsome?”
Beau just shakes his head in exasperation as we climb into the truck. I’m beginning to seriously think Beau has no idea just how handsome he is. Not even just handsome. But he’s beautiful too. From the top of his head all the way to the tip of his toes.Everything about Beau Callahan checks a box for me. Even those damn ball caps that he usually wears.
Foregoing the classic Chevy, we load into Beau’s work truck. Finally, I get to see Clay Road Farms in all its glory. The road kicks up orange dust until it turns into the gravel road that leads deep into the farm. A small parking lot is dotted with cars that I assume belong to Beau’s family and friends.
Summer means the sun stays out a little longer, but it’s low enough in the sky now that the heat is gentler when we carefully climb out of the truck. A large wooden open-air barn looms on the other side of the property, with glowing fairy lights hanging from the trees surrounding it.
“That’s the event building. It used to be a barn, but we converted it about a decade ago,” Beau informs me.
I twist my fingers around his as we make the slow journey towards the barn. His hand squeezes mine in reassurance, either for me or for himself. Beau worries at his bottom lip a few times, then squares his shoulders the closer we get to the barn. I’ve noticed how Beau seems to always be getting ready for a confrontation since I’ve been here. Beau seems to steel himself against every interaction he has with others.
“Beau!” a young woman yells out.
She’s clearly Andy, his sister, as the resemblance is uncanny. Andy is about my height, with long brown hair curling all the way down her back. Sweet sun freckles pepper her face. Brown eyes meet mine as she takes in our joined hands.
“Oh, Beau.” Andy lifts up on her toes to sweetly kiss his cheek, then aims a gap-toothed smile my way. Only beautiful people in Clay Springs, I swear. “I’m so happy you could make it! I know it means a lot to Beau.”
“I’m happy to be here.” Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss her cheek.
