“Beau Callahan,” Beau says with just the hint of a shy smile. He holds his hand out for me, and I take it, giving him a firm good shake. Beau grins.
“Trevor Thomas.”
“Good flight?” Beau asks conversationally as we make our way out of the airport arrivals area.
“It was fine,” I admit, because it was exactly that. “Glad to be back on solid ground though.”
“Don't like flyin’?”
His southern accent isn’t too deep, but I like the way it softens some of his words. Makes him sweet in a way that makes him seem even more approachable.
“I am impartial to flying. It’s always nice to get off the plane at the end.”
Beau hums his agreement, then carefully guides the truck towards a toll road heading away from the airport. Silence envelops us for a little while, enough that I can make out the soft country music flowing from the truck speakers. Despite the family farm branding on the outside clearly making it a work vehicle, the truck is nice inside and cleaner than you'd expect.
Every now and then Beau hums along to the music, relaxing me even further in his presence. There’s something gentle about him, something calming. Some clients raise my hackles immediately, usually for the best. Sometimes I need to be able to protect myself in very vulnerable moments. It happens very far and few between because Claire does painstaking background checks on johns. Doesn’t mean it never happens. Usually, we just don’t tell her the details, instead opting to tell hernever book this john again.
I get the vibe Beau Callahan isn’t going to be a problem.
“So, your sister’s getting married?” I ask in hopes of striking conversation so that we don’t sit in silence the entire way to his house.
“Yes, sir.”
And then that’s it. Beau doesn’t elaborate further. So, I’m going to have to do most of the heavy lifting to get him to talk. No problem, he mentioned that in his application.
“How old is Andy?”
“Almost ten years younger than me. She was a happy surprise. She does the advertising and marketing for the farm.”
“That’s fun!” I say excitedly, but his lips just quirk up a little.
“Definitely more fun than my job.”
“What do you do at the farm?”
He puts the blinker on to shift lanes, looking to his right, so I can finally get a good, up-close look at his face. Good God, the man is unfairly handsome. Square jaw, the right amount of beard, full lips, dark brown hair, and dark blue eyes, the color of the sky after a summer storm. I bite my lip as I appraise him, and his eyes flit to my mouth, before slowly meeting my gaze. A gorgeous flush rises on his cheeks as he looks back out at the road.
“I maintain the crops,” Beau explains. “I’m also the boss of all the workers on the farm. It can be hard if we have a low crop year, but I know it’s not really my fault. The land will only yield what it wants depending on the weather and other things out of my control.”
“Sounds like hard work,” I admit honestly.
He taps his fingers restlessly against the wheel again. “Not if I’m paying attention.”
“To what?”
His lips quirk up under his beard. “The earth, my intuition.”
What a nauseatingly endearing answer. We ride the rest of the way in silence, but I don’t feel the need to fill it. Which is unusual for me. Just over an hour later we pull up to a gate that blocks off the entrance to a gravel road. Beau presses a button on a remote attached to the visor above him, and the gate swings open. Dirt kicks up behind us even though Beau’s driving insanely slow. Must be because of the truck.
A house appears at the end of the driveway when we break through a copse of oak trees. The house is stunningly beautiful, although not cookie-cutter, or perfect by any stretch of the imagination. White sidings cover the outside and there’s a wraparound porch. It’s not big, just a modest size, but it looks absolutely lovely. Real farmhouse chic.
“Welcome home,” Beau tells me with a shy smile.
Grabbing my duffle from the back seat, he easily slings it over his beefy shoulder. Wind blows through the trees, cutting shadows across the front yard. Flowers in a kaleidoscope of colors line the edge of the house. Bees flit around the flowers but pay us no attention as we make our way into the house.
Light wood floors, warm honey walls, and family photos hung in a haphazard fashion. Beau’s house screams cozy. It’s less HGTV and more well-loved home. Everything about it works in an odd sort of way. Something painful starts to bloom in my chest, but I push it down, far away where it can’t hurt me.
Beau leads me down a short hallway and gestures at a door on the right. Peeking my head in, I find a small guest room, with a bed covered in a homemade quilt.
