by Ava Miles
“And be sure to send me the dry-cleaning bill for the dress.”
Was he crazy? She was courting him to work for her. “Don’t give it another thought. Come sit down again.” She had to take his arm, which was rigid with tension. “We’ll be taking off any moment now.”
They buckled back in, and she stored her champagne flute in one of the holders under the oval-shaped windows, then added the vodka glass. One thing she didn’t put away was the handkerchief. After using it to wipe off her dress, she kept it tucked in her palm, the cotton soft against her skin.
“I’m terrible company right now,” he said as they took off. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done this.”
She laid her hand over his forearm. “Don’t be silly. You be exactly what you need to be right now. Besides, you made me feel better, spilling the glass like you did. I mean, now I’m not the only clumsy one around.”
He met her eyes, and the right side of his mouth tipped up. “You aren’t clumsy.”
“Why don’t you close your eyes and take a nap? I know I always feel better after I’ve gotten some rest.”
He blew air out of his nose rather like a horse might, indicating that while he was too polite to say so, he thought her suggestion pure bullshit. She closed her eyes, hoping to help him along, but kept her hand on his arm. Before long, the façade worked—on her—and she succumbed to sleep.
Murmuring woke her, and she opened her eyes and stretched only to see Joris walking back down the aisle. Beau was watching her, and she smiled at him. It was so wonderful to wake up to him sitting right across from her. It felt right. The setting sun lit the left side of his face, highlighting the strong curve of his cheekbone and jaw. Oh, boy.
“You caught me staring, and I probably should apologize, but you look so beautiful when you sleep I couldn’t help myself.”
Her heart grew warm inside her chest. “Only when I’m asleep?” The words slipped out, but she didn’t have time to regret them.
“No, Caitlyn,” he said, his body more relaxed now. “You darn near take my breath away all the time. Is it too bold to say so?”
She shook her head. “No, so long as we keep comments like that separate from our business relationship. I’ll be honest—I’m glad you called it out there. I was waiting for the right moment. Making and selling this perfume is my dream come true. I’ve shifted my duties at work to devote myself to it full-time. And having you involved? Priceless. I don’t want this thing between us—whatever this is—to mess that up.”
He nodded. “Of course. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Kindred spirits, remember?”
She held out her hand again, and he took it, his clasp strong and steady. “I have some things to work out on this trip, but I’ll be a gentleman, I promise you.”
Oh, she loved the gallantry in that comment. He spoke so differently than most people she knew. Then again, she didn’t associate too much with Southerners, given where she lived, but even she knew they talked about being gentlemen in a way no one else in the country did. “Like I told you, just be what you need to be. You don’t have to pretend to be something else.”
He swallowed thickly at that.
“In fact, I really like the man you are.”
He turned his head and looked out the window. “I appreciate you saying that. I’m going to ask you to remind me of that if I need it. All right?”
What in the world did he mean by that? “Of course. You can count on me.”
“I know I can,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Despite appearances, Caitlyn, you can count on me too.”
“You wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise,” she told him.
The plane flew through a wall of clouds and popped out into that magical open space above them where blue sky stretched to infinity. They both turned their heads as the sun’s vibrant rays filled the cabin.
“You know,” she said, “since childhood, this view has been one of my favorites. My mom told me when I was six years old that this vantage point is a reminder that the sun is always shining, even when we can’t see it.”
His mouth curved, and he turned his head toward her, leaning across the table between them to touch her face with his free hand. “When I look at you, I see sunshine in your eyes.”
She knew she loved him in that moment, but the feeling was too new and scary for her to acknowledge it. Even to herself.
Instead, she unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted to the seat next to him. Leaning her head against his strong shoulder, she felt his arm come around her. They watched the view together in silence, and she discovered words were unnecessary, a feeling she’d only heard described before by people in love.
She held the handkerchief he’d given her the rest of the trip.
Chapter 4
The French countryside awoke Beau’s senses in a way he’d never expected, what with its rolling green hills, rich orange earth, and acres of fragrant flowers.
The late August sun was hot, scorching even, but Beau had convinced Caitlyn to roll down the windows as they cruised through what he’d call backroads in the car that had picked them up from the airport. Perhaps it was his feelings for her, but despite his grief, the world seemed more light than dark. His nose couldn’t make out many of the scents around him yet, but he knew the difference between the floral ones and the downright earthy ones.
He’d never been to France. But this…
He’d never expected this. Much like the beautiful woman holding his hand.
The manicured rows of lavender captivated him, the various shades of purple blending into blue depending on the way the sun tilted in the sky. The organization of the land spoke of deep caring, knowledge, and precision—all things he valued in his own career and life.
When they turned off the main road, Caitlyn bounced in her seat. “This is our road. These are our fields. Oh, I’m so happy to be back. I know I just bought it, but I feel like I’m coming home.”
She’d told him she’d struggled to find land to purchase around the perfume capital of France, Grasse. Generations of well-established families and perfume houses seemed to own the entire area, from Chanel to Fragonard. Looking a touch farther afield, she’d found a hundred acres still in Provence, a farm that grew mostly lavender, which she intended to use in the perfume, but also other flowers like jasmine and rose. Even better, there was an old lavender distillery on the property, and the overseer came with the land, something she’d explained was customary in France.
“I can’t wait for you to meet Ibrahim, of course. The Bisset family, our overseers, are the third generation to farm this land, and they do so with a rhythm that only comes with time and dedication.”
“I’m looking forward to it too,” he said, his chest filled with awe for the nature around him, the explosion of colors saturating his vision.
“I know you’re tired,” she said, pressing her hand to her heart, “but if you’re up for it, I’d love to show you some of the fields close to the house. They’re all lavender. We even have a tractor, a blue one. I convinced Jean Pierre to teach me how to drive it. He wasn’t sure at first, but I’m very persuasive.”
Was she ever.
They pulled up in front of a two-story stone house, golden in the late afternoon light, with bright blue shutters. The slanted roof was composed of orange terracotta tiles. Rustic, he thought, liking it immediately. The guesthouse stood to the far right, only a short distance away, and beyond it was a pergola covered with green branches and purple blooms, the stone pillars framing a sturdy wooden table with chairs boasting a breathtaking view of the lavender fields and the rolling hills beyond.
He felt himself breathe, easily and freely. Yes, he might be able to sort out the broken pieces of his life here. And the air…redolent with spice—like nothing he’d ever experienced.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked. “Oh, I could pinch myself. And it’s mine. Come in.”
The driver, a stoic man named Claude, hastened to
the back of the car to take their bags. Beau barely stopped himself from grabbing his own bag as the man passed him. Having people tote his luggage made him uncomfortable.
Masculine laughter spilled out from an open window, and Caitlyn froze in place.
“No way!” she said. “He couldn’t have…”
Then she was running toward the front door, hot on the heels of Claude. Beau followed at a slower pace, his lips hitching up. She was always racing off like her pants were on fire. Her boundless energy was infectious, even after the long journey.
“Flynn!” she yelled as she disappeared in the house.
“Caity girl!” a man answered from inside.
Beau heard her give a girlish shriek as he stepped into the house. The walls were stone here too, decorated with bright geometric rugs, bold draped cloths, and vibrant paintings of single-interest flowers, women walking in lavender fields, and one of a sea with waves crashing against it. The eclectic look wasn’t his taste, but he liked it nonetheless.
“Beau! Come meet my crazy brother. And Ibrahim. We’re down the hall in the library.”
He noted the wide stone stairs that led to the second floor. The exposed beams in the ceiling looked ancient, roughened by years of bearing weight and soaking in sunlight from the massive upstairs windows. Plants were spilling out of massive clay pots everywhere. He walked down the hall, his boots causing a pleasant staccato to his ears.
He heard Caitlyn’s delighted chatter mixed with two masculine voices, one very exotic.
Past the dining room and a large kitchen, he found them at the back. He stood in the doorway, nearly blinded by the light in the room. Facing west, it boasted a view of more lavender fields. His nose twitched at a spicy scent. Yeah, he’d been right to come here.
“Beau!” Caitlyn ran forward and dragged him toward the two men standing in the middle of a conversation area with a green leather sofa and contrasting cream-upholstered chairs. “This is Flynn, my brother. He was in Prague. Don’t ask why. Decided to fly in spontaneously and meet you when Michaela texted him I was bringing you along.”
Her brother had wanted to meet him, eh? He studied the man, noting his sandy blond hair and casual outfit of gray cotton pants with a white cotton shirt. The easy style was a feint—Beau noted the man’s assessing gaze. Flynn was being a good brother, he expected, coming to make sure he was on the up and up. Even if he didn’t know about their connection yet, the brother likely sensed there was something beyond professional interest about the last-minute trip. Beau didn’t mind—he rather appreciated she had someone looking out for her.
“Hey, Flynn,” he said, extending out his hand to the man. “I’m Beau Masters.” He tripped over his last name and noted how the sound of it just wasn’t the same anymore.
“Good to meet you.” Flynn’s handshake was firm, and he looked Beau directly in the eye, man to man. “So this is the world’s most compelling man. I can check meeting him off my bucket list.”
Caitlyn groaned, but Beau felt his mouth twitch. Clearly her brother wasn’t above giving him crap, but he knew it was a test.
“You might save your ink,” he said, arching his brow. “If I’m the world’s most compelling man, the world is in trouble.”
Caitlyn swatted him. “That’s not true. Flynn, stop teasing him. He’s not used to us Merriams yet. Now, let me introduce you to the world’s most amazing perfume blender, Ibrahim Magdy.”
Beau turned to shake the man’s hand, noting his tall, elegant build and tailored suit and jacket. Although Ibrahim gave off an air of sophistication, what with his thick salt-and-pepper hair, high cheekbones, and formal posture, his brown eyes were friendly. Warm, even. If Beau had to guess his age, he’d peg him in his early fifties.
His mouth formed a pencil-thin smile as he took Beau’s hand. “Appears the world is in trouble with both of us,” he said conspiratorially, his vowels and consonants musical and smooth. Beau wouldn’t be weird and say he loved the man’s accent, but he did. It was completely different than anything he’d ever heard, slow like a Southern drawl, yet not honeyed.
“Caitlyn sees the best in people,” Beau said, gesturing to Flynn. “I imagine she says you’re the best brother in the world.”
Flynn laughed. “Do you say that, Caity girl?” He yanked on her long hair playfully, and she pushed him in the chest.
“Stop that. I’ll kick you out, Flynnie boy, I swear I will.”
He held up his hands. “No more pranks or nicknames. We have an august guest. I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.”
Like hell, Beau thought. “Nothing august here except the month. In fact, I should go help Claude. Where do you want me bunking? Like I said, I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You can take the room across from me, Beau,” Flynn offered at once.
Of course, he could. He nodded, fighting a smile.
“Ibrahim recommended the room facing east for me, but I simply loathe mornings,” Flynn said, playfully shielding his eyes. “Supposedly, morning is one of the best times to smell the fields, after the air has cooled and the flowers have rested. Right, Ibrahim?”
That intrigued Beau. There were optimal times for such things?
“Exactly,” Ibrahim said. “Since you’re here, Mr. Masters, I assume you’ve agreed to be the spokesperson for this incredible perfume Caitlyn envisions. Of course, I also hope to make a men’s fragrance.”
“Oh, Quinn will agree after we rock the first one, trust me,” Caitlyn said.
“I sure do like the story she wants to tell with it, Ibrahim,” Beau said, smiling at Caitlyn, who beamed back at him. “I’ve been thinking a lot about roots myself.” He’d pushed his pain under the surface in the midst of his flight from Nashville, but he could feel it waiting, hot and insistent. Before long, he would have to reckon with it and everything he’d learned.
“It’s important to know where you come from,” Ibrahim said, “but a man—or woman—must at some point become his own person, setting all that aside.”
Beau gave him another look. Those dark brown eyes were studying him avidly, as if the man was trying to understand what made him tick. Beau had good instincts about people, and he knew they could be friends.
“I couldn’t have said it better, especially being the middle kid in our family,” Caitlyn said, making Flynn groan. “Can’t you see why I love Ibrahim? Every time he says something, it makes you think. I’m going to head up to my room and freshen up. Beau, I’ll show you to your room.”
“You run along,” Flynn said. “I’ll make Beau comfortable. Oh, speaking of which, Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara are still interested in visiting you here. Maybe now would be a good time. I bet they’d love to meet Beau.”
She gave her brother a look that could have shriveled some of those flowers outside. Flynn stared right back. They were carrying on a sort of silent conversation, rich with subtext.
“Why, thank you, Flynn,” she finally said, her voice tart like lemon pie. “You’re just a doll.”
Ibrahim wandered to the door. “I’ll head back to the guesthouse and do a little more work. Caitlyn, Jean Pierre learned your brother and Beau would be coming when I walked the fields earlier looking for inspiration. He was so excited to have you return he invited us all to his house for dinner. I said I would pass the invitation along. You know Provençal hospitality. Are you up for it after your trip?”
She glanced over at the grandfather clock, saying, “It’s four o’clock now. If I take a nap, I should be right as rain. Beau?”
He was tired and a part of him wanted to lick his wounds, but he wasn’t the kind of man to turn down hospitality, especially from strangers. “We Southerners are known for our hospitality, so I understand what an honor it is. Of course. What can I bring?”
Flynn slapped him on the back, leading him to the door where Ibrahim stood. “You can pick a bouquet of flowers for the missus.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Caitlyn said, trailing in their wake. “He’ll ha
ve you standing on your head and juggling if you listen to him.”
“You made twenty dollars doing that,” Flynn said as they walked down the hall.
“I’ll see you later,” Ibrahim said, heading in the opposite direction.
“Wait until you see Ibrahim’s lab,” Caitlyn said. “I’ll show it to you tomorrow. Right now, I need a shower and some water. God, I’m thirsty.”
“Jet lag is a bitch,” Flynn said. “Go on. I’ll take care of Beau.”
She gave him another look, giving him the opportunity to speak his mind if he had any objection, then smiled at him and veered off toward the kitchen. Flynn gestured to the stairs, and Beau headed up, sensing a talk. Caitlyn’s brother tromped behind him, the beat of his fancy leather shoes adding further punctuation to his tough-guy routine. Beau kept his footsteps quieter, communicating through sound that he wasn’t a threat.
At the third door on the right, Flynn gestured to the doorway. The first sight Beau saw upon stepping inside was his leather bag sitting on a maroon rug in front of a large bed with a curved wooden headboard. Sure enough, through the windows, lavender stretched as far as the eye could see, a carpet of blues and purples.
He turned to face Flynn as the man followed him into the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
“You can trust me with your sister,” he said before Flynn could speak. “Being a gentleman isn’t just important to me. It’s who I am. But I appreciate you’re the kind of man to make sure. I know some singers have a bad reputation with women, but I’m not one of them. I respect Caitlyn and would never make her uncomfortable.”
“And they say Southerners aren’t direct,” Flynn said, resting against the door. “I’m glad you understand why I dropped in, and I thank you for being honest.”
“It’s a value I can’t live without,” he said, his mama flashing in his mind. She was the one who’d taught him the importance of honesty, yet she’d lied to him his whole life. He still couldn’t make sense of it.
“I admire that. But if you hurt her, you’ll answer to me and the rest of our brothers, and believe me, I’m the nicest of the lot.” He flashed a vicious smile and Beau almost laughed. Flynn wouldn’t be nice in a fight. He knew it.