by Ava Miles
She sat up again, and he found himself smiling. “I could stay up all night talking with you. Something about me… I love ice cream. Chocolate. Vanilla. Salted caramel. You name it. Not the fruit ones as much, though. We had an ice cream truck that would come to the edge of our driveway at four o’clock on Wednesdays in the summertime. I always ran out first to see him.”
He could well imagine it. Her little legs running down a dusty country road. Had she had pigtails or braids?
“His name was Pedro, and he was the kindest man. Grandfather of thirteen, I believe. His dream had been to make ice cream, and when he retired from banking in San Francisco, he got himself a food truck. I could never decide on one flavor, so he’d use one of the plastic trays he kept for banana splits to give me a flight of ice cream. I adored him for it. One of the saddest days of my life was when my mom told me he’d had a heart attack in his truck. I cried every time I ate ice cream for almost a year afterward, thinking about him. Now I smile. He was living his dream, just like I’m living mine. I think he’d be proud of me.”
He delivered another kiss to her hand, this time inside her palm. “He would be, yes. We should find some ice cream around here. Celebrate his memory.”
“Ice cream isn’t French,” she said, “but I figure we’ll find something. I’m glad I thought about him. Some people make an impact.”
And some people tore you apart, Beau thought. He’d never imagined it would be his mother. His mood dipped, and not even the soft warmth of Caitlyn’s hand in his could ease it. This time he sat up and kissed her hand again. “Come on. We both need some shut-eye.”
Pulling her gently from her chair, he stood there studying her in the moonlight. Her long hair was curling at the ends, right above the rise of her breasts. Temptation stole over him. To touch her. To kiss her.
He reminded himself again there was plenty of time.
“Thank you for waiting up for me,” he said, caressing her cheek again. “No woman has ever done that before.”
She curled her face into his palm, and the trusting nature of the gesture moved him. “It was my pleasure. Thank you for singing your song. It was nice to hear your voice. In the quiet, with the lavender all around us…I think it’s the best song I’ve ever heard.”
He thought of the songs he’d written, and the ones he had yet to write. How many of his fans could appreciate such a simple song? She was special that way, appreciating the dreams he’d had as a boy. He needed to figure out how many of those dreams still belonged to him. “You’re beautiful and sweet, and I… Caitlyn, I’m glad you were the first person I thought of when I knew I needed to get out of town.” The truth of that stole over him. He’d somehow known to come to her.
“Kindred spirits, remember?” She squeezed his hand again.
Yes, he thought, but looking down at her with the moonlight washing over her face, he knew what else he wanted her to be.
His woman.
Chapter 7
A thunk shook Caitlyn awake the next morning, and she opened her eyes to see Flynn sitting on the side of her bed, a breakfast tray in hand.
“Mornin’, sunshine. The Frenchwoman you hired to cook, Katrine, was fretting about you coming down for breakfast since it’s almost ten o’clock. She made a second batch of pain de campagne this morning just for you. And I got up to check on you and heard you and Beau talking on the portico. Glad he found his way back. You two looked awfully cozy. Of course, he didn’t say much when he surfaced from his room this morning.”
Cozy was a good word for it. She’d gone to bed with a smile on her face. “Coffee. Stat.”
Flynn plunged the French press down and poured her coffee. The roasted beans smelled like nirvana, and she grabbed a slice of the rustic country bread still warm from the oven. “Yes, my queen.”
She snorted, inhaling the roasted scent of coffee as she lifted her cup. “You’re so funny.” The first taste of coffee made her eyes flutter shut. “God, I needed this.”
“Are you dating him?” her brother asked, tsking his tongue. “You know the speech I’m supposed to give here.”
“We’ve already had the business and personal talk,” she said, smacking him on the arm. “Give me a little credit.”
“I give you all the credit, but you’re my sister. I get to be a little protective,” Flynn said. “Speaking of credit, I like Ibrahim a lot. You did good finding him. Did you know he speaks eight languages fluently? Doesn’t that blow your mind?”
“We Americans are lucky if we know two languages.” She laughed. “My Spanish still isn’t much beyond gracias and cerveza.”
“And you don’t even like beer,” he said, grabbing a slice of bread and dripping honey onto it with the serving spoon. “I’m going to take off this morning, but I meant what I said about Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara. They’re eager to visit, and you might enjoy having them here.”
She released an audible sigh. “I don’t need chaperones, but maybe you’re right. Aunt Clara is excited about my new perfume venture, and they’ve been talking about coming over. Let me settle in here a few more days with Ibrahim—and Beau. Besides, they only just returned from Ireland.”
“I still can’t believe Trevor and Becca are already married,” Flynn said, chortling. “Dad and Michaela had to hustle to make it there before the minister arrived.”
Trevor and Becca had married mere days after Caitlyn’s mom, Assumpta Merriam, had arrived in Ireland and called for a summit to settle the nastiness between Connor and Quinn and the rest of the siblings. Most of the family had already been in town, so the couple had decided there was no better time to exchange their vows.
“What a sight it was,” Caitlyn said, smiling. “Them marrying in the front hall of her bed and breakfast, the wild Irish Sea visible from the windows. Have you heard from him?”
Even though they were honeymooning at Becca’s inn, The Wild Irish Rose, Trevor had insisted neither he nor his new bride would be taking calls for the immediate future.
He made a face. “No, he’s still got his ‘honeymoon’ message on. I believe it says something like, ‘Just married the woman of my dreams. Leave a message unless it’s life and death. If it is, hang up and call either the police or Connor Merriam of Merriam Enterprises.’”
“Haha,” she said. “I need to call to hear the message.”
“It’s one for the ages. Damn, I’m happy for him. I want to be happy for you. You’re still beaming moonbeams.”
She knew what he meant. Every cell of her body seemed filled with light. “I’m really glad you came, Flynn,” she said. “You have moments of being sweet.”
He popped the last piece of bread in his mouth. “And you need to get your butt going. Final words from your brother…”
She took a healthy sip of her coffee.
“I know it’s not my business, but you’re my sister. While this guy seems nice, he’s got something major going on. Dating him might be… Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you hurt again.”
“I’ve thought about this a lot, Flynn, and the reason the whole mess with Jace the Jerk hurt so much was that I let him undercut my confidence. Whatever’s going on with Beau is about him, not me. He said something about an epic fight with his mother and bone-cutting betrayal.”
“Shit.” Flynn stood. “That sucks if they’re close.”
While she still didn’t have the full picture, she felt safe to say, “They are. She mostly raised him by herself after his dad died young, and she’s been his manager since he launched his music career.”
“Growing pains perhaps? I looked him up. He turned thirty last month. That messes with the mind.”
Flynn was nearly the same age. “Messing with yours, is it? You have until November to get it on right. What do you want to do to celebrate the big 3-0, by the way? The family wants to throw you a party, but if you want to make it a destination thing, I’m sure I can get away. Michaela too. Trevor, not so much.” But he would, she expected, for Flynn’s big birthday
. “Not sure if it’s even worth asking Quinn or Connor. They’re workaholics.”
“And that’s not how I want to be,” he said. “I’ll give it some thought, but I’ll be honest—I’ve been thinking life, the universe, and everything. Big birthdays are the worst. They dredge up all sorts of uncomfortable questions.” He grimaced and took her coffee out of her hands, taking a sip. “How did you get through it?”
“Other than the sad state of my personal life, I thought my life was going pretty well. I knew I’d figure out my next big thing, and I decided patience was better than beating my head against the wall.”
“And now you own a flower farm in Provence and will be launching a new perfume. It’s because perfume doesn’t change a woman’s sex appeal, right? Only enhances what’s there?”
Bingo. She stared at him. “Flynn Merriam, sometimes you surprise the hell out of me.”
“I’m good at interpreting other people’s motivations. It’s figuring out my own life direction that’s a problem for me.”
She pushed the tray aside and rolled out of bed. “Are you heading back to Prague?”
He kissed her cheek. “Nope. Copenhagen. There’s a lovely Danish model I met in Prague. Let me say she doesn’t wear any makeup. The sexiest women I know let their natural beauty shine.”
“It’s why I love France,” she said. “But you’re always meeting models. It’s like you’re a model magnet. Maybe it’s time for a change.”
He shook his head. “Like I always say, they’re terrific. Beautiful. Accomplished. Low-maintenance. They have their own careers. Like to travel. Most aren’t looking for commitment. That’s what I want right now.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” she said, “so long as you’re on the same page.”
“Okay, I’m out of here. Claude is probably outside by now. If you need anything, I’m only a short plane ride away. Because you sure as hell wouldn’t call Quinn.”
Their brother was in London, also a short plane ride away. “Unless I was dying, and he was closer than you.”
“Does he know yet that you did some things out of order?”
She’d bought the land and hired Ibrahim before securing Beau. Somehow Quinn had thought she needed Beau first and then the rest, but she’d thought, correctly it seemed, that she’d have a better chance of getting Beau interested if she had something to show him. “This way was better.”
She just wished Beau had already signed a contract. Quinn was going to ask, and she owed him an update after her Nashville trip.
“I told Ibrahim goodbye,” he said, treading to the door. “If I don’t see Beau on my way out—”
“I’ll give him your brotherly regard.” She raced across the room to hug him again. “You really are the best. Keep me posted on where you are.”
“Have fun creating this perfume. From talking to Ibrahim, it’s going to be a fascinating experience. Savor it.”
“I plan to.”
He waved and then he was gone. She headed to the bathroom and dressed. The heat was already making its presence known in the house despite the stone walls, which kept it cooler. But the air smelled like the most perfect lingerie sachet tucked back inside a wardrobe drawer, and she stretched her hands overhead to take it all in.
Today was going to be a great day.
When she finally found Beau, he was stretched out on the grass in the backyard, Chou-Chou, the three-week-old baby goat, grazing on the short verdant grass beside him. He had on a button-down shirt and jeans with his cowboy boots. Her mouth went dry at the sight. But God, in this heat, he had to be roasting. She was glad to be wearing a simple yellow cotton dress.
“You found a friend, I see,” she said, smiling at the scene.
He opened his eyes, and she watched as they roved over her dress. “And you look like the sun itself today. I was hoping I didn’t wear you out, keeping you up talking like I did.”
Their eyes met and held, and she was aware of the breeze rustling the edge of her dress where he’d looked moments ago. “No, I loved every minute of it.”
“Me too. Have you met Chou-Chou? Katrine managed to communicate to me that he’s one of the Bisset goats.”
“Yes,” she said, “but he lost his mama in the birthing and wanders off through the fields, crying like he’s looking for her.”
He looked off. “That’s mighty sad. Katrine mentioned bringing over some kind of cheese too, but I couldn’t understand the rest. I hate not being able to communicate with everyone.”
The white goat had the most adorable brown spots and tiny feet. It gave a hearty bah and headed right for her. She petted its small pointy head and short horns. “He’s a Rove goat, special to the region. The milk produces the most delicious cheese called Rove Brousse. Jean Pierre’s grandfather still makes it at ninety-two.”
“I was sorry I couldn’t communicate with them too,” he said, rolling onto his side. “Seemed like nice people.”
“They know you don’t speak French.” She sat down beside him, the sun hot on her skin.
He hadn’t shaved, and it was strange to see those usually clean-shaven cheeks a little scruffy. Downright sexy, really.
He laughed when Chou-Chou nuzzled his face. “Hey, now. Keep to the grass. Heck, he probably doesn’t understand me either.”
Unfortunately, he was right. She spoke to the animal in French and it gave an answering bah. “You’ll find your way with each other, like you will with everyone else. Traveling always leads to interesting connections. Even when you don’t speak the same language. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to talk with my hands, hoping to get something across. I’ve found a simple smile sometimes says it all. Trust me, you have a really terrific smile.”
“So do you, honey.”
She couldn’t help but shiver and smile all at once. He laid his head back on the grass, settling onto his back. Chou-Chou stepped over him, and she would have laughed had Beau’s sigh not been so loud. “I’ll tell you what—I’m grateful to be here. It’s hot like this at home, but back in Nashville, it’s humid as all get-out. It’s cool in the shade here. And the fields are captivating, always flashing some new shade of purple or blue, depending on the way you look at them.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it? I live in an apartment in Manhattan, and I love it, but this… I could get used to it.”
“Me too, even with all the French things. I think I ate more bread than Katrine was expecting. I thought they ate omelets here. I think I offended her when I asked.”
She laughed. “Breakfast is usually just bread and jam, or honey, with tea or coffee.”
“The coffee was great once she showed me how to push that lever down. I’m all thumbs with this stuff. Took me darn near twenty minutes to figure out how to turn the shower on this morning.”
“Oh, I forgot. Yes, trying to figure out how to flush the toilet or turn on the water can take forever if you’re not used to it. But seriously, are you feeling better after our talk last night?”
“Being with you livens me up,” he said, “and so does this little fella apparently. I’m…grateful for the respite, Caitlyn. I’m glad we’re courting.”
If she had her choice, she’d keep sitting on the grass with him, the lavender swaying in the breeze, until the sun set. That was courting in her mind. “Me too, Beau.” She let her hand rest on his arm. “Now, I need to go find Ibrahim. I can’t believe I slept in so late.”
“We didn’t head in until after two,” he said, running his fingertips over her hand.
No, and they could have talked all night. They’d made their way to the house with slow steps, wanting more time to whisper in the moonlight and hold hands.
“I really do need to find Ibrahim,” she said, aware of her need to remind herself this was not a vacation. “I promised him we would talk about themes and vision and such for the new perfume.”
He sat up, laughing as Chou-Chou took the opportunity to nuzzle his face. “Silly beast. I’d love to join you, if you
don’t mind. There’s something in the way Ibrahim talks about things… He sees scents like I see music. It might help me with the new album.”
Yes, she could see how he would make that connection. “Perhaps another kindred spirit,” she said with a small smile.
“Can I have more than one?” His gaze settled on her face and then dipped to the curve of her lips.
Her heart started racing. Was he going to kiss her? Last night, he’d only squeezed her hand before heading to his room.
“I’d be pretty lucky to find one besides you,” he continued, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it softly. “Come on. If we don’t get moving, we’ll linger here all day like I’d like to.”
She smoothed back the lock of hair that had fallen on his forehead. “Yes, Ibrahim probably has been up for hours.” And she was here to work.
Beau let go of her hand and pushed to standing, sending Chou-Chou off with a nice rubdown. They started toward the guesthouse.
“If it’s not too nosy, is there a Mrs. Magdy?” Beau asked. “I mean, it would be hard to be away from your woman, I’d think.”
Your woman. She loved being independent, but somehow the way he said that—and the way he sang it too—made her envision two people belonging to each other. Because in her world, he’d be her man as much as she’d be his woman.
“She passed away six months ago, he told me. I hadn’t known that when I offered him the job.” But she’d understood why he’d be open to a change after such a loss.
“Sounds like he needed to get away from the past too,” Beau said, opening the front door for her.
The house was much cooler, and together they walked down the hallway to Ibrahim’s so-called lab. The door was open, sunlight and Raï music spilling out. The drums and reed flute wove together in a sinuous melody, dancing. Beau stopped short, putting a hand on her arm.
“What is that music?” His tone was wistful.
She made a humming sound. “It’s Raï.” God, she loved it.
His laugh was short, almost serious. “Honey, that ain’t Rye Crenshaw. He’s a friend, so I’d know if he made music like that.”