Love Among Lavender

by Ava Miles

  Beau picked up his glass of champagne and lifted it in Ibrahim’s direction. “I can’t wait.”

  “Oh, can I get a question too?” Michaela asked. “Caitlyn’s been telling me all about them. It sounds like a personal discovery seminar. I need something like that to counter my scientific mind.”

  “We need both passion and reason in life, Michaela.” Ibrahim rose, closing his suit jacket, looking elegant and at ease.

  Beau had asked Caitlyn if she thought he’d ever look so at home in himself. Tonight she thought it a certainty.

  “I’m going to leave you,” Ibrahim said. “We have the harvest tomorrow, and while I won’t be the one picking the flowers, I will be walking the fields early.”

  “I’ve never seen lavender harvested,” Michaela said. “I can’t wait. The French are the only culture to use lavender in a cooking spice—herbes de provence—which is great thinking on their part because it has ton of natural benefits. Vitamin A for eye health, calcium for bones, and limonene for liver function.”

  “She’s a walking encyclopedia,” Caitlyn told Beau, who was grinning.

  “You should go to bed, Michaela,” her dad said. “You didn’t sleep a wink on the plane even though you pretended to be so you wouldn’t have to talk to me the whole way. My children seem to think I’m intimidating.”

  Aunt Clara laughed. “Of course you are, Shawn. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that? Good thing I’m back in your life because there are some things only an older sister will tell you.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Michaela said with a groan. “Try being the youngest in this family.”

  Her dad kissed Caitlyn on the cheek before crossing to Michaela and pulling her into a half hug. “Oh, you have it so rough. Come on, kiddo. Let’s draw straws for rooms.”

  “Hargreaves has your rooms ready,” her aunt said. “I ran up and asked for his help after we broke from dinner.”

  Thank God for Aunt Clara. She was going to keep everyone and everything in line.

  “We’re off too,” Uncle Arthur said. “I’m way too old to be staying up this late drinking brandy. Not that the company hasn’t been great. Come on, Clara. This is a young person’s game.”

  “I’ve applied for my young person’s visa, thank you,” she informed him as she stood up. “But I’ll follow you because I still owe you a lot of kisses for your earlier interference.”

  “Good God, Clara, not in front of the children,” her uncle scoffed, but he was smiling as she linked their arms. “Goodnight, everyone.”

  Soon Caitlyn and Beau were standing in the living room alone. It struck her as far from accidental that they’d been left to themselves. He set his guitar aside and reached for their champagne.

  “I know why you sang that song,” she whispered as he touched their glasses together, the sound as light as crystal.

  “I’d been planning on singing it to you tonight at the restaurant, but then that couple came, and I wanted a more private moment.”

  “Good decision,” she said, remembering how his fans had watched them all night.

  “And sure, I figured it was a big move for your father to meet me—and then give his blessing for us to sleep in the same room.” He lifted his shoulder. “I figured he should know much I love you. In his shoes, I’d want to be sure the man my daughter was with was good enough.”

  She touched his face. “You’re more than good enough. You’re perfect.”

  He kissed her lightly on the lips. “So are you, Sunshine. I think that might be my new nickname for you.”

  “Sunshine,” she said, remembering the song. “I like it.”

  When they made love later, careful to keep their desire quiet in the full house, she realized she had a nickname for him too.

  My man.

  Chapter 24

  The harvested fields looked like a young boy who’d gotten a summer buzz cut.

  Beau missed the purple flowers swaying on their proud stalks in the warm breeze. Chou-Chou seemed none too happy either. The baby goat was bleating next to him as he and Caitlyn walked the fields, pausing from time to time to stick his nose in the sheared stumps still anchored in the chalky soil.

  “It doesn’t seem the same,” he said to Caitlyn, whose hand he held. Who would have guessed harvesting would be so sad?

  “Wait until you see the bunches of cut lavender in the distillery,” she said. “Michaela and I wanted to jump on them like a pile of autumn leaves.”

  “I like the image,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it. “We’ll have to come earlier in the season next year. That is, if you’ll have me.”

  The sky was as blue as a ribbon at the state fair when she turned to him. “I’m hoping that’s what we’re doing. Where we’re going.”

  He put her hand on his heart. “I love you. I want to be with you. We have some figuring out to do, sure, but what we feel for each other is strong enough to make everything else slide into place.”

  Her cat-like green eyes studied him. “I hope so. My mom says the devil is in the details.”

  They resumed walking, and he let himself feel the give of the soil under his boots. They’d been planting things between them, eager to see what rose up come spring, and now it was time for them to cultivate the harvest. “I figure meeting some of your family is a big step.”

  She swung their hands playfully. “My dad likes you, and that was way easier than I’d ever imagined.”

  “For me too. I always thought getting a dad to like you was the hardest part, so it should only be easy sailing ahead. I want things to be permanent between us, Caitlyn. You must know I want you in my life. I’m not asking you to marry me just yet, but I’m going to want to.” Nerves rolled through his belly. “How would that sit with you?”

  She looked over with a soft smile. “That would sit with me just fine, assuming we’re good on the details.”

  “Such as?”

  “Where are we going to live? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure I can live in the South full-time. I like the West and East coasts. And Paris and here, of course.”

  “Before meeting you, I hadn’t given much thought to living anywhere but Dare River, but I never imagined loving the south of France like this. I’m not a big fan of New York City, honestly. Too many people and too much noise.”

  “Then we’ll have to figure out where we might be happy together,” she said, swinging their linked hands into the air. “Oh, I’m suddenly so nervous talking about all this. I’ve never lived with anyone. My mom and dad made it look so easy.”

  “You’re lucky for that,” he said, spotting Michaela walking toward them. “It’s going to be fine, honey. Come here and let me kiss you once before we have company. I figure your sister won’t mind, being a huge fan and all.”

  She laughed, tilting her head up, and he took the silent invitation, sliding his hands in her hair and cupping her nape. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Caitlyn Merriam, and damn if I don’t love you to pieces.”

  Her hands settled on his waist. “I love you to pieces right back.”

  He kissed her softly on the lips, keeping his eyes open to gaze into hers. Yeah, he saw the sunshine in them and expected he always would.

  “Oh, you two! You’re so cute. Kissing in the fields and walking with that poor baby goat.” Michaela reached down and nuzzled Chou-Chou under the ears as they broke apart. “But I have news. There are a bunch of photos of you two eating dinner in the village trending on social media. It’s crazy! People are talking about your new look, Beau, and your new lady friend.”

  Caitlyn glanced at him. “That couple.”

  He made a rude noise. “It happens. Not my favorite part of fame, but…”

  “Some of the stuff people are saying is downright nasty. Wondering why you’re in France in the first place, Beau, what with you being an all-American boy, and in a velvet jacket with a pocket square and such. I mean, it’s ridiculous. Caitlyn, you’re going to be p
retty unhappy about some of the stuff they’re saying about you too. Flynn called me and told me to warn you since he couldn’t reach you by phone.”

  Beau didn’t like the sound of that. They could say whatever they liked about him, but he hated the thought of anyone dragging Caitlyn over the coals.

  “I left my phone at the house.” Caitlyn took a deep breath. “What are they saying?”

  Michaela rolled her eyes. “Someone figured out who you are, so they’re saying you’re all New York City and into fashion so you’re changing him.”

  “Bullshit,” Beau ground out, causing Chou-Chou to bleat.

  “I know! They’re saying you have cat-scratch fever, Beau. I’d never heard that before, but some moron journalist thought it was clever, what with Caitlyn being your new lady and it being part of her name.”

  He put his hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder, noting her muscles were tense. What in the hell was he supposed to do to fix this? Maybe Rye would know. He’d certainly been a target of the tabloids back in the day. “I’m going to call a friend. See what he advises. Caitlyn, I don’t want you to be upset about this. Anyone with enough sense to fill a thimble will know it’s nonsense.”

  “Whatever you do, Caitlyn,” Michaela said, rubbing her sister’s back, “don’t go online. Flynn is having all your calls redirected to a Merriam assistant at corporate.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because journalists are calling for interviews and quotes,” Michaela said. “Beau Masters having a girlfriend is big news beyond all the changes he’s got going on.”

  Terrific. He needed to call Rye stat. His publicist at the record label would be having fits. “Let’s head back to the house.”

  When they returned, Shawn, Clara, and Arthur were waiting for them.

  “It’s the worst sort of journalism,” Arthur spat out. “If you can even call it that.”

  Shawn looked him in the eye—measuring him again, Beau imagined—before putting a reassuring hand on Caitlyn’s arm. “Flynn has things in hand with our PR people.”

  “I’m sorry about this, y’all,” Beau said. “I can handle them saying things about me, but not her. I have a few calls I need to make. If you’ll excuse me.”

  He cupped Caitlyn’s face and kissed her softly. “It’s going to be fine, Sunshine.”

  Her mouth tipped up, but her face was pale. As he strode up the stairs, he came across Hargreaves.

  “I’m sorry about the media attention, sir,” the butler said, his face somber. “I expect you’ll want to postpone our guitar lesson.”

  Right. He’d forgotten. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “If I can be of any service, please let me know.” He bowed and headed down the stairs.

  When Beau reached the room he and Caitlyn shared, he picked up the phone he’d left on the bedside next to hers. There were a few missed calls and voicemails. One from Rye, the others from the switchboard phone number Rye’s manager had set up.

  Rye’s voice was a balm to his nerves.

  Nice threads, Bubba, and an even nicer lady friend. But it’s causing a shitstorm. Give me a call, and we’ll figure things out.

  Damn, but he was a good friend.

  Since he’d included the switchboard number with the songs, he wasn’t surprised one of the voicemails was from Tommy Penders at his record label.

  Beau, we’ve seen the photos of you in France and reviewed the songs you sent. Unfortunately, we’ve decided we don’t like the direction you’re going creatively, so we’re releasing you from your contract. We’ve already informed your mama. I’m sorry it came to this.

  He lowered the phone slowly. They’d cut him? And in a voicemail? He sank onto the bed, his gut sick. That was it? They didn’t even want to talk about it? He’d heard about record labels being merciless, but he’d never expected it to happen to him. He’d been with them nearly fifteen years.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered, tears burning. All he’d ever wanted was to sing. How could they not have liked the songs? They were his best work ever.

  He clicked on the last voicemail and jerked when his mama’s voice began.

  Tommy gave me this number after he told me he was dropping you. Dropping you! Dammit, Beau. I told you nothing good would come of this fancy French perfume with that Merriam girl. She’s given you cat-scratch fever but good, what with those chichi clothes you’re wearing and those new songs you sent Tommy. We’ll have to talk about that song about me. That’s not going to fly, but I’ll forgive you for it. Don’t worry. Mama’s going to fix everything. We’ll find a new label. Those bastards are going to rue the day they dropped my son, but boy, I need you back here. Now. Set aside the other stuff between us. Your career is in trouble, baby. Call me.

  Oh, God. His mind was swirling. Fix it? What in the hell was she thinking of doing? He should call her. She shouldn’t be making decisions for him. He replayed the message, and now that the shock had sunk in, rage blossomed in its wake. She’d forgive him? How big of her.

  He called Rye first.

  “Bubba, you are having a day,” Rye said. “God knows, I’ve been there. Clayton and I have been talking about some options while we were waiting for you to call. Your mama needs to be stopped.”

  “I know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “So you know about the press release?”

  He froze. “What?

  “She put out a press release on your behalf thirty minutes ago saying you’re the new spokesperson for Ryan Williams’ cologne, stressing the all-American angle,” Rye said. “Knowing what I know, I figure you didn’t authorize that.”

  “I sure as hell didn’t.” Damn her. “I can’t be their spokesperson. I’m Caitlyn’s.” Oh, God. This was a disaster. His mama’s betrayal cut open his guts. How could she have done this without talking to him? She knew how he felt, but that was the point, wasn’t it? She was making a statement here, steering his ship in the direction she wanted, like she did whenever push came to shove. Not this time. “She does have power of attorney,” Beau said. “Has since I was sixteen. We thought it was easier because she was my manager. That needs to stop.”

  “Clayton can draw up the paperwork and send it to you over your phone. You need to sign it and send it back. I hope to hell you have a printer out there in France, Bubba, because we need the real John Hancock.”

  “You’ll have it.” He walked over to the window, his throat aching. “Rye, my record label dropped me. Tommy left a voicemail. Said they didn’t like the creative direction I was heading.” Which meant they hated New Beau. His stomach quivered. Would his fans feel the same way? No, he would have to trust in them and himself, now more than ever.

  “Peckerwoods,” Rye said with a scoff. “Of all the stupid, short-sighted… Clayton, you aren’t going to believe this.”

  Beau heard his friend talking under his breath, and the pause brought Beau into contact with the pain. His mama had up and betrayed him. Again. Caitlyn was going to be so upset. Rightfully so. He’d have to work it out.

  “I’m putting you on speaker,” Rye said. “Okay, Bubba, we both agree another label will pick you up. Don’t worry about that now. What we need to do is stop your mama from doing more damage.”

  “Once you sign the papers I’m sending,” Clayton said, “I’ll deliver them myself and tell her she is no longer legally authorized to commit you to anything. Beau, I need to know whether you plan on firing her. I mean, she’s your mama and she’s been with you since the beginning, so I get it, but you need to decide what’s best for you.”

  “How can I have her represent my interests after all this? I came here needing to clear my head, but after our last talk, I wasn’t feeling sure we’d continue. Professionally or personally. This decided it.”

  “Do you want me to fire her for you? I hate to ask like this, but time is of the essence here.”

  He thought about it. It was something he needed to do. “No, I’ll call and tell her myself. I owe her that much.” His own label hadn�
�t afforded him the personal courtesy, but he thought it fair. “I had a voicemail from her too. Tommy must have given her the switchboard number. She mentioned fixing things, but no details.”

  “She must have been talking to the Williams people right along. There’s no way they could make a deal happen like that in a matter of hours.”

  Tommy had alluded to it when he’d asked about the songs, but Beau hadn’t thought she’d make a deal without talking to him. She never had before. “I should have stopped her earlier.”

  “I’ll have to look into how to break the Williams contract,” Clayton said. “Might be tricky, but we’ll figure something out. Now, lastly, in regard to your career. You might recall my mama, Georgia Belle Chandler, being Rye’s manager before retiring. I called to see if she’d be willing to come out of retirement to get your career back on track. I’d love to do it myself, but Rye is a full-time job. She’s agreed for an interim period until you find someone new. I’m not tooting her horn none when I say her name carries weight in Nashville.”

  He gripped the windowsill. “I don’t rightly know what to say except thank you. I’m humbled by your help. I didn’t expect any of this.”

  “We got ya, son,” Rye said. “Plus, me and Jake Lassiter are going to be your backup singers on The Morning Show as soon as you can haul yourself back stateside. It’s got the highest ratings for a morning TV program. We’ll launch your new song, ‘Sunshine In Your Eyes.’ Maybe a few others. But we won’t be wearing matching velvet jackets—not that I don’t like me a little Elvis velvet. We need to get one of these new songs out and show the world Penders and your label screwed up big time.”

  “Great idea. I’ll get right back. I don’t have the music completely written down. It’s in my head.”

  “You can walk Jake and me through it,” Rye said. “We’re quick studies. Clay, anything else?”

  “Once you talk to your mama and give her the news about the change, you text me, and I’ll take matters from there.”

  “Georgia will want to meet you,” Rye said, “but she’s not as scary as she looks.”