Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

BEAU

T revor is so damn young. He’s also unfairly gorgeous. All tan skin and golden hair that falls in soft waves, just barely brushing his shoulders. And the way he looks at me screams trouble. Even when he thinks I’m not paying attention, I can feel the heat of his assessing gaze. Raking over me with all the weight of a physical touch.

I definitely made the right decision in ushering him out of the house.

Instead of the work truck, I get us into my antique Chevy that I use to run errands around town. My classic girl doesn’t have air-conditioning, so we roll the windows down, letting the whip of the wind cool us against the damp heat outside. Trevor is a great sport and doesn’t complain. He just sits patiently in the passenger seat with his elbow out the window, eyes keenly absorbing the farm landscape we pass on the short way into town.

We strike gold when one of the diagonal parking spots in front of the suit shop along Main Street is empty. I park us carefully, leaving a wide berth beside the cars next to us to avoid getting dings to my truck. Trevor wordlessly follows me out of the car and into the sweltering heat. His head slowly turns both ways to take in the long expanse of Main Street. I try to see it from his viewpoint but it’s impossible after living in Clay Springs all my life.

Brick-covered roads, with a long sidewalk down the middle of Main Street with blooming flowers in the middle. The wind blows the sweet scent of jasmine toward us from where it climbs and covers a gazebo. Inside are swings that, during the spring and winter, are frequently occupied by young couples entwined. A gentle, genuine smile covers Trevor’s face as he absorbs downtown Clay Springs.

“It’s like something out of a movie,” Trevor says in awe. “You seriously get to live here?”

I grunt an affirmative answer. He follows me without a word into the suit shop. Mrs. Carmichael waves at me from the register, her hair still buzzed short after her numerous rounds of chemotherapy last year. I give her a hug over the counter, and she pats my cheek when I pull away.

“Beau Callahan. You get prettier every time I see you.”

Heat slowly creeps up my neck and cheeks. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“I’ve known you since you were born, and you still refuse to call me Cathy.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

She scoffs at me with a teasing smile. “Your suit is all done. Want to try it on before you leave just to make sure?”

I nod and follow her to the back, almost forgetting that Trevor is with me. I only remember when Mrs. Carmichael brings out the suit and her gaze dips to the side.

“Who’s this, Beau?”

When I turn around, I find Trevor leaning against the partition separating the dressing rooms from the store. Trevor’s smile is wide, his hands tucked into his pockets. I feel myself get hot all over again just at the sight of him.

“This is my boyfriend, Trevor.”

Trevor practically glows. “Hi, ma’am.”

Mrs. Carmichael rolls her eyes. “Not another one of you. The ma’am stuff makes me feel so old.” She shushes me when I go to interrupt her. “I know, I know. Hard to break a habit.” She does air quotes with a roll of her eyes and says, “My mama raised a southern gentleman.”

“Well,” Trevor says, with a conspiratorial smirk, “my mama didn’t raise a gentleman at all. Tell me what to call you.”

And Mrs. Carmichael has the gall to look flustered as she clumsily hands me the garment bag containing my suit. Almost slipping through my grasp, I catch it just in time. She gives me a rough shove into the dressing room. I enter with a shake of my head. It takes me a bit of time, but I get the suit on. Andy wanted us all in light gray suits with pale pink shirts. I can’t deny my sister anything in this life, despite feeling decidedly funny in the get-up. Suits are not remotely my thing.

Trevor and Mrs. Carmichael’s hushed whispers filter into the dressing room as I put the finishing touch of tying the tie Mrs. Carmichael presented to me with the suit.

“Well?” I ask as I exit the dressing room, running a nervous hand over my head.

All whispering ceases.

“Oh, you look so handsome, Beau.” Mrs. Carmichael’s eyes water a bit at the sight of me, so I look at Trevor instead. But he’s almost as bad. His blue eyes are narrowed in on my shoulders, dipping down to my chest, then slowly flickering back up to my face.

“Handsome, indeed,” Trevor says gruffly.

“Lucky you, dear.”

Mrs. Carmichael manhandles me until I face the mirror, running her hands down the fabric to smooth any wrinkles in the suit. Once she’s satisfied with it, she pulls away with a curt nod, and winks at me in the mirror. After I change back and pay, we leave the suit shop with Mrs. Carmichael promising to catch up with Trevor at the wedding.

I hang the suit up in the little sliver of space between the seat and the window in the cab of the truck. Leaning one arm atop the truck roof, I aim a smile at Trevor.

“Wanna see more of downtown? Or do you want to see the real Clay Springs.”

Trevor’s eyes turn mischievous. “Show me your Clay Springs.”

“You got it.” I tap the roof just once, then climb back into the truck.

We make our way back out of town, through the suburbs of Clay Springs, and back out to the rural country that I have always preferred. Sun breaking through the trees casts shadows along the old pavement road. I know these roads by heart. Like the lines on the palms of my work-roughened hands.

Country music crackles from the radio as we make the slow drive along my favorite back roads. A few times Trevor hums along like he knows the songs, but I don’t think he does. His soft hums comfort me in the small space of the truck’s cab. Out of the corner of my eye I watch enraptured as he takes his hair down from the messy bun, so the breeze gently blows through it. The wind tangles and knots it, but that seems to only make Trevor’s smile widen.

The road turns from old, cracked concrete to compacted clay dirt. Trevor aims a confused look my way, but I just smile reassuringly at him.

My family’s farm looms in the distance, until finally we pass by. The large sign announcing Clay Road Farms is teal with oranges, sunflowers, and blueberries in the logo. It’s been the sign as long as I can remember, a little weathered, faded with age. But it’s still the beacon that reminds me I’m close to home.

“That’s my family’s farm. Andy’s wedding on Saturday will be hosted there.”

“It’s huge,” Trevor comments softly. His gaze follows the farm until the truck is too far past it for him to keep looking. “How many acres do you own?”

“Well, the farm has about three hundred acres here in Clay Springs. It’s been in the family for about five generations now. We export some of the citrus and other fruit, but most of our earnings now come from weddings to seasonal and weekend events.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” Trevor shoots me a soft smile, lighting me up inside. He’s got a great smile. A plush top lip, slightly bigger than the bottom, and his teeth are perfectly straight, unnaturally so. But everything about Trevor is beautiful, even sweet.

I restlessly tap my fingers against the wheel during the final fifteen minutes of the drive to our location. The truck comes to a slow stop in front of an old chain-link fence with a padlock. I jump out, unlock the fence, then drive us through, only hopping back out to lock it behind us.

“You bring me here to kill me?” Trevor teases.

“Nah, too many people have seen you in town now.”

Trevor laughs, warm and deep, with his head tossed back. His voice is sweet and deep, just a bare hint of an accent that I can’t recognize. Almost as if he’s worked really hard to erase it. I pull up at the edge of the river and park by the bushes. Heat bugs rattle my senses as I open the truck door wide. They’re too loud in the summer, overwhelming and piercing like a train passing right by me.

“God, are those crickets?” Trevor asks, sweeping his hair back into a messy half bun.

“Cicadas,” I correct him.

He nods without looking at me, clearly distracted. I rest a hand on the small of his back to guide him to my intended location. A slightly overgrown trail cuts through the bushes, leading to my own personal oasis.

I don’t frequent as much as I did when I was a kid now that I’m an adult. But my younger cousins and distant relatives keep the path well-worn.

The trees get just a little thicker right before giving way to a startling turquoise spring. A gasp from Trevor tears through the sound of the cicadas. He pauses beside me, disbelieving eyes on the placid water in front of us.

“You’ve got your own spring?”

“You wanna swim?” I gesture awkwardly toward the water. “I keep a couple of changes of clothes in my truck in case I get messy at work.”

Trevor laughs derisively, aiming a blinding grin my way. “Of course I want to swim!”

Scrambling out of his clothes, Trevor stands in just a pair of tight black boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. A quarter could bounce off his ass. Round and gorgeous, just like the rest of him. Smooth, golden skin, a little bit of light blond hair, and firm muscles that ripple each time he shifts even a little. Jesus, my fake boyfriend might as well be a supermodel.

“Well?” Trevor lifts one knowing eyebrow at me.

Heat slowly creeps up my neck. “Oops.”

Not wanting to make a fool of myself in front of him, I undress slowly. But by the time I’m done, he’s not even watching me anymore, his toes are already dipping into the spring. When I come up beside him, he looks coyly up at me through his eyelashes.

“It’s been a while since I swam in a spring. The key is to jump right in, right? No second-guessing?”

I nod at him and tangle our fingers. “Together?”

He takes a fortifying breath. “Together.”

And then we jump.

A gasp tears from me as I break through the surface of the water. The trick is to let my body acclimate to the perpetually seventy-two-degree water, but it always feels a little bit like dying. Silt at the bottom of the spring stirs under my feet, but the water remains a crystal light blue.

Trevor breaks through the surface with a laugh and a violent shiver that cracks his teeth. Sunlight slits through the trees, highlighting all the golden strands of his hair. Like honey, or the center of a daisy. Yellow’s always been a happy color to me. Trevor reminds me of the color yellow. Sweet as honey, happy as a sunflower inching towards the sun.

“God, I’d forgotten,” Trevor complains, his teeth chattering loudly.

I chuckle softly. “It’s a good jolt to the body.”

Trevor reaches up to expertly remove his hair from the tie, letting the soft strands cascade to his bare shoulders. I watch enraptured as he dips his head back, wetting the golden locks in the turquoise water. He comes back up with his hair slicked back, longer now than it was when it was dry. Dipping down, he treads water instead of reaching on his tiptoes to touch the bottom.

Sun slashes through the trees, catching on the mostly still water of the spring. Trevor uses his hand to block out the sun and look behind me at the river beyond.

“How many gators come in here?”

“They stay away from the spring mostly,” I reassure him with my best comforting smile. “They prefer the river. It can happen though. Don’t swim fast and they won’t eat you. Swamp puppies are just as scared of you as you are of them.”

“So comforting,” Trevor murmurs in obvious disagreement.

His baby blues shift back to me, sending a terrifying thought through my head. Kiss him . A moment of tension passes over us before Trevor breaks it by playfully splashing me. And then it’s on. We wrestle in the water like children, splashing, and laughing under the bright sun. Both of us let out soft pants when we finally pull away, grinning like loons. God, Trevor makes me feel like a kid again. Some kind of magic.

“How’d you become a fake boyfriend?” I ask because I am so curious about the mystery of Trevor.

Trevor hums thoughtfully as he lies back to float along the surface of the water. Every firm muscle along his body is on display from this angle. We might be in a spring, but my blood heats to boiling, especially when he reaches out to tightly circle his fingers around my wrist. To not float away, as if I’m his anchor.

“Matter of circumstance. Helps me pay the bills and I’m good at it. Plus, I like helping people.” Makes sense. Trevor kicks his feet, so he spins around on the surface of the water, a little smirk playing at his lips. “What about you, handsome? Why’d you need a fake boyfriend?”

I blow an exasperated raspberry. “I don’t have much time to date with the farm and my family.”

He gently squeezes my wrist once, then releases me to sit up in the water. Bobbing in the water in front of me, he tilts his head this way and that, considering me with a thoughtful look.

“Are you a virgin?”

Jesus. Heat creeps up my neck and down my chest, no doubt painting me with shyness. “No.”

Trevor hums again, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at me, then disappears under the water. He pushes the hair from his eyes when he resurfaces. The water moves out of the way between us until he’s standing right before me, on his tiptoes, almost close enough to touch.

“You’re a sweetheart, Beau Callahan.” Then he kisses the apple of my cheek. His lips linger against my skin for just a moment, soft and warm. I strangely feel like I’ve lost something when he pulls away.

We swim for a little while longer before climbing out. The sun’s just starting to hit the edge of the tree line, telling me sunset is only a few hours away. Trevor yawns, stifling it against his forearm. Time to get him home. My home. Back to my house. Jesus.

Hidden from each other on either side of the truck, we shuck out of our wet underwear, tugging our clothes back on.

Once back at the house, I head straight to the kitchen to cook dinner. I’m definitely one of those guys that’s better at the grill than anything with the stove. So, I pull out the chicken breasts I marinated the other day and head out to the back porch. Trevor disappears into his room, so I let him be.

The back porch of my house is heaven. It’s built up to the level with the house and the wood is stained dark. I’ve got a grill, a couple of cozy chairs, a hammock, and a great view of the forest line behind the house. Birds sing loudly in the spring and summer. Deer even sometimes visit my yard. The porch is my little oasis. I don’t bring many people here, but I oddly don’t mind Trevor being in my space.

He's a quiet, gentle guy.

A few moments later, the soft padding of Trevor’s feet reaches my ears.

“What’s for dinner, handsome?”

“Grilled chicken with rice and vegetables.”

The chicken hits the grill with a sizzle, along with the skewered vegetables. My gaze lands on Trevor leaning against the railing at the end of the porch, looking out at the forest. He’s changed into an old T-shirt and sweatpants, the comfy sort of clothes that only people that know him really well probably see him in. My chest puffs out a little bit at that thought.

His cell phone vibrates in his pocket, and his face visibly hardens. With a grimace, he pads barefoot out into the yard, to stand under a large live oak. As the food cooks, I watch him carry on a conversation that has the lines of his body poised for attack. He doesn’t speak much, mostly listening intently. By the end of the conversation the man looks borderline sick.

“All good?” I snap the tongs before flipping the chicken.

Trevor waves his hand dismissively. “Nothing important.”

I highly doubt that’s true, but I don’t know him well enough to argue. Not that I’d argue anyway. He leans heavily on the railing, staring so hard out at the yard that I’m mildly worried he’ll catch my grass on fire. But the tension slowly leaves him as I finish cooking. His head tilts up towards the sky and he closes his eyes with a gentle, uninhibited smile.

Sometimes words leave me. Almost like I used up my quota of them for the day. Trevor doesn’t press me for more than I can give him. We eat dinner in companionable silence, just Trevor making happy noises when he takes small bites of the chicken. I bite back a smile. Silent through the entire meal, it’s as if he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in years. Maybe he hasn’t.

After dinner, we stand quietly at the sink, passing dishes back and forth until every dish is sparkling. Trevor sends a soft, contented smile my way before letting out a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Night, Beau.” He lifts up on his toes to softly kiss my cheek. “See you in the morning.”

“Night,” I say quietly.

He disappears into the guest room, leaving me with what can only be described as a stampede of buffalo running wild in my chest. Only once I’m alone do I press my fingers to where his plush lips grazed my cheek, wishing to carry the feel of his lips into my dreams with me.