“Thank you,” Bo said. Sam could barely hear him over the sound of the road beneath his tires. “I know that.”
Do you? Sam wanted to ask. But he didn’t want to pressure Bo, so he held his tongue and instead answered Bo’s question. “We’re coming up on the house now. This land to the left is theirs.”
“Are those the fields they rent to other farmers?” Bo leaned his elbow on the centre console to peer through Sam’s window. Sam didn’t bother resisting the urge to run his hand through Bo’s hair.
“Yeah. I can’t remember what they farm though. Never paid much attention to that side of the business, to be honest. Soy or bamboo or something like that. That driveway there,” Sam pointed, “leads to the guest parking lot.” Next to the lot entrance, a wooden sign read McAuley Stables.
Sam pulled into his parents’ circular driveway and parked off to the side. Before they got out of the car, Bo leaned over and kissed Sam’s cheek. Sam’s heart melted.
“What was that for?” he asked. He cupped Bo’s neck with one hand and rubbed a thumb along his smooth jaw.
“Thank you,” Bo said.
“For what?”
“For being so patient with me.”
Sam’s heart cracked wide open at Bo’s words. Reaching over, he gently pulled Bo’s sunglasses off his face and placed them in his messy blond hair. Then he cupped the back of Bo’s neck, lifting his head so his eyes met Sam’s.
“You’re worth it,” Sam said.
Bo blinked furiously and swallowed hard. Leaning forward, he buried his head in Sam’s shoulder and inhaled sharply, as if committing Sam’s scent to memory. Sam ran his hand through Bo’s hair and kissed his temple, letting the man take the time he needed to gather his thoughts.
Pulling back, Bo opened his mouth to speak when his eyes shifted to something over Sam’s shoulder.
“Um, we appear to have company.”
Sam looked over his shoulder and was met with the big black nose and lolling tongue of his parents’ Bernese mountain dog.
“That’s Shelby.” Sam opened the door, forcing Shelby’s front paws off his car and onto the ground. “Hey, girl.” He gave her a rub and her tail thumped against his leg. When Bo came around the hood of the car, Shelby barked and trotted over to him, giving him a good sniff.
“Hi, Shelby. I’m Bo.” Bo crouched and let the dog run circles around him. “What are you smiling at?” That last he directed at Sam.
Sam just kept grinning at him. “Come on, Shelby,” he said, holding out a hand for Bo. Hand-in-hand, they followed Shelby to the front door. Sam wisely didn’t comment on Bo’s nervous-sweaty palms.
The front door opened directly into a long, open room that ran the width of the house and was divided into sections: a living room on the left, a cozy sitting area with a TV in the middle, and a formal, seldom-used dining room on the right.
They left their shoes by the front door. Sam led Bo past the sitting area and through a door that led into a long kitchen. Like the front room, it spanned the width of the house, with the cooking area on the left and a large, rustic kitchen table and chairs on the right. Past the table, a set of stairs led up to the bedrooms on the second floor.
“Well, well,” his sister said from her perch on a stool at the kitchen island. “Look what the cat dragged in.” Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, long hair the same reddish-blond shade as Sam’s up in a messy bun, she diced onions at a rate a master chef would admire.
“You just saw me last week,” Sam said, giving her a brotherly shove. She retaliated with a kick to the shin, but he moved before her foot made contact.
Shelby nosed the back door and Sam opened it to let her out.
“Yes, but we see much less of you since you moved out,” his mom said, head inside the fridge.
“I come for dinner every Sunday.”
“But we used to see you every day.”
“Well, that’s what happens when your kid moves out.”
Sam knew his mom was only making a fuss because she could. She’d been his biggest champion when he’d talked about moving out, a firm believer that kids eventually needed their own lives away from their parents.
“I suppose that’s true.” She emerged from the fridge with snow peas, carrots, and cauliflower.
“Hi,” his sister said to Bo. “I’m Taylor.”
Sam placed his hand at the small of Bo’s back. “Bo, this is my mom, Margaret, and my sister, Taylor. Guys, this is my boyfriend, Bo.”
The look Bo shot him made Sam feel like a fucking superhero: wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and a pleased grin he tried to contain by biting his lip. Sam rubbed Bo’s side in acknowledgement of the word “boyfriend.” Had they not had this conversation this morning? Yet Bo was still surprised.
His mom also shot him a look, but this one clearly told Sam she wasn’t impressed that he hadn’t told her about the new man in his life earlier.
Taylor smiled at Bo like he was the best thing ever.
Handshakes and introductions over with, his mom said, “Are you boys staying for lunch? I’m about to whip up a stir-fry.”
“Sure, thanks Mom. No carrots, though. Bo’s allergic.”
Again with the big eyes from Bo.
“Oh, that’s fine, I’ll just replace it with something else.” She set the cauliflower in front of Taylor with an order to start chopping before returning the carrots to the fridge. “How about celery? Or broccoli?”
Sam let Bo answer, unsure if there was anything else he was allergic to.
“Those are fine,” Bo said. “It’s only carrots I’m allergic to. Sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother. I didn’t know we were coming for lunch.”
“Oh, that’s okay, sweetheart,” his mom said. She turned from the fridge and set the celery on the island. “It’s easy to swap one vegetable for another. We’ve been doing it for Robyn since she was born. One week she likes tomatoes, the next she doesn’t. Girl’s the pickiest eater I’ve ever seen.”
“Now she’s doing some kind of gluten-free thing,” Taylor said with an eye roll.
Next to Sam, Bo’s nose wrinkled adorably. “Gluten-free cookies?”
“Right?” Taylor spoke while chopping cauliflower into small pieces. “How gross is that?”
“There’s nothing wrong with eating healthy,” their mom said.
“She can eat healthy all she wants, I have nothing against it,” Taylor said. “It’s the fact she can’t decide how she wants to eat healthy that’s annoying. Next week she’ll have switched to a no-carb thing, the week after that could be that new diet everyone’s talking about.”
“She’s just trying to figure out what works for her,” their mom defended. “You never know unless you try.”
“Where is Robyn, anyway?” Sam asked.
“Working.”
Robyn waitressed at a restaurant in Guelph. Of the three of them—Sam, Taylor, and Robyn—only Taylor had an interest in working on the farm. She was an award-winning show jumper who’d switched from jumping to teaching horseback riding after graduating from the University of Guelph with a degree in equine management. She’d helped turn their parents’ farm from one that offered trail rides on weekends, to one that now offered corporate team building sessions, kids’ birthday parties, and stabling services.