Page 71 of Silent Count
He lets out a deep chuckle. “Let’s go see the puppies.”
An hour later, we make our way to the store to pick up our picnic basket and stroll around to see what they have. The building is an old wood building that has a rich, earthy smell to it. There are rows of baskets, filled with different nuts and dried fruits. They grow pecans, apricots, figs, and apples here. We’re out of picking season, but they have all the fruit available to buy in various dried mixes. It smells amazing in here, honestly.
They also have T-shirts, sweatshirts, and hats available, so I pick us out matching shirts. Bo wants to buy them, but I insist on paying for them.
We go to the counter to check out and get our basket for the picnic.
“Is this all for you today?” the cashier asks.
“No, we also have the sampler basket under Callaway.” I pull out my phone and show her the receipt in case she needs to see that it’s already paid.
“Okay, I see it here, honey. You’re all good.” She hands me the bag with the shirts, then turns and tells the teenage-looking kid to go in the back and get our basket, but he’s staring at Bo, not responding.
“Are you Bo Callaway?” the teen asks him.
“I am. You a Stallions fan?” Bo smiles what I call his TV smile at the boy.
“Hell yeah, I am.”
“Peter David, language,” the lady at the counter scolds.
“Sorry, Mama.” He laughs. “You’re killing it this season, man. You think you guys will make the playoffs?”
Bo nods. “I do. We have a really great team this year. We have to take it one game at a time, but I think we’ll take the championship this year.”
“Peter, you leave them alone and go get their basket,” his mom tells him.
“Oh yeah, sorry. Be right back, but, hey, can I get your autograph?” he asks Bo as he walks away.
“Yeah, of course. I just need a paper and pen.” Bo leans in toward the counter.
The woman rips off a paper from under the counter and hands it to Bo, along with a pen. “Here you go. Thanks for doing this.”
Bo writes a little note to Peter and then signs his name. “It’s no problem. Love meeting fans.”
“Well, good luck with the rest of the season. We’ll be cheering for y’all for sure!”
“Thank you so much. We appreciate the support. And we’re having a great time here today. I assume this is your farm?” Bo asks.
“Oh good. That’s what we like to hear. Yes, this is our family farm. It’s been in my husband’s family for over one hundred years. Started out as a pecan farm, but over time, it expanded. Then, in our early years of marriage, we decided to turn it into what it is now with the pups and other activities,” she tells us.
“It’s amazing. And everything looks so good. I wanted to grab everything to take home with us,” I tell her. “It smells so good in here too.”
“Thank you. That’s the pies. We make everything in the baskets, but the pecan pie is our specialty, secret family recipe and all.” She giggles, then turns when she sees her son walk back in with the basket in his hand.
“Here you go.” He hands the basket to Bo.
“Thanks, man.” He nods to the counter. “There’s the signature for you.”
“Awesome. Thank you.” The teen reaches out his hand to shake Bo’s.
“Of course. Have a good one.” Bo takes my hand, and we start to walk out of the store.
Once we’re out and walking toward the picnic area, I turn to him and really look at him. Sometimes, I forget that people around the country know who he is. It’s kind of wild to think about. “You’re really good with people. Like, you’re a good man, Bo Callaway.”
He smiles down at me. “Thanks, baby. I try to be.”
“No, you are. And you’re genuine, which I think is one of the best things about you.” I pull his hand up and kiss the back of his.
