Chapter 13
I headed out of the tasting room earlier than I expected. Between Chris, Donna, and the new hire, they had everything under control and didn’t need me. Normally, I’d stay and flirt with some beautiful women, but my desire to flirt was gone. The only ass I wanted to look at, touch, sink my fingers into was Lainey’s. The only lips I wanted on mine were Lainey’s.
I didn’t want to go home. Being left to my own thoughts had been a real bitch. I could head over to the VFW, but I didn’t think I could face Lainey’s dad, who was one of the permanent fixtures there. Even if he had no clue about Lanes and me, I’d have guilty written all over my face. He always told me I had a shit poker face.
So I made a left toward Three Barrell Distillery. It was mid-September, and Brady had started his Scary Movies Under the Stars event that would run every Friday until Halloween. A good old horror movie sounded pretty damn good right now.
The parking lot was packed, but I managed to find a spot and threw my car in park. I hopped out and made my way inside. The tasting room had a few people, but most were around the bonfire, watching the original Halloween on a sheet that was hung between two trees.
Jack, an Australian shepherd mix and Brady’s sidekick, greeted me at the door. He sniffed my shoes before jumping on my thighs, waiting for a scratch behind the ears.
“Hey, buddy.” I granted him what he wanted most. His mouth hung open, his tongue flopping out as he tilted his head into my hand. “You’re such a mush.”
I stopped petting him and stepped forward, but Jack wasn’t done. He jumped in front of me the entire way to the bar.
“Jack,” Brady said followed by a loud whistle. Jack ran to behind the bar where Brady slipped him a treat, then held his own fist out to me in greeting. I fist-bumped him and sat at the only open stool. He was like another older brother, and every time I stepped into this place, I was so damn proud of him.
“Surprised to see you in here tonight,” Brady said. “Thought the tasting room would be a madhouse.”
“It’s busy, but my staff had it under control, so I ducked out.”
“No pretty ladies who caught your attention?” Brady asked.
“Not tonight.”
“There’s plenty here, but most of them are with dates, so you might be shit out of luck.”
“I’m not on the prowl.”
“It wouldn’t have to do with a certain blonde we’ve both known almost our entire lives?”
“I’ll take the rye,” I said.
Brady barked out a laugh and turned to the bottles that were displayed along the wall. He grabbed a glass and the bottle of rye, placing the glass in front of me. In one fluid motion, he flipped the bottle, poured a perfect pour, and placed the rye back in its place.
I took a sip, closing my eyes and savoring the smoothness. Curiosity got the best of me. I glanced to my left and right, making sure there were no locals within earshot. “What have you heard?”
“I think the entire town knows about you kissing her in the middle of the tasting room. Though, I’ll give Odette credit. She’s been right there, smacking down the rumors of it being anything more than a kiss to anyone who mentions it.”
“She’s right. It was just a kiss.”
“What’s funny is you actually believe that shit.”
“There’s nothing to believe. It’s the reality of it.”
“If that were the case, you wouldn’t be here right now. You would be at the tasting room, flirting your ass off. Though, I’m curious why you came here and didn’t pop over to the VFW.”
Brady was one of the few people who knew I hung around with the veterans. Mostly because I gave him updates on his old man. He had cut Ron off when he was eighteen, and he had every right to do so. Back then, he wasn’t a good person. He was a downright piece of shit who physically and mentally abused Brady. But he was sober now. Volunteered at a PTSD support group—the same group that helped him once he realized drinking had only exacerbated his issues. Brady hated the man, but at random times would ask how he was.
Brady’s oversized and rugged exterior would intimidate most, maybe even scare some, but his heart was too damn big.
“I saw him the other day. He seems okay.”
Brady nodded, his jaw tight.
It was all that needed to be said. “Anyway, I didn’t feel like serving myself tonight. Would much rather you pour my drinks.” I held the glass up then took another sip.
“Or maybe you were hoping Lainey was here,” he said, and until he did, it hadn’t dawned on me how much truth was in that statement. Brady wiped down a glass and nodded toward the doors that led to the movie area.
I spun on the stool, my eyes searching for the familiar blonde hair. I couldn’t find her, though. I took it as the universe, telling me to let it rest. I faced Brady. “You have a good turnout tonight.”
“Now that word’s getting out more, I might need to put out some more chairs next week.”
“It’s a good problem to have.”
“Fucking A. Know anyone who needs a job?”
“I’m having a hard enough time getting help, I’m not sharing my sources.”
“Thanks a lot, asshole.”
“Rhone might have mentioned Sutton wanted to pick up some shifts at the tasting room. She might be down to take a few shifts here.”
He grabbed the bottle of rye and gave me another pour. “Thanks, I’ll ask her next time I see her.”
A group approached the bar, and Brady tapped the bar in front of me before walking over to them. I took my glass and moved through the people who had just swarmed the bar, making my way to the door. Jack was at a table of older females getting all the ear scratches, his tail wagging and smacking anyone who came within a two-foot radius. I was happy not to be competing with him tonight. I’d inevitably lose.
The door opened, and Steve, Vine Valley’s resident Big Foot expert, filled the doorway. I grabbed the door as he struggled with four tasting glasses.
“Thanks, man.” He nodded to my drink. “You drinking the rye?”
“I am.”
“One of my favorites. I have a bottle at home. I make my own Manhattans with it. I’m having a Big Foot meeting next Thursday. I’ll be whipping some up if you want to stop by the museum.”
“I know I’m working, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Sounds good. Spread the word. The more the merrier.”
“Will do.”
“Okay got to get back before the good part.”
“Don’t let me hold you.”
Steve continued on his way, and I stepped outside. The sun descended, taking with it the warmth of its rays. The evening air was crisp, and I wished I grabbed my flannel. I scanned the crowd, looking for a seat. The bonfire along with the screen cast a soft glow as the sheriff and Loomis searched the old Myer house. Steve was right. The good part was coming.
My eyes caught the familiar blonde, her gaze locked on mine.
She held her blanket up and shrugged, a metaphorical flag waving in the night. All the uncertainty and awkwardness vanished.
Whether it was a surrender or an invitation, I couldn’t resist. I crossed the lawn, going right to her.
“Perfect timing,” she said, and her eyes darted to the screen.
She shimmied over, still holding the blanket. I sat beside her and gratefully accepted the blanket as she draped it over my lap. Our fingers touched, and she gasped slightly. I wanted to grab her hand, hold it tight under the blanket, but I’d already decided she was better off without me. I didn’t want to string her along.
“Stop overthinking. You look constipated,” she said, and I laughed.
Under the blanket, she intertwined her fingers with mine, and every intrusive thought vanished.