Chapter 7 #2
With a chuckle, I nodded toward the tables away from the bar. “I’m going to find a seat.”
“Good call,” Wyatt said. “Before Rose starts quizzing you on employee handbook violations.”
“As I said, we take all matters seriously.” Rose winked in a way that told me she didn’t follow the rules herself, but she would defend her family’s legacy to the end of the world.
She was just like Sherry in that aspect.
I had no idea what that kind of loyalty felt like.
The loyalty to my family was forced, bought and paid for most of the time, and there were always stipulations and nothing I was ever proud of.
Not the way my old man did business, at least.
“Which is why I’m walking away before you realize I didn’t read the employee handbook.”
Wyatt gasped. “I knew I liked you.”
With a laugh, I turned toward the tables and scanned the space.
“There’s a seat right here for you,” Steve, the proud owner of the town’s only museum dedicated to Big Foot, waved me over to an empty chair at a high top. I nodded in his direction and plopped my ass on the stool adjacent to him.
Odette, who seemed to be everywhere, popped up from her chair and hurried over to me.
She threw her arms around my neck, engulfing me in vanilla musk and chaos, squeezing me like we were long-lost relatives.
“You made it!” She smacked my shoulder. “I knew you would.” She held her hand out to Steve.
“I had ten bucks riding on you showing up.” Her attention moved to Steve. “Pay up.”
My brows furrowed as Steve shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, grabbing a crisp ten-dollar bill, and slapping it in Odette’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said, confusion swirling around in my mind. “Why did you place a bet on whether or not I’d show?”
Steve shrugged. “Nero said you would, but since you haven’t shown up to one HOA meeting or event at Robin’s Landing, figured you’d bail here, too.”
“You bet against me based on my social track record?” I grabbed my heart. “Steve, you wound me.”
“Don’t take it too seriously,” Odette said, popping a nut in her mouth from the small bowl on the table. “We just like to keep things interesting.”
“And steal my money in the process,” Steve said.
“Hey, you shouldn’t have bet against me,” I declared
A glint of hope landed in Steve’s eyes. “Does this mean you’ll come to the next HOA meeting?”
“Don’t push it.” I laughed, enjoying this ridiculous conversation far more than I ever would have imagined.
Steve chuckled. “I figured as much. Had to ask though since it’s just five of us right now and a confused cat.”
“It’s a very committed cat, though. Brings more to the table than the rest of us,” Odette said.
“Be honest, Odette. The cat is there for the free head scratches and catnip.”
“Whose cat is it?” I asked, way too intrigued by the answer.
“Not sure,” Steve said. “She’s a pretty hefty thing, so she’s fed well. Her coat’s always shiny. I think she comes to the clubhouse for her next fix.” He shot his gaze to Odette.
“You make me sound like some sort of cat drug dealer.”
“If the shoe fits,” Steve said, and I glanced toward the bar, wondering where the hell the whiskey was. I could use a pour or three about now.
Brady disappeared to the back and returned with a cask on a stand. I had to keep myself from clapping my hands together and rubbing them in anticipation.
Brady picked up a small wooden mallet resting on the stand and looked toward the small crowd. “You all ready?”
“I was ready thirty minutes ago,” Albert, a grumpy old bastard in overalls and a Vietnam baseball cap, said. He owned the farm stand in town and loved to drive his damn tractor at the speed of a sloth crawling through molasses.
He sat at a table with other men who, if I had to guess, were all veterans.
“I guess I’ll take my time.” Brady put the mallet down. “I aged this for two years in one of the wine barrels Mr. Grasso gifted me when I told him I wanted to start this distillery.”
All the Grassos held their glasses up in honor of their grandfather. The man had not only been a staple in this town, but a staple in the wine community.
“I infused it with wildflower honey from Albert’s farm.”
Everyone turned to Albert and clapped, but he just grumbled, swatted his hand, and then crossed his arms. Though, I detected a smile tugging at the stubborn edges.
“Most of you know my life hasn’t always been easy, but because of this town and the people, I have a beautiful life now.” His eyes drifted over to Chardonnay, who winked at him.
“In other words, he’s getting laid regularly,” Nero said.
“Dude, that’s your sister,” Wyatt said, pretending to be disgusted.
Nero shrugged. “Didn’t say I was happy about it, but even you know they’ve been eye-fucking since we got here.”
“Jesus, Nero!” Chardonnay exclaimed with a backhand to his shoulder.
“Ow!” He rubbed at the spot. “Now I need Lainey to kiss it better.”
“Don’t make me text her,” Rose said, holding up her phone.
“Can you tap that cask, so he stops talking?” Franc asked.
Laughter rippled through the room, even from Albert’s table.
“Now that everyone’s appetite is ruined.
” Brady lined the tap with the center of the cask, and with two solid whacks, amber liquid trickled into a glass.
Cheers erupted, and I joined in. I had spent so much of my time holed up in my townhouse, trying not to make any connections with the town or its people.
I almost forgot how nice it was to belong to something outside of myself.
The first glass was handed off to Chardonnay, then Franc. Eventually, everyone had a glass.
“To good whiskey,” Franc said.
“And bad influences,” Meadow added.
“Speak for yourself,” Nero muttered with a charming smirk.
Albert held up his glass and admired the color in the light of the setting sun. “As long as it’s not that pumpkin spice crap you had in the fall, I’ll drink anything.”
“Oh Albert, you know you loved it,” Meadow said. “You especially loved the cinnamon sugar rim.”
“Traitor,” he mumbled.
Brady held up his glass, his eyes scanning the room. “To all of you,” he said with a heartfelt smile. “Salud.”
I took a sip of the whiskey, and as soon as the amber liquid hit my tongue, I could taste the layers of flavor and appreciated the complexity.
“Now that is some good whiskey,” Steve said.
“Couldn’t agree more.” I took another swig.
“I know I’m O-for-one here, but just thought I’d let you know.
” Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
He slid it across the table, and I realized it was not just a piece of paper; it was a flyer for Sasquatch and Sips, a collaboration between Vine Valley Vineyard and his museum.
I thought I heard Sherry mumble something about it when she breezed by me in the warehouse as if I wasn’t there.
“It’s going to be a lot of fun,” Steve said. “I’ll go over some new evidence that has been found while tasting some delicious wines. Then I can give you a tour of the museum. A lot of people say they get more out of it after they’ve had a few drinks.”
“You don’t say?”
“I think it helps open their minds,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I bet it does.”
“So what do you say? Come by my museum?”
A million excuses ran through my mind, each one more unbelievable than the next.
I’d become a pro at avoiding town events and making acquaintances.
I was here for a job, and that job did not entail wine tasting at a Big Foot Museum.
But as I looked at Steve, the hope in his eyes, the anticipatory angle of his shoulders as he waited with bated breath for my answer, I couldn’t grab hold of a single excuse.
“Count me in,” I said, surprising myself.
“Really?” Steve’s eyes widened, shock and joy converging on his face. He let out a whoop ’ that caused half the place to turn. “That’s great! I can’t wait.”
“Me either,” I said, and for some strange fucked up reason, I meant it.