October 5, Sunday
toasting gently heating the barrel before charring to bring out wood sugars and complex flavors
THE GIFT shop at Maker's Mark hummed with tourists examining bottle after bottle of wax-sealed bourbon, their voices creating a comfortable background buzz as our tour group browsed the displays.
I stood near a rack of branded glasses, calculating whether I could afford even the smallest souvenir, when Jett appeared beside me with barely contained excitement.
"Bernadette," he said, his voice pitched low with obvious pride. "I want to show you something."
He led me to a special display case near the register, where a limited-edition bottle sat spotlighted like a piece of fine art. The label read "Maker's Mark Honey Reserve" in elegant script, and beneath it, smaller text proclaimed: "Featuring Award-Winning Wildflower Honey from Flannery Apiaries."
"Jett!" I gasped, genuinely delighted. "This is incredible. When did this happen?"
"They called me last week," he said, grinning like a kid who'd just won the science fair. "Apparently my honey impressed them enough at the festival that they wanted to do a limited run. Only two hundred bottles."
I stared at the price tag and nearly choked. More than I usually spent on groceries in two weeks. But seeing Jett's name associated with something this prestigious, watching the pride radiate from his usually reserved demeanor—I couldn't help myself.
"I'm buying one," I announced, already reaching for my wallet.
"You don't have to do that," Jett protested. "It's ridiculously overpriced."
"Are you kidding? This is history in the making. Besides," I added, counting out my crumpled bills, "how often do I get to drink bourbon made with honey from someone I actually know?"
The purchase left my wallet distressingly light, but the weight of the bottle in my hands felt like a small victory. Jett had earned this recognition through years of dedicated work, and I wanted to celebrate that achievement properly.
Later, as the tour bus pulled into Happy Trails' gravel entrance, I found myself reluctant to let the day end on such a high note.
"Want to join me for a taste?" I asked, holding up the bottle. "Seems wrong to let your honey bourbon go unappreciated."
Jett's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Sure. Why not?"
I retrieved two mismatched mugs from my van—one emblazoned with "World's Best Mom" that I'd given her for her birthday, the other a chipped ceramic piece I'd picked up at a gas station. Not exactly appropriate glassware for premium bourbon, but they would have to suffice.
We walked down to the small dock that jutted into the campground's lake, the wooden planks creaking softly under our feet. The water reflected the late afternoon sky, and somewhere in the distance, a loon called across the stillness.
The honey-infused whiskey poured like liquid amber, catching the sunlight as I poured three fingers' worth into each mug. The aroma rose between us—vanilla and oak enhanced by the floral sweetness of Jett's wildflower honey.
"This place is peaceful," Jett said, settling beside me on the dock's edge. His feet dangled toward the water, and I was acutely aware of how the ridiculous barmaid costume made me look like some sort of historical reenactor who'd wandered into the wrong century.
"It's grown on me," I admitted. "Not exactly what I pictured when I imagined my Kentucky adventure, but there's something calming about the water."
Jett lifted his mug, his expression growing thoughtful. "To your mother," he said quietly. "A woman I never met, but who was responsible for bringing you to Kentucky. And ultimately, for us sitting here right now."
The unexpected toast caught me completely off guard. Tears pricked at my eyes as I touched my mug to his, the soft clink echoing across the water. Something fundamental had shifted between us.
"Thank you," I whispered, meaning it more than he could possibly know.
We sipped the bourbon in comfortable silence, the honey adding a complexity that made each taste linger longer than usual. Jett shifted closer on the dock, his shoulder brushing against mine, and suddenly the air between us felt charged with possibility.
He turned to face me, his dark eyes serious and searching. For a heartbeat, I thought he was going to kiss me. My pulse quickened as he leaned closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with the bourbon on his breath.
"I should go," he said abruptly, pulling back. "Before this gives me a buzz. I still have to drive home."
The moment shattered. I forced a smile, hoping my disappointment didn't show too clearly on my face.
"Of course," I said, pushing to my feet. "Let me make you some coffee for the road."
I prepared the strongest instant coffee my limited supplies could produce, stirring in extra sugar to combat the bitterness. When I handed him the steaming mug, our fingers brushed briefly—a contact that felt both electric and melancholy.
"Drive safe," I called, waving as the bus pulled away from the campground.
Standing alone in my ridiculous costume, watching his taillights disappear into the dusk, I realized how profoundly grateful I was to have Jett as a friend. Even if that's all we'd ever be.