October 22, Wednesday
barrel head branding the practice of stamping the end of the barrel with date, distillery, and other info
I FELT a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension as our tour bus pulled into Goldenrod's gravel parking lot. Dylan was inside and despite my attempts to focus on work, my pulse quickened at the thought of seeing him again.
The barmaid costume felt different today—more confident, more theatrical.
The leather corset hugged my waist, the full skirt swished with each step, and the white peasant blouse with its puffy sleeves made me feel like I'd stepped out of a Wild West saloon.
Several passengers had complimented the authentic period look during our earlier stops.
As we approached the tasting room entrance, I spotted Dylan through the large windows.
He was behind the bar, polishing glasses with the easy efficiency I'd come to associate with him.
When he looked up and saw our group approaching, his face broke into that devastating smile that never failed to make my stomach flip.
The cool air of the tasting room enveloped us as we entered. My group spread out along the bar while I hung back, ostensibly checking my notes but really stealing glances at Dylan as he prepared for our tasting.
"Well, well," he said, approaching me with obvious pleasure, his green eyes bright with mischief. "Look what the bourbon trail brought in."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Biggs," I said formally, trying to maintain professional distance in front of my tour group. "We're here for the scheduled tasting."
"Of course you are." His gaze swept over my costume with obvious appreciation. "That outfit is something else. Kind of sexy, actually."
Heat rose in my cheeks at his directness, and I was grateful my group was already engaged with the bourbon samples being poured by another staff member.
"It's authentic period attire," I said, adjusting the corset's laces self-consciously. "For atmosphere."
"It's working." He leaned against the bar with that casual confidence I found so compelling. "Listen, I have a proposition for you."
My pulse quickened. "Oh?"
"The last day of the fall Keeneland races are this Saturday. I was wondering if you'd like to go with me."
The invitation caught me completely off guard. Keeneland was legendary—Kentucky's most prestigious racing venue, where bourbon money and thoroughbred bloodlines created a world of elegance I'd only read about.
"I'd love to," I said, then reality crashed over me. "But I have to work Saturday. Full day of tours."
Dylan's face fell slightly, but he recovered quickly. "Okay, but would you join me for a party at the Keeneland clubhouse after the last race? It's a tradition—industry people, horse owners, bourbon families. Kind of a celebration of everything that makes Kentucky special."
The clubhouse at Keeneland. I could picture it—crystal chandeliers, women in designer dresses, men in tailored suits discussing million-dollar horses and vintage bourbon. It was exactly the kind of sophisticated world I'd always imagined Dylan inhabiting.
"Will your family be there?" I asked, remembering my last awkward encounter with Portia.
"Yes," Dylan said, and something in his expression grew more serious. "Actually, I've had a talk with them. Now that they understand I'm falling for you, they want to get to know you better."
I inhaled sharply. I stared at him, certain I'd misheard, but his green eyes held mine with unmistakable sincerity.
"You're... falling for me?" I managed to whisper.
"That surprises you?" He moved closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "Bernadette, you're intelligent, beautiful, and completely unpretentious. You have this way of listening that makes people feel like they matter. Of course I'm falling for you."
The tasting room seemed to fade around us. My carefully constructed walls, built from years of protecting myself from disappointment, began to crumble.
"So will you come?" he asked, his hand briefly touching mine across the bar. "To the party?"
Caught up in the moment, overwhelmed by his confession and the intensity in his eyes, I heard myself saying, "Yes."
His smile was radiant. "Perfect. Wear that black dress you wore before. I want to show you off."
As I rejoined my tour group for the remainder of our visit, my mind spun with the implications of what had just happened. Dylan was falling for me. He wanted his family to get to know me better. I would be on his arm at one of Lexington's most exclusive social events.
The rational part of my mind whispered warnings about moving too fast, about the vast differences in our backgrounds. But for once, I silenced that voice.