Epilogue
Julian
I slide across the black-painted floor on my stool to pull out the design I drafted for this project.
It was less than a month after Wyn had officially left her tenured career as a professor when I walked into this building as its official owner.
I negotiated the purchase and then drove out to Oregon, packed up my equipment and anything worth holding on to at my place, and put the rest of it on the market. Rumor, Tennessee is home now.
Stretching my hand, I flex my fingers and rub along my palm. The stitches came out and healed pretty quickly, but it left a nice looking scar.
“I was wrong,” Wyn said as she ran her thumbs along the reddish-purple mark that stretched along my palm.
“I told you that this hand wasn’t going to change, that its lines were your destiny.
” She kissed the scar, and all I thought was being there that night to stop Reed from hurting her was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Protecting her and loving her was always supposed to happen. I wholeheartedly believe that.
“Jules?” Jo calls out from the open wall cutout connecting our two spaces.
“I’m not answering to that. You and Stevie need to knock it off,” I yell back as I turn on the buffer, a smile quirking my lips.
“And yet, here you are, answering to it,” she calls out.
Downstairs is being renovated into a gallery, making this entire building look more approachable, and hopefully profitable.
I switch on the buffer and run it across once more.
If there’s anything that I want to shine, it’s this.
The thin gold band will fit perfectly; I sized her finger while she slept.
I knew what stone was going to be hers as soon as I told her the story about it.
I just needed to convince a certain asshole to sell it to me.
And about three months ago, I made it happen.
JULIAN
There’s an entire block of empty buildings here that are going to waste, especially with a whiskey distillery coming into town, endorsed by Foxx no less. You’d be nuts not to swoop it up. I’ll take my name off the bid for it, if you sell me that fucking stone.
RHODES
Fine, you have a deal. Come and get it.
JULIAN
Are you fucking with me? That was fast.
RHODES
Have I ever given off the vibe that I would have time for that.
JULIAN
My position still stands, I’m not paying in favors.
RHODES
I think your position is bullshit, but I’ll accept the payment you offered with an asterisk that you still owe me something at a time to later be determined.
JULIAN
Deal, asshole.
He didn’t waste time after I picked it up. I glance out across the street and see renovations already underway on the long stretch of abandoned storefronts.
Jo walks by, leaning her elbows on the opening of the half wall divider, looking out where I am. “What the hell is a billionaire doing buying properties in Rumor?”
“He’s got nothing else better to do. Billionaires have rich friends, the kind that like to go to art galleries and acquire a bunch of work,” I say to her as I focus back on the ring.
“She’s going to love it, Jules,” she says. Jo’s watched me obsess over the design of this for weeks now, but I think she’s right.
I hold it up and let the bright light catch the way the gold shines. Fuck, this one came out perfect. I made two others when I wasn’t sure I would get the stone I wanted. There were plenty of beautiful gems that I considered for her, but the emerald felt like it belonged to her.
Jo claps her hands. “Okay, I want your knee-jerk reaction to this advertisement display with the pinup and the logo. I want to make sure I didn’t just go too over the top here.”
If anyone questioned the drive and hard work the Crowne sisters have been putting in, I would come out swinging.
Grant and Lincoln Foxx made a trip down to help calibrate their new copper still.
The Foxx brothers and Crowne sisters spent nearly twelve hours straight talking through flavor profiles and how they would filter through sugar maple charcoal, making it a true Tennessee whiskey.
Grabbing my bag, I lean against the archway that transitions my space to Jo’s.
“What do you think?” Jo asks, biting at her thumbnail.
“She’s going to love it, Jo,” I say honestly. I don’t know how she managed to do it, to change from fine art to mainstream culture and design, but I’m impressed. And I know her sisters will be too.
The youngest Crowne smiles wide, looking at her work and giving it a nod.
I want to give Wyn the things she said she wanted, and not the ones that are just assumed or expected. That’s not who we are to each other. Traditional was never a part of our story, and I doubt it ever will be. But I’m going to ask her to marry me anyway.
I hadn’t planned to stay in Rumor. A few hours turned into twenty-four. And then twenty-four transitioned into the most important weeks of my entire life.
I think about my dad often, what he would have said if he’d met Wyn in a different time and place, what he would think about the choices I’ve made along the way.
I knew him as best as he was willing to share.
A part of me wonders what today would feel like if he never left this town, if he’d stayed and fell in love with the girl, shared a life with a person who knew all the parts of him.
“Is that happening soon?” Jo asks as she moves back toward her canvas.
“Soon,” I say with a smirk. Really soon. Wyn and her sisters have been pushing really hard to get everything set for the new year, but I think tonight might be a good night for her to take a little break.
Jo smiles. “Not sure if this is too touchy-feely for you—goddesses know it is for me—but I’m grateful for you, Jules. My sister is . . .” Her eyes tear up as she looks to the ceiling, shaking her head. “Just don’t fuck it up,” she says with a smile as she points at me.
“Still not into the nickname, Jo,” I call out after her as she turns away from the shared space.
The most ridiculous part is that I don’t really hate it—the idea of having people that folded me in like family and had nicknames for me.
I almost forgot what it felt like to have people that noticed when I was around or not.
I wasn’t planning to fuck up a damn thing, not with Wyn. She’s my family now.
My burner phone buzzes in my bag. I had planned to toss it.
My plan all along was to leave that part of my legacy behind, but about two weeks after Reed had officially never wandered up the embankment of the river, Wyn said to me, “Whatever it is you decide to do, I’ll support you.
If the only thing you have room for in your life is making beautiful jewelry and me, then I won’t complain for a single second.
” She drew along the scar on my palm and added, “But, if you wanted more, if that legacy your family built is still something that you see value in continuing, you have my approval. If you want it.”
Eventually, my family’s legacies would die with me.
But having Wyn’s blessing to make my own decisions when it came to the cleaning business meant more than I realized.
I wasn’t ready to be done with it. After everything that happened, I know there are people I trust who would benefit from having access to my skillset—my soon-to-be family, included.
Wyn
The beauty of whiskey is that the rules are more flexible when it comes to aging.
But we want at least two years and then another seven months in finishing barrels.
For now, however, we’re in a waiting game for that batch.
This younger batch, which had been barreled when I wasn’t here, isn't hitting right.
“It’s the emulsification.” I lean against the edge of the bench, trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with this batch. Frustrating doesn’t even begin to explain the feelings I’m having.
“It’s not the char on the barrels?” Tommy asks, taking another sip from the whiskey thief. “Wyn, I’m telling you, it was decent when it went into the barrel.” He looks up at me as I think about how to turn this around.
“Jack and Coke is the state drink,” I state.
He laughs out, “Yeah, for good reason.”
I smile, because I know flavors and this one actually has potential.
“What if we have our own take on it?” I thought about the soda barrels that Moonie’s always rolled in when we were growing up—a classic cola and a black cherry soda that came from a place up north in Connecticut.
“We finish this blend in classic cola, infuse it right into the whiskey. It’ll salvage this batch and could roll out in early summer. ”
He nods slowly, mulling the concept over. When I shared with Tommy about wanting to take this place over, it was part permission and part blessing I was seeking. He gave both.
I glance at our logo that Jo designed. The way the W’s intertwine, making the shape of a crown was a brilliant idea.
Whiskey Women Distilling has moved quickly in a few short months.
We’ll kick off officially in the new year, and then in the spring, we’ll finally be able to stock shelves and open the doors to our tasting bar.
It feels like I’ve found a purpose—not that I hadn’t felt it before, but this time, it isn’t for anyone else.
Some days, it rivals graduate students and lab work, but I love every minute doing this.
I’m not trying to prove a point or hide away from my family.
This time, it feels right. Whiskey was always the obvious common denominator that I ignored or just wasn’t ready to see beyond something to play around with or pour.
Tommy drums his knuckles along the top of the wood barrel he’s leaning on.
“I think it’s a great idea, Wyn.” He stands to his full height and says, “Alright, I’m going to head to the stables for a bit.
Promised Nash I’d take him for a ride in the morning, which means I need to stock the apples and peppermints, otherwise he thinks the horses are sad about not getting snacks. ”