Chapter 4
Dylan
The steaks smell delicious. I can already tell by the way Lauren's watching me work at the stove, her dark eyes tracking every movement as I deglaze the pan that she’s trying to find a criticism but can’t.
"You're very confident in the kitchen," she observes from her perch on one of the bar stools. She's got her chin propped on her hand, and the sequined snowflakes on her sweater are catching the light every time she breathes.
Those snowflakes are damn distracting. Not even their bedazzling could hide that her nipples were showing earlier. It made me imagine how incredible Lauren would look naked and how much I would like to touch her everywhere.
Instead, I’m using this professional grade range to grill the steaks. I’m glad I brought two. I had intended one to be for steak and eggs, but I’m happy to feed Lauren instead. "Years of practice. When you're single and you like to eat well, you learn to cook or you live on takeout forever."
"I'm solidly in the takeout camp," she admits. "Though I make a mean grilled cheese."
"That's not cooking. That's assembling."
She gasps in mock offense. "Take that back! There's technique involved. The butter-to-bread ratio, the cheese distribution, the timing—"
"Lauren." I turn from the stove to face her fully. "Grilled cheese is basic."
"So are steaks."
She’s not wrong. "It takes skill to get the cook right.”
“Same with grilled cheese.”
We stare each other down. Again. I can’t help myself. I grin at her.
She rolls her eyes and slides off the stool. "Fine, Gordon Ramsay. I'll make my contribution to this feast."
"Which is?"
"Peppermint hot chocolate." She's already pulling supplies from her grocery bags. "If you're going to educate my palate, I might as well corrupt yours."
“No,” I tell her. “Absolutely not. Peppermint is an offensive flavor. It’s like drinking toothpaste.”
“It is not!” She pops a marshmallow into her mouth and chews. “Mmm. So good.”
Shaking my head, I watch her work, and I have to admit there's something mesmerizing about the way she moves around the kitchen. She's humming under her breath—the same melody I heard her testing earlier—and her hips sway slightly as she heats milk on the stove.
Lauren has an energy about her that I like and she’s intelligent. I can admit I haven’t always gone for the brightest girls. More like the girls who looked the hottest on the dating apps and the easiest to avoid falling in love with. I haven’t had time for love.
And more recently, I haven’t even bothered hooking up.
I’m painfully aware of that fact right now.
"So," she says, not looking at me as she stirs. "Four Brothers Bourbon. How'd that come about?"
"My brother MacKay played pro football and he had to retire after a career ending injury.
" I flip the steaks, satisfied with the sear.
"He was looking for something to do with his unexpected free time.
Ian, my twin, is an intellectual kind of guy, an introvert.
He has a chemistry degree. And my oldest brother, Malcolm, is really business savvy and always looking for investments.
When Kentucky started making it easier for small distilleries to get licensed, my brothers and I decided it would make a great investment. "
"That's actually really cool. How long have you been operating?"
"We’ve been operating for five years but we launched two years ago. We're still finding our footing, but we've got some loyal customers." I add the bourbon to the pan, watching it sizzle and steam. "What about you? How long have you been writing music?"
Lauren's quiet for a moment, concentrating on her hot chocolate. "Since I was sixteen. Started with poetry, then figured out how to set it to music. Moved to Nashville three years ago to make it official."
"And it’s going well?"
She glances at me, and there's something vulnerable in her expression that she quickly covers. "Some days are better than others. I'm working with Rusted Truck Publishing now, which is a huge opportunity."
"That’s fantastic. You should be proud of yourself. I’m sure those publishers have hundreds of writers vying for a spot.”
"That is very true. And I am proud." The way she says it tells me there's definitely a but.
“But?”
"I just...this is my shot, you know? This Christmas project. If I can write something really special, something that gets noticed..."
She trails off, stirring marshmallows into two mugs of hot chocolate. The snowman marshmallows are already starting to melt into abstract blobs.
"No pressure there," I say sympathetically.
"Exactly." She takes a sip of hot chocolate.
“I can give you space to write this weekend. I don’t want to interfere with your process."
“Maybe you’ll inspire me. Handsome stranger, a snowstorm.” She smiles at me over the rim.
“So you agree I’m handsome.”
Lauren laughs. "And modest too. What about you? Is the distillery everything you thought it would be?"
I consider the question while I arrange the steaks on plates.
"Yes and no. It's exciting, building something from scratch with my brothers.
But it's also..." I pause, not sure how much to share with this woman I just met.
"It's consumed my life for the past five years.
I haven't had a real relationship in longer than I care to admit. "
"Define real relationship."
"Longer than three dates. Someone who knows my middle name. A woman who isn't just looking for a hookup."
Lauren hands me a mug of hot chocolate, and our fingers brush again. Same spark as before, but this time neither of us pulls away immediately.
I also have no intention of drinking peppermint anything.
"What is your middle name?" she asks softly.
Ah, fuck. Now that kicks me in the gut.
Lauren may be sassy but she’s also sweet.
I’m going to have to drink the hot chocolate.
"James. After my grandfather." I take a sip of her creation and have to fight not to make a face. It's sweet enough to give me diabetes, but there's something endearing about how proud she looks that I actually tried it.
“How is it?”
"Mm. Well. Just what I thought. This is...very peppermint-y."
"It’s great, right?"
Great is a stretch. "It's good." It's actually not terrible, surprisingly. "Different."
"Different is my specialty." She takes a sip of her own drink and sighs contentedly. "So what happened? With your last real relationship?"
I carry our plates to the small dining table by the window, where snow is now falling steadily. "We dated for about eight months, four years ago. She got tired of me always being at the distillery or traveling for work. Said I was married to the business."
"Were you?"
"One hundred percent. I’m not even going to deny it." I hold out a chair for Lauren, who looks surprised by the gesture. "But truthfully, I don’t think I was ready for that level of commitment then anyway. I still thought there was always something better one swipe away.”
That makes Lauren snort. “And?”
“It’s a shit show out there,” I tell her bluntly. “I have deleted all my apps in exchange for nights home alone with the pleasure of my own company. At least I think I’m funny.”
Lauren nods. “You’d probably be the only one who does, so I can see that.” The smile shows she’s teasing me.
“Hey. Uncalled for. What about you? You mentioned an ex who was into bourbon."
"We dated for two years, broke up over a year ago.” She settles into her chair, and I notice she sits with one leg tucked under her. "Long distance thing. He was based in Atlanta, I was here. He kept wanting me to move there, I kept wanting him to move here."
"Who broke first?"
"Neither of us. We just... faded out. Like a song that slowly gets quieter until you can't hear it anymore." She cuts into her steak and takes a bite. Her eyes widen. "Okay, this is actually amazing. I take back everything I said about your bourbon obsession."
"High praise from the grilled cheese queen."
"I told you, grilled cheese is an art form."
Outside, the wind is picking up, rattling the windows. The snow is falling harder now, and I can see it starting to accumulate on the deck railing.
"So why music?" I ask. "What made you want to be a songwriter?"
Lauren's face lights up in a way that makes my chest tighten. She really is gorgeous.
"You know that feeling when you hear the perfect song? When the lyrics hit you right in the chest and the melody gets stuck in your head for days?"
"Yeah."
"I want to create that feeling for other people. I want to write the song that someone plays on repeat when they're falling in love, or the one that helps them through a breakup, or...I don’t know." She pauses, looking almost embarrassed. "I want to write something that matters."
"That's not a small ambition."
"No kidding. Some days I think I'm completely delusional." She takes another sip of hot chocolate.
I can’t imagine drinking peppermint hot chocolate with a steak, but Lauren clearly likes what she likes.
“You’re not delusional. You’re passionate. It’s good to have goals. I’m sure a lot of people thought my brothers and I were delusional to launch a bourbon from nothing.”
“I don’t think you’re delusional either. Though you promised me a Four Brothers taste testing and I’ve yet to receive that.”
“Only after you eat some more regular chocolate to cleanse your palate.”
“Oh, twist my arm. Eat more chocolate. I can definitely do that.”
“And then I can go upstairs if you want to try to write.”
“Get drunk and then write? I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Then we’ll have to find something else to do.”
I mean it to sound suggestive and it does. Lauren bites her lip, and she looks like she’s strongly considering flirting back.
But then the lights flicker, longer this time, and we both look up at the fixture above the table.
"Think we'll lose power?" she asks.
"Probably. But we've got both a gas and a woodburning fireplace, plenty of wood, and..." I raise my mug. "Hot chocolate."
"How much bourbon did you bring?”
“Enough to keep us warm all weekend.”
She's looking at me across the table, and there's something in her expression that tells me her thoughts might be running in the same direction as mine.
That there might be other ways to stay warm.
The snow is falling harder outside, and the warm light from the lamps is making everything feel intimate and cozy.
"Dylan?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For dinner, I mean. And for not making me drive down the mountain in this weather."
"I would have never done that. I’m a gentleman.”
“Oh, really? A real choir boy?”
“No, just not an asshole. I was raised to treat women with respect. I still open doors and pay for dinner.” And make sure a woman comes first in bed. But I restrain myself from speaking that last part out loud. It could sound flirty or…too much when we’re trapped alone in a cabin together.
Lauren cocks her head to the side and studies me. “I think you were smart to delete the dating apps.”
“Why is that?”
“I think you’re looking for a relationship and you don’t even know it.”
That makes me grimace. I’m not. Not really.
Or am I? I just want something different than random hookups and for now that has meant being single and celibate and I’ve been cool with that.
“For fuck’s sake. Have you been conspiring with my mother?
I’m not looking for anything. Well, besides taking the bourbon industry by storm and achieving great financial success. ”
“Are all your brothers single?”
“Why, are you going to ask for their numbers?”
Lauren laughs. “No! I’m just curious. I’m an only child but my parents honestly don’t pressure me about any of that stuff like marriage and babies.”
“Lucky you. My brother MacKay has a girlfriend, Faith. They’re recently engaged. Her brother is his best friend and he has like eight hundred kids already. I think Faith is catching the baby bug because of her nieces and nephews.”
“That is contagious,” Lauren admits. “Though I haven’t caught it yet. Maybe when I’m thirty I’ll panic.”
“I want kids some day. Just not yet. My other brothers are still single.” I rub my jaw and think about the awkward night when MacKay was staying with me before he met Faith and he walked in on me and a woman in the living room. That right there had probably scared MacKay into finding a wife.
Maybe Lauren is right—maybe I am ready for a relationship.
It’s not a scary thought, surprisingly.
If that’s the way my thoughts are going, Lauren really is trouble.
“But no, I’m not introducing you to them so forget it.”
Lauren licks foam off of the edge of her mug. “You can at least show me a picture,” she says, smirking.
“No way in hell. Besides, Ian is my identical twin. You’re already looking at him.” I point to my own face.
As if to back me up, the lights flicker again, and this time they stay off for a full three seconds before coming back on.
Lauren raises her mug. "To unexpected cabin mates and winter storms."
"To not freezing to death," I counter, touching my mug to hers.
"Always the optimist."
Outside, the storm continues to build, and I think that getting snowed in with Lauren Scott might be the best thing that's happened to me in months.
Even if she does think bourbon tastes like poor decisions.