Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ian
This is why I should never volunteer for anything.
I do not enjoy chaos.
My three brothers always give me shit about it, but I like rules and structure. Always have, and there’s no changing that now.
Which is why I have no choice but to go after Barrel the dog before he causes more confusion than Winnie, his adorable but kind of frustrating owner.
There is no fucking way she didn’t see that roadblock. I’m just sayin’.
In a full sprint now, I realize I’m losing ground. I consider myself in good shape. Hell, I know I’m in good shape. I have nothing else to do besides work at the distillery and workout.
But that doesn’t mean I can keep up with a dog who has tasted both freedom and a corn dog.
Barrel is barreling through the crowd.
There are startled exclamations and stunned surprise from the festival attendees as the dog races his way from one end of the town square to the other. Fred Callahan, who runs the local funeral home, makes a valiant effort to grab Barrel by the collar, but he narrowly misses.
Fred looks poised to make chase, but I tell him, “I’ve got him,” as I dash by.
“Did you get a dog?” he asks me but I don’t have time to answer.
“Whose dog is that?” I hear another woman ask.
I don’t have time to respond to that either.
I’ve figured out Barrel’s intended destination—Wanted’s only bakery, Sweet Thang.
The owner, Miss Bettie, has designed a booth made to look like a Candyland board, where you can stroll through it while surrounded by towering displays of cupcakes, macarons, sticky buns, and cookies.
She has a cotton candy machine spinning sugar, pumping a fruity scent up into the air.
It took her and her staff two days to set this little bit of magic all up and judging it along with my other committee was part of my volunteer duties. Sweet Thang's booth has already earned the coveted Spring Fling Festival blue ribbon for Best Display.
And the new girl in town’s dog is heading straight for it.
Folks in Wanted are generally friendly to newcomers, but the mass destruction of a town treasure might be a strike against Winnie she won’t be able to recover from.
Just running after Barrel isn’t going to work. He has the speed to beat me to the Sweet Thang booth in about another ninety seconds.
I need to be smarter than him and cut him off where the sweet tea stand creates a jog in the path. If I cut behind the lamp post and go through the middle of the Wanted Middle School’s athletics booth, I can get there first.
Running past the corn dog stand, I grab one off of the counter and yell to the teen manning the register, “I’ll be right back to pay!”
As I round the corner and head for the front of Miss Bettie’s booth, I hear alarmed voices rising.
“What the—” someone exclaims.
I go full speed now.
It’s a blind maneuver, because I can’t see Barrel since I’m coming from the side, but the reactions in the booth tell me he’s almost there. I dash out, waving the corn dog like a matador.
Barrel wants the corn dog. I want a hand on his collar.
We’re both successful.
Sort of.
The dog enthusiastically jumps on my leg and I get a nice grip on his collar.
As the corn dog falls to the grass, Barrel drops down next to it and starts chomping on the end.
But his tail hits the nearest display table. It shakes and wobbles. I reach a hand out to steady it.
“Ian!” Miss Bettie warns.
A single cupcake topples off the edge of the table. I don’t know why I reach my hand out and grab it. It would have been smarter to just let it fall. But the instinct to save the day has me catching it and squeezing with an iron grip. Bright yellow frosting squishes through my fingers.
“Fantastic,” I mutter.
I let the cupcake go and shake my hand, knocking off the biggest blob of frosting. Though a lot is left clinging to my skin.
“That could have been a disaster!” Miss Bettie says.
It would have been. Miss Bettie is best described as petite. Barrel would have dusted her.
“Does anyone have any rope or a dog leash or anything?” I ask. I’m a little breathless from the run and a lot in need of a napkin.
I rub the back of Barrel’s head with my clean hand to let him know my intentions are good.
There is a scramble from the nearby booths until someone produces a dog leash. I’m clipping it on right as Winnie approaches. Unlike me, she’s not even breathless.
She’s also…gorgeous.
When she was tucked behind the steering wheel of the truck, her floppy-eared dog in her lap vying for my attention, I hadn’t gotten an unobstructed view of her. Just a glimpse of dark hair, big brown eyes, and a wrinkled up nose.
“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims. “Thank you! I can’t believe he managed to open the window and then just jumped right out.”
I’m staring at long legs, a narrow waist, thick and wavy dark hair, and a sunny smile. She has a full mouth, high cheekbones, and graceful hands that reach out to rub both sides of Barrel’s muzzle.
Under the best of circumstances no one would accuse me of being a flirt or a charming playboy type like my brothers, and right now I’m feeling awkward as hell.
Being on the ground doesn’t help.
But I manage to untie my tongue. “Barrel is obviously both brilliant and hungry.”
Winnie laughs. “Brilliant is pushing it. I think it was dumb luck. Hungry I can agree with. He’s always hungry.”
“I’m right there with you, Barrel,” I say, patting my stomach as proof. “I can’t wait to dig into everything being served at the festival.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it. Thank you so much for your help.” She smiles at me, then goes down on her haunches. “Naughty boy!” she says to Barrel, though it sounds like anything but an admonishment.
It sounds like she thinks he’s fucking adorable, which I can admit, he is. I love dogs and clearly so does she.
The corn dog is long gone and Barrel’s tongue is out. He’s probably thirsty from back-to-back deep fried hot dogs.
I move to stand up at the same time Winnie tries to take the leash from me.
My shoulder brushes her thigh at the same time her fingers slide across my wrist.
It’s like touching a live wire. Instant electricity.
I stiffen.
She sucks in a breath.
When I glance up I see the smile on her face has faltered. She looks…different. Almost alarmed.
“Did I get frosting on you?” I murmur, tucking the leash into her palm.
She quickly wraps her fingers around it tightly and shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so…I…no.” Her cheeks are pink.
I rise to my full height, curious about what she’s thinking. Did she feel that too?
I raise my hand to display the frosting. “Should I lick it or get a napkin?”
“You don’t look like the licking kind.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting her to say that.
I also wasn’t expecting that today in the midst of all this festival chaos, I would feel anything other than annoyed. Instead, I’m very intrigued by Winnie.
“I can be. Under the right circumstances,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. “Oh!” she says.
And I realize instantly she was not flirting. There was no innuendo. She meant quite literally I don’t look like the kind of guy who would lick my fingers.
She’s not wrong.
But I’m disappointed.
She doesn’t seem to know what to say, instantly focusing on gently pushing Barrel off her thighs and standing up.
“Let me get a napkin and Barrel some water,” I say, to try to gloss over the awkwardness. “Then I’ll help you get your truck parked behind the hardware store.”
I half expect her to wave off my offer and run away but she readily accepts. “Wow, thank you. That would be really helpful. I’m a bit rattled by all this festival chaos. I thought I would ride into town on vibes and be moved in by nightfall. That’s what I get for not doing my research.”
She doesn’t sound like she’s beating herself up over it though. She sounds cheerful again. Not the least bit concerned that it would have been the easiest thing in the world to learn that this weekend is the Spring Fling Festival because it’s plastered all over town and social media.
She has no regrets, clearly.
I, on other hand, already know I’m going to spend the rest of the day regretting my remark and wishing like hell I could undo it.
Clearly my throat, I turn to Miss Bettie, who is watching us with obvious interest. “Can I get a bowl of water for the dog, Miss Bettie?”
“Sure thing, Ian.” She gives me a wink. “If you promise to bring me a bourbon sampler right after.”
That makes me chuckle. “It would be my pleasure.”
“You have bourbon samplers?” Winnie asks.
I nod as Miss Bettie puts down a bowl for Barrel and he drinks enthusiastically. “Yes.” I don’t elaborate because I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid.
I haven’t had a relationship in a long time and Winnie has me unexpectedly tongue-tied. Better to stay true to form—I’m known as a man of few words. I’m also painfully conscious my fingers are still covered in frosting.
“Ian is one the owners of Four Brothers Bourbon,” Miss Bettie says, patting my arm. “They’ve done real nice things for Wanted with their distillery.”
Winnie’s shoulders soften. “You’re one of the Lennox brothers?” she asks, sounding surprised.
I reach behind me and grab a napkin off of Sweet Thang’s checkout table. I can’t take the stickiness another second. “Yes, I am.”
The quiet one. One of the twins. The nerdy one.
All labels I had been given at various points in my life. Being more serious in a family of boisterous boys I’m used to taking a back seat to their big personalities.
“I know Faith Young. She’s the one who helped me find a job here in town.”
Ah. So she’s friends with my brother Mackay’s fiancé. Small world. Though that shouldn’t surprise me in a place like Wanted.
I ball up the napkin. Now I don’t know what the fuck to do with it. “Is that right? Well, Faith’s amazing. She’s been great for my brother.”
“Why haven’t I seen you at any of the Four Brothers events in Nashville?” she asks.
“Because I live here.” And I hate networking events and launch parties and marketing chitchat.
Winnie looks like she might love a good party. I need to remember that. Not only is she not flirting with me, she seems unbothered by chaos. The total opposite of me.
Miss Bettie, who is still right at my elbow, hanging on every damn word, interjects. “Ian is the master distiller. A lot goes into that. Science.”
That amuses me. “Yep. Science. Which is what my booth is about.” It’s technically the Four Brothers Bourbon booth, but fuck my brothers. They didn’t help me with any of it so it’s my display. “And why I need your truck off my hose.”
The corner of Winnie’s mouth tilts up. Her brown eyes fill with a mischievous gleam. “So we’re back to your hose.”
I refuse to read anything into that.