Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Winnie
Ian Lennox is hard to read.
I had no idea if he was flirting with me or not when he mentioned licking.
It didn’t seem like it. But then briefly I thought maybe he was. And now he just frowns at me when I try to tease him.
He has launched into an explanation of his water feature display, which is meant to showcase Kentucky water supplies and why it’s perfect for making bourbon.
“Uh huh,” I say, even though I’m not really processing anything he’s saying. I’m listening. I’m just not hearing it because it sounds a bit like a science lesson and when confronted with an educational lecture, my brain shuts down instantly.
Besides, all I can think about is how damn good the elephant ears smell in a booth just a few feet away from me. I skipped lunch to make it into town and unload the truck as soon as possible.
Instead, I’m strolling with my hands behind my back, Barrel’s borrowed leash loosely in them, while Ian talks about iron and pH balance and yeast fermentation.
It is not a sexy conversation.
But he is a master distiller after all so he’s earned the right to talk yeast.
“And that is why we use limestone spring water. Staying true to the Kentucky bourbon roots.” He points to a display of an elaborately built rock shelf with the merest trickle of water running down it into a stream with a Four Brothers Bourbon sign on a water wheel at the end.
There is no water in the water wheel.
“That’s amazing. I love the display.” I do. It’s very cool and Ian looks quite proud of his stream.
“As you can see, it needs water.”
I don’t feel like he needed to state the obvious. Good looking or not, Ian Lennox is a little uptight.
“I’ll move the truck just as soon as I get my keys back from the lady I gave them too.”
We’re almost to the street and the blockade. The truck is there and the door is closed but there is no sign of the woman from earlier.
“Who did you give the keys to?”
“A woman. About this tall”—I indicate my shoulder—”funky dangling earrings, yellow pants, bright pink hair, in her fifties, I’d say…”
Recognition crosses his face as he glances over at me. “You left your truck with Lucy McIntyre? That’s dangerous.”
Wonderful. “Why is that?”
“She is known as the town kleptomaniac.”
Even better. Now I’m really searching the area. I don’t see Lucy anywhere. “What? Is she going to steal the truck?”
“Probably. But not necessarily in a bad way.”
I stop craning my neck looking around and stare at Ian. “What the hell does that mean? How is there a good way to steal someone else’s stuff?”
“She always returns it. After she has added her own personal touch. With rhinestones. Lots and lots of rhinestones.”
That makes me laugh out loud. Whatever I thought he was going to say, it wasn’t that. “You have a town bedazzler? Holy shit, I’m going to love it here.”
The grimace on his face makes it clear he has been personally victimized by rhinestones.
“You’ve been rhinestoned, haven’t you?” I ask sympathetically as we step into the truck.
“Yes,” he says. “It was a rhinestoning.” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and holds it up to show me.
I clap my hand over my mouth but a laugh slips out anyway. Ian’s leather wallet looks a little worse for the wear. Like he’s had it for a decade. And right smack in the middle of the brown square is an elaborate cursive “L” in purple rhinestones.
“That’s…special,” I tell him, amused. “Why purple, I wonder?”
“She didn’t like the pink with the brown.” He shoves the wallet back in his pocket.
“Fair enough. Why did you keep it?” That’s an even better question.
He winces again. “I couldn’t bring myself to hurt Lucy’s feelings. Her son passed away at around my age a couple of years ago and she always says that I remind her of him.”
Well, well. Ian Lennox is a softie. I forgive his uptightness immediately.
I also feel ooey and gooey in places I have no business feeling that warm.
“You are stuck now, aren’t you?” I give him a smile. I gesture to the street. “My truck is still here though so I think I’m safe.”
The back of the box truck opens and Lucy pops out, holding one of my tabletop lamps in her hand.
“I turned the truck off,” she says, cheerfully. “Keys are still in the ignition.”
She offers no explanation for why she has my lamp as she sits down on the truck bed then jumps onto the street. With a wave, she strolls off down Whiskey Way.
“Does that lamp hold sentimental value for you?” Ian asks. “Because I’ll go after her if it does.”
That was chivalrous of him but I couldn’t ruin Lucy’s fun. “No. It’s from a big box store and I paid thirty dollars for it. I like it but I’m also very curious to see what she’ll do to it so I’m willing to roll the dice.”
That’s how I live my life. Just roll with it.
That always drove my ex insane. At first he thought it was cute. For about two weeks. Then he thought it was annoying and unserious.
Which was fine because at first I thought he was charming and stable. Then I realized he was just a patronizing jerk.
So it all worked out in the end.
I’m not going to be pushed into a box just to fit someone else’s idea of how a life should be lived.
Much like Lucy McIntyre, apparently.
Ian pulls the door to the truck closed again. “Then I guess you’ll fit in here just fine,” he says.
To me, that’s a compliment. Even though I don’t know Ian at all, he sounds like he means it as a compliment. He also sounds…envious?
“How long have you lived here?” I ask.
“Five years. I moved here straight out of the ag program at UK.”
“Ag?”
“Agriculture.”
“Oh. Cool. I guess I never thought about getting a degree in agriculture. What is UK?”
Ian looks at me like I’ve spoken blasphemy. “The University of Kentucky. I have a Master of Science degree in biosystems and agricultural engineering with a focus on distillation and brewing studies."
My brain threatens to melt as I try to process what any of that means. “So…you have a degree in bourbon?”
Ian snorts. “Something like that, yes.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I have a vet tech certificate from a vocational school. I’ve never been fabulous at traditional school. I have a hard time sitting still.”
Even right now I’m feeling antsy. We’re standing on the curb of the street and Barrel is straining on the borrowed leash. I understand why. My body likes to move. I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet and wrapping and unwrapping the leash around my wrist over and over.
Ian turns to me. His hazel eyes study me with an intensity that is unnerving.
Like he sees me. Really sees me.
But then he looks down at Barrel and pets his head. “My brother is the same way. That’s why he’s the marketing director for Four Brothers. Always on the go.”
He steps off the curb. “And that’s why I’m the distiller.” He points to the left. “That’s the hardware store. I’ll let the owner know you’re parking there for the weekend. Do you need any help unloading?”
I shake my head. “I think unloading is going to have to wait considering the circumstances. I have the truck until Monday. Maybe I can find some teenagers who will help me Sunday for a few bucks?”
I had formed a loose plan on how I would carry all my belongings up a flight of stairs to my apartment before the move.
It had involved begging my own brother to help me but he was supposed to come after work tonight.
I am going to have to text him that the plan has changed.
He will be thrilled to be let off the hook because he’d already told me he is busy tomorrow.
He coaches my five-year-old niece’s teeball team and they are in full spring training.
“So you’re going to sleep in an empty apartment tonight?” Ian looks horrified by the prospect.
“Um…yes? I’ll grab my suitcase and pillow.”
He opens his mouth.
Closes it again.
Opens it, like he is about to make a suggestion as to how I can fix my chaotic life.
But then he closes his mouth a second time and merely shakes his head. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
Smart man. I don’t need all the flaws in my plan pointed out.
“I’ll swing by the festival later and check out your bourbon sampler,” I say, giving him a wave as I walk quickly toward my truck. The keys are in the ignition as promised and I clip Barrel back into his harness.
When I reverse the truck and turn, heading back the way I came, Ian is still standing on the curb. I can practically feel his sigh of relief the second the tire rolls off of the hose. That level of anarchy surrounding his booth display seemed on the verge of destroying him.
Ian Lennox may be seriously sexy, intelligent, competent as hell, and a kind soul, but we are total opposites.
Not that I’m not a kind soul. Or intelligent or sometimes sexy. I'm even competent. For the most part. But I’m not rigid and I’m not much of a rule follower.
It’s best to steer clear and do not allow myself to get interested in him. I may be a go-with-the-flow-girl but I refuse to make the same mistake twice.
Ian runs his hand through his hair and rubs the back of his head. Then he rolls up the sleeves of his flannel shirt in some arm porn before bending over to adjust something that has to do with something involving something I know nothing about.
Damn it. That was hot.
I hit the curb with my right tire. “Whoops.”
In my rearview mirror I see Ian watching me and shaking his head.
I glance over at Barrel. He is also staring at me in censure.
“I’m sorry. He’s hot. I was checking him out. Sue me.”
Barrel makes a low whining growl in the back of his throat.
I sigh as I focus on the road and turning into the parking lot of the hardware store. “Fine. I will not flirt with Ian Lennox. Does that make you happy?”
Barrel barks in approval.