Chapter 4 #2
Bewilderment flickers in his eyes, but he stands back and ushers me into the meeting room, a minimal but stylish area like the rest of the building.
Two walls of windows overlook the line of pipes running from the stills.
There’s only a simple stained wood table, a nook with a coffee station in the corner, and office chairs that look like I could sit in them for hours.
“Have a seat,” he says as he takes a seat.
“Cruffin?” I slide the box across the table and pick a spot across from him.
His gaze dips to the pink bow printed on the container. “No, thanks. The sugar sticks to my mustache.”
“Lick it off.”
He pauses, shuffling papers that look like they have the wedding schedule I designed on them. “I assure you, there’s nothing I like more than licking sweetness off my whiskers, but there’s a time and a place for it.”
Heat hits me like a tidal wave. Surely, he doesn’t mean . . . In my mind, a picture forms: my legs splayed open with him in between, his lips and chin glistening with—
“What exactly is this ex-prick of yours expecting from Foster House?” he asks like he didn’t just say that.
But mention of my ex and his wedding snaps me out of my lustful daydream.
For a few blissful moments, this ordeal wasn’t the center of all my thoughts.
I’m so desperate for a distraction, I’m lusting after Durban.
“I only ask you don’t refer to him as Ex-prick on Hawthorne grounds.
He might overhear. Or the happy bride could. ”
“Is he here?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “He’s going to be soon. I’ve been corresponding with them.” I had to unblock his phone number for this shit. “His family is going to arrive about three weeks early. They want to make a vacation out of the wedding, with the ceremony as the cap to it all.”
He does a quizzical shake of his head. “You don’t have to plan his family’s vacation too, do you?”
“More events, more money.”
He narrows his eyes, but I don’t feel any heat of disapproval. “That’s fucked up.”
“It’s a job. I’ve done plenty of events where I don’t like the people involved. This is no different.” Is that a glint of respect in his eyes? “My main role is to make sure the bride and groom are happy with what they’ve booked.”
“Do they really deserve to be happy?”
“I really don’t care. Like I said, it’s my job, and once it’s done, I don’t have to have anything to do with them anymore.”
Sympathy darkens his rich-brown eyes. “Were you and January close?”
We’ve veered off topic, and normally, I’d charge away from this subject.
But the unexpected compassion in his voice encourages me.
“I considered her my best friend outside of my sisters, though she seemed to want more of a mentor out of me—how to dress, how to flirt, what’s the best mascara.
Probably because of her mother. Her birth mom wasn’t interested in being a mother to her or Sydney, and her stepmom is hyperaware of looks and status.
” I shrug. “In the end, January wanted to be me, and she made my bed. Now she can lie in it.”
“A lumpy mattress?”
A smile traces my lips. “Poorer quality than I thought at the time.” I don’t have a paper schedule, but I pull up the information on my phone.
“So Ex-Prick has said he wants guests to be able to order any whiskey- or vodka-based drink possible.” He opens his mouth, but I hold up a finger.
I’m laying all of Stanford’s cards on the table, and now I’ll inform Durban of which ones I’ve flicked off.
“I told him that the best plan would be to have Foster House offer a menu for them to order from. Three to five of each if you’re going with whiskey, vodka, and gin.
” I wave my hand in the air. “Makes it feel more exclusive, especially if you offer at least one different cocktail for each spirit just for each night.”
His brows draw together. Crap. Does he think it’s too much? Too simple? Did I somehow insult his whole personality?
“You seem to get into their heads,” he says. “How much psychology goes into this job?”
Startled he’s asked such a serious question, I consider my answer. “Um, a little.” I think about clients I’ve talked out of a panic over the years. “A lot. Besides, I’ve been placating Stanford for years. That’s like second nature.”
Both his brows lift. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”
Shame heats the back of my neck. I didn’t know I was doing it at the time.
“I emailed you the times. So far, the couple would like a Foster House bar at the dinner for Stanford’s family when they all arrive.
Then there’ll be the bridal luncheon the Thursday before the wedding, a groom’s dinner Friday night, and the wedding ceremony and reception Saturday evening.
The wedding is at seven. If you could arrive forty-five minutes to an hour before each gathering, that’ll give us a buffer if there are any hiccups. ”
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Like what?”
He’s unusually agreeable. Is this distillery a different dimension, or is the situation extra pathetic? I don’t want to know the answer. “Broken bottles, missing equipment—speaking of that. Do you want to use what the ranch has in its bar?”
“Yes, and I’ll haul all the spirits I’ll be using, but I can store them there until the wedding’s done.” His phone buzzes where it’s sitting by the laptop. He glances at it, and the corner of his mouth quirks up as fondness crosses his face.
Jealousy pokes dead center in my chest. “Would you like me to arrange with Chef to provide you with garnishes and syrups?”
“I can do that.”
His phone buzzes again, and that little smile is back.
“Do you need to take that?” I’m being nosy and I don’t care. A guy doesn’t get that look on his face for a text from his brother, and they’re all probably still driving to town.
“No.” He taps in a quick message.
It must be her. The spot on my sternum flares hotter. His girlfriend is across the country, and she gets that look? Jesus. “Natalie?”
His expression darkens for a quick second. “No. She’s getting ready to defend her thesis so she can graduate. This is Kacey. She’s bored and making your sister send me and Haven photos of her drawings.”
My heart softens, but it doesn’t negate the intimidation. I hated college, and his girlfriend is on her second PhD. I was late to class all the time, and I’m shit at taking tests. “PhD in what?”
I don’t know what would make me feel better, but it isn’t his answer of “Bioethics.”
“Oh, wow.” I summon a foggy memory. “What’s one of the jokes you sent her?”
“You remember that?”
I give him a duh look, but I’m surprised myself.
He hesitates for a second. “I was going to tell you a joke about sodium, but nah.”
“Why not?” Doesn’t he think I’ll get it?
His gaze flickers, and he sits forward. “That’s, uh, the joke. The element symbol for sodium is N-A, Latin for natrium.”
“Right.” I let out a nervous laugh. I barely get it. I didn’t like the sciences. They made me feel stupid, and I had enough of that growing up.
He clears his throat, and yep, this moment is as mortifying as it feels. “What can we really expect with this first dinner where it’s just his family? None of yours will be there?”
“January will.” My laugh is hollow, and he doesn’t crack a smile.
Tough crowd. “His parents and maybe an aunt or uncle and some cousins will be at the family dinner. They are all too much like Stanford. You’ll instantly see why he is the way he is.
As for the Hawthorne side, you met them all at Iverson and Jamison’s wedding, so no surprises there.
” The small, intimate gathering at the ranch was where I earned my first scowl from Durban.
“Which also happens to be where Stanford first met January.”
“Did they have a nice chat when you were tearing up the dance floor?”
I tense. Is that censure in his voice? “Probably, but you have to admit. I tore it up good.”
“And loud.”
“Line dances shouldn’t be quiet.” I exhale a gusty sigh. One of my goals today is to prove myself, not defend myself. “Don’t worry. There’s no rowdy country music allowed at the reception, but I’m the event planner, so I’m not allowed to dance anyway.”
His mouth forms a troubled line. “You’re still family.”
“Not to her anymore.” One of my alarms goes off. “Oh, sorry. I don’t mean to cut this short, but I have to meet with the band’s manager.”
He quirks a brow. “A live band?”
“Of course. Locals out of Billings. I don’t think they want to do some small wedding gig in a place like Huckleberry Springs. Fingers crossed meeting them in person will change their mind.”
“I used to foster with June Bee.”
“Shut up!” Hers was one of the songs I cut up the dance floor to during Jamison’s reception. “Jamison told me you guys fostered with the Copper Summit family when you were young. I hope that’s okay she said something.”
He nods, his expression revealing nothing. “It’s not a secret. In fact, I’m surprised it’s not talked about more.”
“Jamison would only tell me and Avery, and neither of us will say anything. As Hawthornes, we learned to keep it in the family.” We’re too prominent, and that makes it too easy to feed the gossip mill.
“So, June Bee, huh? She talks a lot about her adoption story. Did you know she was going to be a star when you were fosters?”
“Junie and her three sisters were already adopted when we were there, and my brothers and I only stayed for a few months.”
“Then what?” I’m aware it’s none of my business, but I want to know more about the serious Hennessy brother. Is he just the strong, silent type around me?
“We went to live with our mom.”
His features don’t change, but his tone tells me a lot. “It was like that, huh?”
“It was the complete opposite of how you grew up.”
“Is that why you don’t like me?”
He cocks his head. “Is that what you think? That I’m jealous?”
“No. I think you think I’m a mess and I take people for granted.”
“You were a day late for your sister’s wedding.” He says it like he’s stating a fact, which, fair.
“Yeah. I was.”
Stanford didn’t want me to go without him, and he’d scheduled a Very Important Meeting the morning I told my family I’d be there. I didn’t miss the wedding, but I lost out on a lot of family time.
My second alarm goes off. “Apologies, but I really do have to be off. Stanford and January would like to arrange a tasting, so if you could give me a time that could work, I’ll wait to schedule the rest of their family events until I hear back.
I anticipate the rest of the crew will like a tour and tasting too.
I have to entertain them for almost three weeks until the official wedding activities begin.
Let me know if you want to meet at the ranch sometime in the next few weeks, and we’ll go over where you’ll set up for the various events. ”
“Why were you late to Iverson and Jamison’s wedding?” he asks as if I didn’t just rattle off a bunch of details he should be writing down. Does he have a photographic memory, or is he just brushing me off because all of this is frivolous to him?
I’ll worry about that later. I push out of my chair. If I don’t stand, I might keep talking. I planned some buffer time for construction. “Does it matter? I was late. Everyone was irritated.”
He rubs the scruff on his jaw. The faint scrape makes it hard to suppress the thought from earlier about Durban and spread thighs. “The why matters.”
“No, it doesn’t. People hate it when you take their time for granted. I never felt like I was doing that, but now it’s my job to figure out how to be on time, and I’m doing it.”
He stays sitting. “What other tools do you use?”
I scoot around the opposite side of the table toward the door. “Alarms mostly. Apps to block notifications on my phone and laptop. Automated reminders to keep me on task.”
I stop at the threshold, my gaze on the stairs and the network of copper and steel pipes behind them.
My parents taught me to take responsibility for myself, and I have.
But planning this wedding, what would’ve been my wedding, and watching hearts-in-her-eyes January hang on a man I used to love .
. . I’m so tired of taking other people’s responsibility.
I covered for Stanford while we were together, and I’m still doing it.
“The main tool, the one that has had the most significant impact, is getting dumped by a small cheating man who tried to manipulate my time.”
I leave the room with my chin held high, despite knowing I’ve just shown Durban one more time how pathetic I am over a man who didn’t deserve me.