Chapter 3 #2
She does the same and tries a sip of the rye, grimacing.
The distiller in me dies just a bit. “That’s not a proper tasting.”
She pushes the glass away, distaste curling her lips. “I put some on my tongue. That’s a taste.”
I shake my head and shove her drink closer to her. “It’s not the best glass, but it’ll do. Swirl, sniff, and sip. It’s an experience, not something to endure.”
She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to smile. Slowly, she swirls the glass. “Isn’t this what you do with wine?”
“It opens up the aromas and adds oxidation for the flavor.”
She delicately sniffs at the edge of the glass. Her eyelids flutter, and I lean forward. Is that what happens when she feels pleasure?
“I smell whiskey.”
I sit back, fighting disappointment. She doesn’t like it? “You aren’t getting notes of smoke and leather?”
“Ew, no.” But she smells it again. “Maybe?”
Good girl. “Now see if you can taste them.”
“I don’t want my drink to taste like smoke and leather.”
“You don’t want your Coke to taste like smoke and leather. Or your lemonade. Whiskey is supposed to be full of pleasant notes of all sorts that come from the grain we use, the wood of the barrel we age it in—every part of the process.”
She tilts her head like she’s studying me. “You really get into this.”
“I love it.” It’s my place. “If you don’t like whiskey, Foster House Gold also produces vodka and gin. Come out to the tasting room, I can give you samples of our infused vodka.”
She takes another drink and lets it sit on her tongue a moment before smacking her lips together. “I’ll be damned. It’s not terrible,” she says grudgingly. Pushing the glass aside, she flattens her hands on the counter. “Why more than whiskey? ”
The story is part of the Foster House brand.
Most people don’t know the details, but I don’t mind sharing if Prescott is willing to listen.
“When Myles Foster learned he had two younger brothers—Lane and Cruz—he wanted to bring them into the fold. But Foster House is in Denver, and they all have roots in Montana. So he bought the old mine from me and my brothers, and we reinvested the money into Foster House Gold.”
“Ah. The old Hennessy mine. Haven Hennessy.” She snaps her fingers. “I forget that small towns can be so intertwined.”
“You don’t make that sound like a good thing.”
“It’s not bad. Unless you’re stuck in one.” She lifts her hands as if to point out that she’s, in fact, stuck here.
A small part of me deflates. I love this town. All my best memories are here.
“Gold?” she asks. “Because it’s an old gold mine?”
“And platinum and palladium.”
“Your family owned it?”
“My grandparents bought it from the mine company. They were so proud to have a piece of Montana back in their family name, but they went broke trying to milk the land dry.”
She gives me a little smile. “Do the Hennessys go back for generations around here?”
“Some do. I don’t know much, and everything got lost, but I remember my dad talking about how proud his parents were to reclaim a part of their history.
” I swirl the glass again. My brothers and I held out against Myles’s offer to buy.
We all remembered the proud stories Dad would tell of his parents.
But we had no future without it. “We sold the mine and some acreage. The land we live and ranch on is still ours. Foster House Gold is where we play and experiment. We make the infusions, tinker with aging times and barrels, and use local products, and we decided right away to branch out into vodka and gin.”
“Gin? Is that still around?”
“A gin and tonic never goes away. You should come try some.”
She lifts a shoulder like she couldn’t care less if that happened. This girl is hell on my pride, but it doesn’t matter. I promised her dad I wouldn’t touch her. She makes me want to, and that’s another problem.
Prescott gets called away, and I stare into my Haven’s Rye.
She doesn’t like my drink, and she doesn’t seem to like me, yet my ass stays planted on the stool.
I’m not usually one to hang around women when I’m not wanted—or even when I am.
But if any more guys try to accost her, I can be her backup.
She’ll probably put them in their place, but just in case, I’m here.
Familiar perfume wafts around me, but it doesn’t make me think of wildflowers and kittens.
“Hey, Haven. Fancy meeting you here.” Allison Johnson plops onto the stool next to me. In the process, she scoots it closer.
“Hi.” I grind my molars together. I like Allison, but she got a lot serious a little fast. She’d play her antics off like she was joking, but I wasn’t sure, so I quit going out with her.
“What are you doing tonight?” Her knee brushes against mine. I angle my legs toward the other side.
“I came here to talk to Prescott.”
“Who?”
Prescott returns behind the bar counter, her gaze touching on me, then Allison’s arm bumping against mine. “What can I get you?” she asks the new arrival .
“What do you recommend, Haven?” Allison leans closer. “You always have such good suggestions.”
“It’s my job, but I’m not here professionally.
Allison, this is Prescott. She’s in town for a while and helping her dad out.
” They murmur nice to meet you s to each other, and I slip off the stool and dig my wallet out.
I don’t string women along, and staying here would give Allison the wrong idea.
Usually, that bothers me, but I also don’t like the thought that Prescott would get the wrong impression too.
I toss down twice the amount of my drink and Allison’s.
“I’m not at work tomorrow, so I’ll keep an eye out for you. ”
Prescott’s lips are in a confused line. She’s probably wondering why I’m running off. She already thinks I’m a party boy or something, and that sits on my skin and stings. I shouldn’t care. I should welcome it—I’m not under the spell of the new girl in town. The forbidden one.
But in this moment, I want the dream that’s not mine. The cozy, calm home. The two point five kids. The picket fence.
It doesn’t matter. I have my home. The one where the only good memories in my life were made. I’m not fucking it up, and the only way I can keep my present from colliding with certain parts of my past is to give Prescott Keys and all the mixed feelings she gives me a wide berth.