Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Haven
She’s not coming.
I wander behind my pickup. I’m parked at the distillery, and my brothers are probably inside, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
They’ve probably guessed. I’m in the spot we normally park in when we go fishing.
Is she coming?
I’ve texted her. I’ve debated stopping in at Bootleg. I’ve even driven by Silas’s place. She never said if she was going fishing with me or not.
I went too far in the barn. I can’t keep my damn hands off her, and she keeps letting me put my mouth on her.
It’s a half hour past when I told her I’d be ready. If she wanted to go, she’d be here, or she would’ve let me know.
Message received loud and clear.
I don’t feel like fishing anymore.
Swallowing past the burn in my esophagus, I head to the distillery. I took the day off to fish, but that was unnecessary.
Clem’s busy with customers at the merch counter. I keep going, dipping my head down. Lane’s at a mash tank. He does a double take, and I toss him a wave.
“Change of plans,” I say, trying to sound unbothered. “I’m going to pull the whiskey for Durban’s wedding favors.” I planned on doing it all tomorrow, but yay me. I have extra time.
“Mind double-checking everything we’re bottling next week?”
“Sure thing.” I walk right through into the packaging area and out the back door. I could have gone through the parking lot, but the excuse didn’t come to me until I saw Lane was in there. He’s working the tasting room tonight. Everyone but him and Clem is gone for the day.
I push into the rickhouse. I don’t have to go hunting. The five-gallon white oak barrel is by the station where we sample a barrel before bringing it into the distillery. We have the same station set up inside the packaging area too.
After carrying the barrel to the table, I pause for a moment and puff out a breath. Do I try again with Prescott? She has no reason to step foot on my property. I told her I’m keeping the cats.
No. I won’t try again.
The door pushes open with a squeak. Light filters through the dust hanging in the air.
I straighten. “Forget a barrel for tomorrow?”
“No?”
I spin at her voice. Prescott steps through the opening, her timid gaze finding mine.
“Red. Hey.” I scratch the back of my neck. Why’s she here? Did she arrive late, and I wasn’t there ?
“Haven, hi. Clem said I’d find you out here.” She lets the door swing shut. She’s wearing a loose cream dress with spaghetti straps and some sort of faint design. The flat sandals she has on aren’t fishing shoes. “I’m…sorry.”
“For what?” I’m the one always trying to paw her.
“For standing you up. Ignoring your texts. Getting weird after every time you touch me.”
“I haven’t noticed.”
She does a double take before a quiet laugh leaves her. “I know. I can be subtle.” She lifts her hands and lets them fall. “What are we doing? I mean, really.”
She’s talking about us, of course. Messing around with no strings attached isn’t part of her routine, but it’s my only one. She probably wants me to reassure her that we won’t fall madly in love and won’t be able to live apart. Words only go so far. How can I show her?
“We’re standing in the rickhouse right now.
” When she scowls, I give her an encouraging smile.
“We’re not planning our future, we’re not figuring out how to sneak out of each other’s beds.
” I don’t do that. I’m straightforward, but her ex was a liar.
“We’re talking. Just us. In the moment. Not worried about what tomorrow is. ”
“I’ve done nothing but worry about tomorrow. And wonder.”
About whether she’ll have work or get back on her feet financially? About me? She’s opening up, so I continue with being in the moment. “Since I don’t have a fishing partner, I’m working on Campbell and Durban’s wedding favors.”
That gets her to take a step forward. “Yeah? They’re something from Foster House?”
I slap the small barrel. “They’ll be little single-serve bottles of whiskey. I double-barreled a small amount of a batch we packaged a few months ago, one that we intend to do holiday infusions with.”
She comes closer. “Like what?”
Now we’re making headway. Getting back to being friends. The rest…maybe it’ll come. “Apple and cinnamon.”
“Yum. What flavor are you doing for the favors?”
“Vanilla and orange.” I pick up the small copper whiskey thief. “I came out here to test it and see if it’s ready.”
“How do you do that?”
Smiling, I set out two tasting glasses. I remove the bung and extract a sample from the round hole. Then I splash some whiskey into each glass and hand her one.
She swirls the glass while I replace the bung. “Smells…woody?”
“It’s stronger since I aged it again in a smaller barrel. I think it’ll dampen the citrus but pair well with the vanilla. It’ll be strong, but with only one serving, it should be the perfect strength.” I lightly touch my glass to hers. “To the here and now.”
“To the here and now,” she says almost shyly and sniffs the whiskey. Her gaze gets a faraway look. “Whiskey, naturally. Also wood.” She sniffs again. “Cherry?”
I swirl and smell. “Definitely cherry, which is why I think it’ll also fit with vanilla and citrus.”
“You put a lot of thought into this.”
“I’m bottling a fifth for him and Campbell to celebrate on their one-year anniversary. I want to make sure it’s good. He’s usually the flavor guy, but he trusted me with this.”
“It’s clearly something you’re good at.”
Heat flushes through me, and my chest puffs up a little. It’s not even a compliment. She stated it like a fact .
She takes a small sip and rolls it around, using all the skill I showed her. “I can’t say I love it, but I can taste all the notes.”
“That’s my girl.” We might go our separate ways, but she’ll always remember me when she drinks or serves whiskey.
She blushes and inspects her drink. “So what barrels did I forget? When I entered, you asked if I forgot them.”
“I thought you were Lane. He wanted me to find what we’re bottling tomorrow and pull them.”
She spins on a heel to take in the whole space. “It’s quiet and peaceful.” Inhaling, her eyelids drift shut. “It smells like dust with a hint of bread, wood, and also whiskey. How do you move the barrels?”
“The big warehouse in Denver has barrel elevators, tracks, and forklifts. We have a portable lift and a forklift to haul it to the main building.” I gesture to the track that runs down the middle of the rickhouse.
“We use that if we have several to move, but we usually work with single barrels and small batches because we’re a novelty facility.
Our goal is to play and let the public have fun with what we make. ”
“It’s perfect. I’m itching to take pictures. There’s so much I could do with lighting in here.”
That gives me an idea, but it might just be an excuse to see her again. “What if I talked to the guys, and we hired you to do some shoots for this place?”
She opens her mouth and closes it again.
“We haven’t updated our look online since we opened.
” Should I drop it? I don’t even know if the guys would agree.
The ones she took of me by the tanks were impressive, and it’s not because I was the focus.
“I’m not throwing work your way because I think you need it.
The stuff you took with me, you really brought out the life in the place, and that’s hard to do when nothing’s moving. ”
“That’d be two freelance jobs I’ve gotten since I moved in with Papa, and I’m not counting your faux senior photo shoot.”
“You took the library gig?”
“It’s headshots and get this—animals for the rescue I was calling.” She quirks her shoulders. “The one I called once.”
“Because you knew those rescues found a sucker with me.”
“I think I was the sucker.” She flashes a tentative smile. “Apparently, Ellie checked with Clem to see if I was open to throwing my name out there for events. Mostly weddings.”
“You said no to the ‘I do.’”
Her laugh is a puff of air. “I never got a chance to say yes to my own, so I’m saying no to everyone else’s.”
“Never got a chance?” I scoff. “You’re young yet.”
“I’m factoring in getting strung along for another five years.”
Damn. She sounds like she’s joking, but there’s a gravity in her eyes that’s permanent.
She lifts her chin and gestures with the glass. “I’m really looking forward to working with the rescue though. It’s nice to be behind the camera again. Taking pictures for the rescue gives it a little more oomph. I’m working for a cause instead of hustling for the bottom line.”
Plus, if she’s booking work in the area, that might mean she’s going to stay longer.
I can’t start thinking about a future with her. Here and now. “Do I get a sneak peek at the rescue images?”
“You’d be interested in that? ”
“Cute animals?” I might end up with another dog and more cats. “Always, but mostly if it’s you showing them to me.” The fewer clothes she has on while doing it, the better.
Emotions ripple through her expression so fast I can’t keep up. She sets her glass down. “How are you such a good guy and so off-limits?”
“I hear it’s the boots.”
“It is. They make a girl make bad decisions.” She chuckles and shakes her head. Her hair is in a clip, and the ends swing around it.
“They can be some of the most earth-shattering ones though.” I brush a loose copper curl behind her ear. “Take that clip out, Red. I haven’t seen how long your hair is yet.”
Her expression freezes. “Haven.”
“If you don’t want to do anything, we won’t. If you want to seize the moment, fuck, I’m here with you.”
Her eyes shine, and neither of us moves.
“What about Lane?” she whispers, holding my gaze. “And Clem.”
“The merch store is closed, so Clem’s probably gone home. The tasting room is open. Lane’s working that.” And if he saw her walk out here at all, he’ll leave us alone.
“Is there…” She looks furtively around. “Is there anyone else here?”