Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Haven
“That’s what I was thinking to update our image.” I tap my fingers on the long table in our meeting room on the second floor of the distillery. Windows overlook the stills on one side.
Four pairs of eyes scrutinize me.
Iverson wiggles a pen between two fingers. “Have you shown all the guys the pictures your girlfriend took?”
Durban folds his hands in front of his stomach and rocks in the office chair. “They’re really good.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Sourness stains my tongue. If she were my girlfriend, she’d probably come to the gathering Wednesday night.
“What pictures?” Lane looks around. Cruz shrugs.
I dig out my phone and pull up the gallery. “I let Prescott pretend she was taking my senior photos since I never did it when I was actually a senior. She suggested using the distillery. ”
I flip to the first image. The one when I led her inside and gazed at the place like it was heaven. Is that how I usually look?
Lane takes my phone, and his dark brows draw together. He and Cruz lean toward each other and scroll through them. I swivel back and forth in my chair. The back of my neck heats like there’s a spotlight shining right on me.
Cruz lets out a low whistle. “Those are really good.”
Lane slides my phone back to me. “You don’t look like you’re pretending.”
“Maybe because I really did graduate. They’re just twenty-two years too late.” I shut the screen off, or I’ll slide through the gallery, letting memories of that day sweep over me. Not that I’ve done that a time or two, when I’m going to bed and wishing Prescott was with me.
“Too bad she didn’t get here earlier,” Durban says. “We could’ve hired her for our wedding.”
“She doesn’t do weddings.” When he gives me a quizzical look, I just shrug. The story isn’t his business.
Lane glances at each of us. “Seems none of us mind. I can’t argue her work is better than the guy Myles sent down.”
Cruz shakes his head. “No, that guy had some great shots, but Prescott captured the vibe.” The essence. She gets right to the heart of her subjects.
“Agreed,” Iverson says. “She managed to keep Haven from looking hideous.”
I rub my eye with my middle finger, and Iverson smirks at me.
“Go ahead and set it up,” Lane says. “Website photos and new brochure shots. Maybe she can get us some for socials. Wynter got a lot of videos, but maybe she won’t mind new stuff. Get her pricing before we agree.”
Be cool, or they’ll think it’s more serious than it is. “She’ll be here for crochet club. I can ask her.”
Durban threads his hands behind his head. “Is that why you wanted to work today?”
“It’s my turn.” Do I sound believable? None of them looks like they are buying it. I push out of my chair. “I’m going to open the tasting room. How many of you are heading down?”
Iverson sticks a finger in the air. Durban nods. Cruz grins, shameless.
Lane scrubs a hand down his face. “Unless I’m going to hit on Edna, which is not allowed as her supervisor?—”
“Could be the thirty-year age difference,” Cruz interrupts.
Lane gives him a flat stare, but humor dances in his eyes. “No. I’ll be the only one not joining in. You hussies have fun.”
I push out of my chair and race downstairs. Will Prescott really come? Will I get a chance to be alone with her?
The way she declined my invite for Wednesday gave me a steady stream of heartburn. What did she think? That I was getting too serious? Like I was trying to introduce her to my mother?
That won’t be happening. Ever. Prescott doesn’t need my mother’s chaos in her life. No one close to me does.
My phone buzzes, and a dark cloud shadows me. The ominous feeling crests when I look at the text. It’s like she has a sixth sense.
Mom: Fucking landlord is threatening eviction.
She needs money, of course .
Me: How much do you need?
Mom: Two hundred.
I pull up my bank app and send her the amount.
Me: Done.
Mom: Thank you. How are your brothers?
My stomach knots.
Me: You should ask them.
Mom: You should come down.
Shocked, I look around. Do I tell my brothers she invited me to Gillette?
Me: Something wrong?
Mom: Miss you. That’s all.
The ends of the knot pull taut. Does she mean it? Or will I get down there and be left outside knocking on her door?
Does she remember that my birthday is coming up?
Me: Any specific day?
Mom: Why not for your birthday?
She remembered! I’m like a kid getting told we’re going to Disneyland to use my new camera. Mom remembered my birthday.
Me: How about Sunday? I work on my birthday.
I glance around again. My brothers would tell me it’s a bad idea. Going to Gillette is the minimum I can do, and the fact I’m surprised is a red flag. But I’m thrilled. There’s only one person I want to tell about this conversation and she should be arriving soon.
Good thing I brought my sad dishcloth to work with me today. When I arrived, I stuffed it under the tasting room counter. Now that everyone’s been served, it’s giving me an excuse to sit with Prescott and Campbell.
My ass should be behind the bar, building some resistance to Prescott. I should back off a little instead of finding reasons to be around her, but each orgasm she gives me knocks my determination back. She’s a single barrel, and now that I’ve tasted her, I can only think about having another sip.
“This is going to be my something blue.” Campbell holds up a circular piece she’s been working on. It’s lacey and a light enough blue that it won’t show through the material of her dress. “A garter.”
“That’s going in the TMI pile,” I say, finishing off a row and turning. This dishcloth is going to be a rag in the barn. It’s atrocious.
Prescott smiles. “I think it’s wonderful to incorporate a part of your life into the wedding tradition. You need to make sure your photographer gets a picture of it.”
Campbell stands and slaps the garter to the side of her cocked leg. “Like hold my dress up and show it off?” She tilts her head like she’s picturing how it’ll look. “Yeah, I like it.”
“That,” Prescott says while concentrating, “and you can have Durban on his knees, looking at you like he’s ready to rip it off with his teeth.”
Christ. All that flashes through my head is me, with a knee on the ground, gazing up at her. She’d have her hair piled on her head, those impressive tits spilling out of a slinky wedding dress, and her thigh playing peekaboo until I can barely get through the night without ripping her clothes off.
I clear my throat. Those dreams aren’t for me. I’m not the type who makes a woman want to stick around for the long haul, but the image is emblazoned into my brain.
Edna gasps from the next table over and covers her mouth. “Prescott, that’s the most perfect idea for a pose. If only I were in my twenties again and trolling for a husband.”
“Edna, I’m surprised,” I cut in. My voice is gruff, but I wrestle it under control. “You don’t need to be in your twenties to do that.”
She winks and gives me an indulgent grin. “I’ve taught you well.”
Campbell takes a seat again. “Your wedding photos are so gorgeous. Yes—I snooped. Couples must’ve been knocking down your door to book you.”
I stiffen, but Prescott just shrugs. “I was doing okay. I would be recovering from one right now if I had stayed, and yeah, weddings would’ve been what I did the most. But when I moved, I decided not to go back.”
“Instead, you get your gorgeous summer weekends to yourself.” Campbell focuses on tying off her garter.
When Prescott slides a discreet look my way, I cock a brow. I had her to myself for some of a gorgeous summer weekend.
“I have the wedding favors all packaged,” I tell Campbell.
She grins. “I love the label you made. It’s perfect, thank you.”
A couple on a horse riding off into the sunset has meaning for them. “You’re welcome.”
Campbell drops her hands to the tabletop, her project still clutched in her fingers.
“Oh my god, Prescott, you must think I’m so rude.
You are invited, of course. I would’ve gotten you an invitation sooner, but I was waiting to see—” She looks at me, and her gaze skitters to Prescott. “Um, I think I have an extra.”
Shit . I didn’t ask Prescott. A band cinches around my chest. A wedding is just so… It’s not sex in the rickhouse or making out on the porch. It’s a hardcore date, and we don’t do that. I don’t do that. Although with Prescott, it might be fun. But she hates weddings. So that’s that.
“Oh, no.” Prescott tucks her chin down and concentrates on her next double crochet. “It’s fine. I don’t want to intrude on your special day.”
Campbell shakes her head. “Silas said he’s going to close the bar that day since he wants to come.”
“Papa said that?”
“To be fair, it was months ago,” I say. I was at the bar that night, and it was before invites were sent out. Silas brought it up like he was excited. Not what we usually see out of the mellow bar owner.
“I’m sure he’ll keep his word.” Prescott’s smile is tight. “Do you, uh, need an RSVP?”
“Nope.” Campbell starts packing up her bag when Durban enters.
“You come if you can. The more the merrier—I mean it. Durban and I really just want to celebrate with our friends and family. If it storms, if it snows, if every single cow gets out, we’re going with the flow. No uptight bride and groom allowed.”
Iverson and I will make sure of it. And if Iverson gets wrapped up with his wife and kids, I’ll see that all the details are carried out. Since I won’t have a date.