December 3, Wednesday
bottle weight the mass of the empty bottle, affecting shipping and perceived quality
THE BARMAID costume felt different today—less like a character I was playing and more like a role I'd come to enjoy. I'd abandoned the Irish accent, though. Standing at the front of the bus, I pointed out landmarks and recited facts in my regular voice that had so annoyed Marv's wife Teresa.
"The bourbon industry generates over nine billion dollars annually for Kentucky's economy," I told the group of insurance salespeople from Michigan.
When we pulled into the parking lot of Goldenrod Distillery, my stomach clenched. I wasn't ready to face Dylan, and I didn’t want to risk running into another member of the Biggs family.
I gestured to the entrance. "You'll have about forty-five minutes inside, including a tasting flight. I'll meet you back here at the bus."
Jett gave me an understanding smile—he knew the whole sordid story.
The tourists filed off, chatting among themselves. I climbed off the bus to get some fresh air. Through the front window, I could see Dylan behind the bar, flashing his easy smile at the customers.
I turned and walked a few feet away, drawing a wool shawl around me to keep warm.
"Bernadette?"
At the sound of Dylan's voice, I turned to see him standing a few feet away, his expression cautious.
My pulse jumped. "Hi," I managed.
We stood in awkward silence for a few seconds with a cold wind cutting between us.
"I'm sorry," I blurted. "For causing problems, for the way I handled all of it. I never meant—"
"I know." Dylan's voice was quiet. "I've been thinking about it a lot. Trying to understand it from your perspective."
I blinked, pleased and humbled.
"I can't imagine what it must be like," he continued, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Not knowing who your father is. Growing up with that kind of emptiness.
I've always known exactly where I came from.
Sometimes it felt suffocating, the family legacy, the expectations.
But it made me feel safe, and you've never had that. "
I swallowed hard. "Thanks for saying that. Your father saved my life."
Dylan's expression shifted to confusion. "What do you mean?"
Surprised that Boyd hadn't said anything, I told him about the attack, omitting the fact that his father had offered me a large check.
"He didn't mention anything about this." Dylan ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely shaken. "But it explains why he's been so distracted the past couple days."
"Please don't mention it," I said. "I've put your family through enough."
The silence stretched between us again, but it felt less fraught than before. Just sad and final.
"I hope you find your father," Dylan said. "Take care of yourself, Bernadette."
He turned and walked back toward the distillery, his shoulders hunched against the cold. I watched him go, pinging with the sense of what could've been if circumstances had been different.
"You okay?"
I jumped slightly. Jett had appeared beside me, his expression concerned.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"That looked intense." He glanced toward the distillery entrance where Dylan had disappeared. "You miss him?"
I considered the question, searching for honest feelings beneath the guilt and regret. "Actually, no," I said, surprising myself. "I'm just sorry for causing so much trouble. For everyone."
Jett gave me a flat smile. "Come on. Let's get back to the bus where it's warm."
He guided me back toward the bus, his hand steady at my elbow.