Chapter Twenty
Daisy
I dump the muffins—if you can call them that—into the trash that, surprisingly, smells of sweet dough from all the failed baking attempts piled up in there. They smell good, but they aren’t right.
These muffins are flat as pancakes. I’m sure they taste good, but they aren’t right.
The last batch of cookies I attempted came out like muffins, the tops all puffed up.
Did I mix up the recipes somehow?
Rhett was helping me earlier but quickly got out of my way when he felt the tension going up. All he was doing was getting in my way, so he left to help the guys finish whatever it is they’re doing to the barn.
Grannie’s pecan pie is my goal here. That’s what I want to succeed at. But if I can’t get any of these other recipes right, how will I get her perfect pie right?
“For one, it doesn’t require mixing flour and baking powder or baking soda,” I say smartly to myself.
“Though, it does require rolling out your own pie crust, but pie crust is easy. Much easier than muffins or cookies.” I throw my arms up, letting them fall to my sides, the flour marking my pants. “I give up.”
I toss the bowl full of eggs and vanilla into the sink, hating that I’m wasting food, but I can’t do this anymore. Baking should be fun. Not stressful.
I look at the handle of moonshine on the table—the one I found when digging around in Grannie’s cabinet for the homemade vanilla I know she kept in there.
My gaze goes from the moonshine to the clock on the wall.
Three in the afternoon? That’s as good a time as any.
I grab a glass and pour some of the shine into it, then toss it back.
I hiss, holding back a gag.
“Wow,” I groan. “That’s gross.”
I take another, the alcohol warming my stomach and everything it passes on the way.
It takes only minutes for me to feel the effects of it—this stuff is strong.
Grannie warned me when I was younger. She said it wasn’t the type of alcohol you went shot-for-shot for.
She used it for special occasions—though she never told me what that was, exactly.
Celebrating turning a whole family into chickens, maybe?
I frown at the alcohol. Did she really use this to celebrate?
“That’s terrible, Grannie. So terrible of you.”
I pour another, and then I’m laughing to myself as I look at the mess around the kitchen. Flour is sprinkled on the cabinets and walls. Eggshells are crushed along the counter. Bowls are piled in the sink, with dirtied pans stacked beside it.
I’ve never been drunk before. Not like this. I’ve had a couple of beers, glasses of wine, and even a shot or two… but this? This is something I’ve never felt before—like I’m floating and everything is nice.
“Hey, what’s going on in here?” Gus asks, sitting at the table.
I smile at him, unable to feel anything but happiness. Not that I wouldn’t be happy to see Gus. I like Gus. He’s hot and sweet.
“You should have some of this.”
He takes the bottle, smells it, and covers his nose. “Holy cow. What is that?”
“Grannie’s moonshine.” I giggle. “Drink it.”
“It smells toxic.”
“It’ll make you feel good.”
“What’ll make you feel good?” Rhett asks as he comes into the kitchen.
“This!” I say, picking up the glass jug and holding it out to him. “Have some. Please. Don’t let me be the only one.”
He shares a look with Gus, then shrugs and grabs a glass from the cabinet. He pours some and shoots it back, same way I did.
“Wow, that’s bad,” he chokes out.
“No, it’s good!” I laugh, rocking back in my seat. “After you have a few, it tastes like nothing.”
“Terrible,” Rhett says as he pours more. “Come on, Gus. Have some.”
He frowns, looking slightly disgusted as he watches Rhett take a mouthful and swallow.
“I think I’ll stick to beer.” He gets up to get one from the fridge.
“Suit yourself,” I say.
“How many have you had already?” Rhett asks, not sounding drunk at all.
“I don’t know. Two?”
I think it was three… maybe four? Shrugging, I pour more.
“Don’t make yourself sick,” Rhett warns. “This is potent.”
And yes… it really, really is.
I’m laughing so hard I’m going to pee my pants.
“No, you know what I think?” Gus says, slapping the table.
“Wait! I have to pee.”
Rhett and Gus laugh, the sound echoing through the kitchen. I get up, the room spinning. Someone takes my hand and then I’m in the bathroom like magic. I do what I need to do, then go back to the kitchen, definitely not walking in a straight line. And maybe I knocked something over…
Gus pulls me into his arms, hugging me and kissing the top of my head.
I think he finally drank some of the moonshine… or he got really drunk on beer. I don’t know, but the three of us? We’re a mess.
He grabs my cheeks and kisses me. Just a firm peck of his lips against mine, then he hugs me again.
“Fuck,” Rhett says.
I open my eyes and look at Rhett. He’s in a chair at the table, forearm resting on it with his legs spread, facing us.
“Are you jealous?” I ask with a giggle.
Gus lets me go.
“Yeah, kind of,” Rhett admits.
I glance up at Gus, who shrugs. I walk over to Rhett, feeling braver than I ever have in my entire life. I sit on his lap, put my arms around his neck, and kiss his check.
“Is that better?” I smile, swaying on his lap. One arm comes around me, holding me in place so I don’t fall off.
“Nope,” he says, his eyes bloodshot and his cheeks red. “Do it again. Here.” He taps his lips.
I lean in to kiss him, gently against his lips. They’re soft and taste like moonshine.
I pull back, but he grips the back of my head and deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into my mouth. He moans, holding me tighter.
When I pull back, I’m breathless, and from the corner of my eye, I see Gus watching.
“I, uh—“ I begin, worried that Gus is going to be upset. We never said we were together or anything, but it was kind of inferred, wasn’t it? Won’t this be weird?
“That was so hot,” he says, his voice raspy. “Do it again so I can watch.”
My brows raise, but then I start to laugh. My stomach swirls with lust. Rhett wastes no time grabbing me and kissing me again, this time longer. I shift so I’m straddling his lap, chest to chest, and I feel him hard beneath me. He pulls my hips into him, so I grind against him, and he moans loudly.
I pull back, staring him in the eyes.
Gus catches my attention, and I look at him. For direction? Approval? I don’t know.
“Again,” he says, panting almost as hard as we are.
Rhett grabs me again, but I put a hand on his chest.
“I have a better idea,” I say, smirking. “I think you should kiss each other.”