Tennessee Moonshine Trouble

1. Brandt

brANDT

This is bullshit.

It was a damn joke…

Errr, well, it was supposed to be a joke. It most certainly didn’t land that way.

And all because of that one silly sentence, on some silly Internet video, I’m on a professional apology field trip.

Yay, me.

I don’t get worked up often. That’s simply not who I am. I can count the once in my life that I’ve lost my shit in an epic fashion.

Yes, just the once.

In my defense, a lot of men would lose it if they walked into the bar they own with their best friend, to find said best friend’s head buried in their little sister. And yes, I do mean buried like that.

That’s behind us though.

Milo and Brenna are now happily married, the three of us finding a balance between working together, being family, and them agreeing to not make out in front of me.

Seeing both my best friend and my little sister so deliriously happy also helps to even out the weirdness. The two of them complement the other in ways that I will never understand. In ways that make me more than a little jealous, if I’m being honest.

My truck engine revs as I hit the gas, hugging the curve of the tight, tree-lined mountain road.

Newly forming leaves peek out of the branches, spring starting to show off here in East Tennessee.

I’m a long way from home —a solid six hours on the road under my belt at this point, with another to go—but in some ways, this doesn’t look all that different from Hickory Hills.

In other ways, it reminds me a little bit of Colorado, where I spent my college years.

Then I see the haziness hovering over the mountains, and I’m reminded that these peaks are like no other.

Sure, the Rockies are cool, but the Smokies?

They’re magical. There’s something about them that holds an air of mystery—like they’re holding on to a secret.

One they are dying to share, but know they can’t.

So instead, they’ll taunt you, their misty, opaque clouds whispering that they know something you don’t know.

Maybe Brenna was right—I do need this.

A weekend of fun. An adventure. Some time away to recenter.

If only that’s all this was…

Life has been pretty much all work, no play lately. Which is weird to say, considering I’m living the dream. I own a brewery with my best friend, creating all sorts of fun new concoctions and selling them to the world. Our work is play.

At least until you make a bad joke on the Internet.

Sigh…

Letting out a long breath, I add a chuckle, fully owning the fact that my baby sister was right. It’s like she knows me or something. Brenna might be twelve years younger than I am, but we share a bond. Two halves of the same bun. Our middle sister, Bryce, being the weird mystery meat between us.

Palming my steering wheel, I round another switchback curve, this one tighter than the last, and I finally crest the top of the hill, coming out of the trees for a moment, bright sunshine greeting me. Damn, that’s bright.

I pull over into the scenic overlook, throwing my truck into park and climbing out, sucking in the sweet mountain air. The Smokies have already started their taunt.

One thing is for sure—scenic is an understatement.

Dense forest lines the rolling hills spread out before me, evergreens showing off their bristles, while the bright green growth surrounding them I was admiring before shimmers even brighter now in the sunshine.

A small town is off in the distance, the roofs of downtown and the church steeple giving them away in the midst of the forest.

Hello, Trouble.

At least I think that’s Trouble down there. GPS said I was getting close, and there’s not exactly a whole lot of towns in this part of the state. Hence the appeal.

That and the moonshine.

My first love.

Actually, depending who you ask, my true love. Something I deny. Because beer is also up there. Which makes me sound like some kind of alcoholic. Something that couldn’t be further from the truth.

For me, it’s not about the consumption. It’s about the creation.

That’s where the magic is. The combination of flavors and uniqueness of ingredients. Getting the science of it just right—or in the case of Southern Brothers’ Silver Lining Sour, all wrong—and still ending up with something wonderful.

Pulling my phone out, I snap a photo of the beauty before me, throwing it into the group chat I have with Brenna and Milo. Almost immediately, my phone rings, my baby sister’s face filling the screen.

“Hey, Bren,” I answer, a little surprised I get enough service up here to even get a call.

“What happened to turning your phone off for the weekend?”

Her question is half accusatory, half sarcastic, as if she didn’t believe for one second that I ever intended to truly unplug for the weekend.

“Needed the GPS to get up here. It goes off the second I hit Trouble.”

"You made good time making it up to Tennessee.”

I glance at my watch—three thirty. “Eh.” I shrug.

I left Hickory Hills, our small town in the middle of rural Georgia, shortly after nine, so it’s not like I set a new land record for making it across the state.

“I didn’t hit a whole lot of traffic in Atlanta, and I lunched as I drove.

Still probably forty-five minutes out? Gotta wind my way down this hill and into town, and then I’m off the grid ’til Monday. ”

“Or longer.”

…or longer?

“You sound like you’re tryin’ to get rid of me. Or is it that you think the lawyers are going to eat me alive and you’re worried you may never see me again?”

Her annoyed huff doesn’t hide anything. Not that she’s trying. “Neither. Just that Trouble, Tennessee, is a long way for only three days. Stay, go camping. Enjoy yourself.”

“Too much to do back home.”

It’s the truth. We’re slammed with everything we have going on at Pour Decisions. Plus, in a couple of weeks it’ll be time to start working on Rhythm and Brews stuff.

She huffs again. “You Southern Brothers men are all the same…”

I roll my eyes, because she is one to talk.

Brenna is one of the hardest working people I’ve ever met.

After graduating from pharmacy school, she moved back home to our small town and ended up purchasing the town drugstore.

Lots of long hours—plus some blood, sweat, and more than a few tears—have gone into her making the business her own.

As her older brother, I couldn’t be more proud.

She also has a point, though, about the men of Southern Brothers being workaholics.

Milo and I started Southern Brothers Brewing immediately after college and have been working nonstop ever since to turn it into what it is today—a thriving business.

Complete with four distinct beers we distribute around the country, a local taproom—Pour Decisions—and a growing popularity.

Though, you know what they say—find a job doing what you love and you never work a day in your life.

“Alright, kid, I’m gonna let you go. Need to get down this hill. There’s a moonshine festival callin’ my name.”

“Good,” she replies, her smile growing. “Go have fun. And stay out of trouble.”

“Can’t.” I smirk. “That’s my final destination.”

“Wha—” she cuts herself off, my bad pun hitting her. Huffing, she rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me before she unceremoniously hangs up.

Yeah, I deserved that. Because that’s what big brothers are for.

I wasn’t kidding though—there is a moonshine festival calling my name. One that I’ve been meaning to make it to for years.

Back in my truck, I ease my way down the mountain, enjoying the switchbacks just as much in this direction as the last. An hour later, I put my truck in park in a massive, muddy field that has seen better days.

There’s a part of me that wants to tell the kid directing traffic that he needs to put some hay down not only to help traction so that all these vehicles don’t get stuck, but also to help save the field itself.

By the looks of him, the teenager could not give a single shit what my twenty-plus years of experience running a festival have taught me.

So I keep my mouth shut. Can’t say I would have been any different at his age.

Thinking back on it, that’s probably exactly what I was like the year I was forced to work the parking lot at Rhythm and Brews, the massive beer and bluegrass festival that Hickory Hills hosts over Labor Day weekend.

Despite all the other events we put on, Rhythm and Brews is the crown jewel in our cap and a major point of pride.

Thousands of people descend on our community every year, and it’s a major undertaking to say the least—and the committee that heads it all up meets year-round in order to pull it off.

Much like I bet Leprechauns and Liquor is.

Sucking in a deep breath, I take a moment, letting myself drink it all in.

The cool mountain air. The beautiful spring colors.

The closed-off downtown street full of small-town businesses ready and waiting for visitors, just adjacent to the park full of brightly colored tents.

The din of conversation from the crowd wafting through the air as people make their way in and out of the shops and up and down the aisles of the tents, making the whole afternoon feel magical.

This is where happiness happens.

And it feels weird to be a bystander. At the same time, damn good. Nice to know that I don’t have the responsibility for making sure this runs as smoothly as possible or fixing something if it breaks. Nope, I’m here just to have fun.

And not think about Monday.

“Hi,” I greet a volunteer standing near a street light. The blonde woman in her twenties looks up at me and smiles, automatically handing me an event map. “Thanks. CedarSteel is here, right?”

“Errrr….” She bites her lips, quickly flicking her eyes down to the map. “Table seventeen. So, third aisle, and then around the little corner.”

“Thanks.”

I follow her directions, bobbing and weaving my way past a couple of groups already deep into their taste testing. The largest group is parked in front of Midnight Mavericks. No surprise there.

A large distillery out of Pigeon Forge, the Midnight Mavericks are one of the biggest names in modern moonshine. A brand known across the country, with a massive retail presence and a loyal fan base.

And complete sellouts.

But that’s a different story.

Skirting around the Maverick fans, I round the corner the volunteer mentioned, looking on the map, trying to figure out exactly how they decided to number these tables.

Whoever was given that job had already started to dabble in the shine, because it doesn’t make a ton of sense.

But nonetheless, I find where I’m going, spying the distinct blue logo against a black backdrop.

At least until something else steals my attention.

To the left of CedarSteel is another tent, decked out in what I can only refer to as sorority colors. A crisp silver background, with a playful font spelling out the words Wink & Shine in a pink that almost sparkles. Standing in front of that tent is the most beautiful blonde I’ve ever seen.

And all I think is one thing.

I need to know her name.