2. Lindee
LINDEE
“Hey, Lind. Don’t look now…” my best friend, April Diaz, says, just loud enough so I can hear her. I turn to look at her, not sure what to make of the wide-eyed expression on her face.
Mine follows suit, wariness rising in me as she pauses, still staring over my shoulder. Given where we are, it could be anything. Absolutely anything.
I really hate Leprechauns and Liquor…
Shaking my head, I lean forward, silently asking the unspoken question, trying to urge April on.
“Not to make this weird or anything, but I think that guy is staring at you.”
What? She’s nuts. There is no one staring at me.
I roll my eyes, convinced that she’s making that up.
Yes, I did say that anything could happen at Leprechauns and Liquor, the stupid festival we were tricked into hosting this year here in Trouble, Tennessee, but that’s not what I meant by anything.
I meant that a gang of bikers could have shown up.
Maybe Miss Mabel, the crazy old lady who lives above the Sit ’n Sway, is wandering around in only her pajama pants again.
Or Rory MacDougal is all dressed up in his kilt—authentically—parading around town with his bagpipes.
Hell, maybe old Mr. Bush actually came down from the hill, leaving his house for the first time in my lifetime and is giving out free hugs.
Or…oh, I know…the Midnight Mavericks’ tent is on fire.
Okay, I’m not that lucky. But a girl can hope.
Either way, that’s the anything I mean. Some random dude staring at me does not fall into that kind of category.
Turning around to face the crowd, I try to be nonchalant.
Like I’m just scanning the area. Only, there’s no missing him.
Tall, broad, with light brown wavy hair that is long enough to run your hands through, and Henley sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off strong forearms that clearly know a day’s work.
More than that, I think April’s right—he’s staring.
Frankly, if he looks like that, he is welcome to stare all he likes. He is also more than welcome to come introduce himself.
Unless…oh shit…
“What’s wrong with me?” I panic, spinning back, patting myself up and down trying to find the spill, stain, or rip. Whatever is making him look at me.
“What do you mean what’s wrong with you?”
“Is my ass hanging out?” I twirl, showing it to her, both hoping that she says yes so I know that’s what it is, and that she says no, so that it’s not that my ass was hanging out in public. “Is there something in my hair?”
“You look fab.”
“Then why is he staring?”
Men like that don’t stare at girls like me.
Whoever this dude is…he’s a cool guy. The kind that knows when to smile and what to say to earn a laugh.
Cool guys are not interested in listening to girls like me ramble on about the right chemical interactions for fermentation.
A subject I tend to ramble on about a lot, considering I’m master distiller—and one-quarter owner—of Tennessee Trouble Whiskey and Distilling.
April huffs. “I repeat, you…look…fab.”
I level her with a look. April has been my best friend since we were three, and we pinky promised to always be friends, all because we were wearing the same shirt.
She’s stuck by my side through everything—including getting my PhD in Organic Chemistry from the University of Tennessee, taking over the current distilling process at Tennessee Trouble, creating a new brand for the company, and my sudden part-ownership when my parents decided to retire last year.
She’s my biggest cheerleader in the entire world. While I wouldn’t trade her for anything, of course she’s going to tell me I look great.
“Lindee, I promise you. That is not a pity look. He is looking at you like you are the last cupcake at the picnic, and he is going devour you, no matter what.”
Well then…
Actually, no. That does not instill me with confidence.
“I’m not sure how to respond to that.”
“You walk over there, you introduce yourself, and then you take him for a ride.”
Placing my hands on my hips, I glare at April. My best friend has lost the plot. There is no way I am doing that.
For a number of reasons.
Not the least of which, I have a booth to oversee. Two, actually.
As a fourth-generation distiller and Trouble native, I take great pride in our products. Literally ours. It was my great-grandfather who started the brand back in 1915 . I was raised with whiskey and moonshine in my blood, helping the man who continued on the tradition our ancestors started.
This year, we’re debuting something new. Wink & Shine. Based on my family’s original recipe, but with a modern twist. Ol’ Reverend is for the purists. Wink & Shine is for those looking for something a little different.
So there’s every reason I need to be overseeing things. To get the word out about the new shine in town. To get people to take a spirit created and geared toward women seriously. Even if this festival—like so many others—doesn’t.
On top of all that, I have no game and am better with the stills than I am with people. That’s just facts. It’s why I stick to what I know best.
Want to talk about the distilling process? Happy to. Fermenting? Let’s do this. Fun new twists on the classics and ways to bring them to market? Bring it on.
But flirting? Forget it. Not happening.
Not that there are a lot of men to flirt with in Trouble.
We’re a small town in the mountains of Tennessee.
A place people go to in order to escape.
And drink. The only eligible men in this town are either related to me or working for me.
Which makes them ineligible by default. April snapped up Rodrigo in high school, or she’d be in this boat with me.
This is why the universe gifted us vibrators.
I shake my head, returning to the moment.
“Of all the things that aren’t happening, that’s not happening the most,” I comment, giving myself another once-over, finally semiconfident that there isn’t a hole in my pants.
“You sure about that?” April asks, smirking.
“Yes!”
“’Cause he’s walking over here.”
What?!
I freeze, internally panicking, my inner cartoon character running around in circles as if she were on fire and forgot the stop, drop, and roll drill we were all taught as children. Not helping.
“Look at me!” April snaps her fingers in my face, bringing my attention back to her. “You got this. Treat this like you do any of your other Wink & Shine dealings. Brain first, heart second. Or in this case, lady bits first, brain second, heart not at all. One night of fun.”
One night of fun…right…
“Hey.”
My heart stops, kick-starting back to life a split second later. His smooth as molasses voice with a thick Southern accent feels like a warm hug, and all he did was say hey. This is going to be trouble.
No, I got this. Just like April said. Lady bits first, heart not at all. One night of fun.
One night of fun…
“Hey,” I return.
“CedarSteel. Is there anyone manning their booth?”
His smile spreads across his face, the smell of Irish Spring soap filling my nostrils as he steps closer, making butterflies take flight in my tummy. Seriously, this man has no business being this damn charming asking these simple questions.
“They stepped away for a second. Can I help?”
“I was just hoping to meet the brains behind the operation.”
“That would imply there are brains…”
Oh, shit. That was snarky. I didn’t mean for that to come out that way. I was going for funny, but nope, I sounded bitchy. See, better with stills than people. Nice going, Lindee.
Except…he laughs. Throwing his head back slightly, Mr. Tall and Broad lets out a real, honest-to-God laugh.
“Touché. How about someone who can at least tell me something about it? Anything…”
I bite my lip, wishing I could be more help. “They went to go fanboy over the Midnight Mavericks.”
Idiots…
“Well, that’s disappointing to hear.”
My insides perk up, getting way too excited over his response. Could it be that he also thinks those fly-by-night cowboys are overrated? No way…
“And you?”
Me?!
“What about me?” I ask, playing it cool. I think.
“You’re with…” He peers around me, giving my tent a once-over. “Wink & Shine?”
He grimaces saying the name. Because, of course.
I deflate slightly, my momentary excitement replaced by a new desire to tell him off. Until I catch April out of the corner of my eye, giving me the look. The one telling me to let it roll. To just go with it and pretend like I didn’t see his involuntary reaction to my baby.
“I’m just kinda here…” I look down at myself again, thankful I went for the plain black tee this morning and not something branded.
“Hanging out?”
“Something like that. You?” I change the subject as fast as I can, before I slip up. “You know CedarSteel?”
“Part of the reason I’m here.”
Well, I’ll be damned. Most people show up to Leprechauns and Liquor because of Midnight Mavericks.
They’re the giant that brings in outsiders to this thing.
In fact, they’re usually the hosts over in Pigeon Forge.
But thanks to a scheduling snafu, their normal venue was booked, and they begged us to host this year, despite us having turned down attending the last few events.
“Only part?” I press.
He nods, giving me another lopsided grin. “Have business in the area. And since this event was here, instead of Pigeon Forge this year, I thought I’d stop by.”
“Pigeon Forge isn’t that far…” I tease.
“No, just out of the way.” He pauses, looking me deep in the eyes, like he’s trying to determine whether I’m safe to speak freely around. “And full of tourists.”
Well, holy shit. Who is this guy?
“So, is CedarSteel your favorite then?”
If I can talk to this guy about moonshine, then maybe I have a chance. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it’s a chance of one night of fun, as my bestie put it. But a chance at a real conversation.
“No, if I’m going with something commercial, it’s Ol’ Reverend.”
Ol’ Reverend?! Now he’s pulling my leg.
I choke on my own gasp, hand flying to my chest to keep it together.
“Ol’ Reverend? Then you know they’re known for keeping it simple. Good, clean, straight up moonshine. Nothing fancy.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“There isn’t,” I agree. “But, doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun with it.”
“Nothing wrong with a little fun either,” he says, stepping in closer, that crisp, distinct soapy smell hitting me again. Heat races up the back of my neck, and I fight the urge to step into him even more. “So, you know your ’shine.”
“It runs in my family. Not what my professors wanted to hear though when asked why I was pursuing a chemistry degree at Tennessee.”
“That’s why I majored in fermentation sciences at Colorado State. There was zero question and even less judgment.”
Fermentation sciences? That would mean he…
“You’re in the business?” I ask, my wording making it sound a lot more nefarious than it actually is.
“Co-own a brewery with my best friend, slash brother-in-law. We have four beers on the market, plus have recently acquired a gin via a weird turn of events.”
Holy shit. Did the universe just land the most perfect stranger in my lap? Mr. Tall and Broad is a beer brewer and chem nerd? Dear Lord, please let him be single.
I try and steal a glance at his left hand, but I don’t have a way to do it without being completely obvious. Damn it.
“So, you here by yourself?” April asks, chirping up from behind me.
Or, my bestie can come to my rescue.
“I am,” he answers her, without taking his eyes off me. The heat from my neck spreads to my cheeks, and I have no doubt they’re pinker than if I’d spent all day in the sun. “Any way I could convince you to give me a personal tour?”
“That depends. You willing to give Wink & Shine a taste first?”
Closing the gap between us even more, he glances at the tent, then back at me. “I’m more than willing to taste everything you have to offer.”
Fuck me…
April’s right. One night of fun. Let’s do this.
“Then you have yourself a personal tour guide.”