4. Lindee
LINDEE
My whole body is vibrating with excitement as I round the last corner before the turnoff up in the hills outside Trouble. The sun has all but disappeared behind the horizon, giving this adventure an extra thrill. And there was already plenty.
In all of my wildest dreams, I could not have conjured a more perfect man than the one currently sitting in the passenger seat of my Jeep. Part of me is still wondering if I’m imagining it.
Admittedly, my heart dropped for a split second when he mentioned his own moonshine. I thought that I’d been had. Tricked into something. That the other shoe had dropped—he was here to infiltrate us somehow and steal the family secrets.
But when he told me he came up here because of my family’s creation—our legacy—I knew. I knew my one night of fun was going to be more than I could have ever imagined.
Leaving me already wishing that we were going to have more than just one night.
“Wait, wait…” I say through my laughter. “I want to know what the cops said!”
“Oh God,” Brewer drawls, his exasperation shining through his own chuckle. “I can still hear the chief talkin’ into that radio. Don’t worry, y’all…we got ’em. They’s just out here drunk on some hooch. Looks like they cooked them up a still.”
I laugh even harder at his impression, not having a clue if it’s accurate, as I make the turn down the makeshift road that leads to the old hideout. This story is so perfect, and now that I’ve heard it, I know he’s going to appreciate this place even more.
“I don’t know what Mama was more pissed about, that we’d disappeared for over a week or that we were making our own illegal booze. She whooped me into the middle of next week for that one. So much for bein’ relieved I wasn’t bear food.”
“But you said you still have that still?”
Brewer nods. “We do. It’s housed in our brewhouse now. All the shine I make to this day still comes from that same setup.”
Wow, that’s impressive.
“How’d you manage that? The cops didn’t break it down when they busted you?”
“My best friend, he’s a…well, he comes from a prominent family.
And when they busted us, we used the defense about how this is what we wanted to do with our lives.
At least we made good on that part. Unbeknownst to us, his dad convinced the chief to keep it one piece.
When we graduated college and started the brewery, he gave it back to us.
Told us we might need it. Oh, he also made us promise that if we commercialized our product, we’d name it Wacky Water. ”
I put the Jeep in park and turned to Brewer, my heart squeezing. “Wacky Water, that’s a good name.”
“Right? And if I ever get his wife’s sweet tea recipe and figure out how to pair it with the ’shine, that’s what we’ll call it.”
Smiling, I reach over and take his hand, giving it a squeeze. There’s a part of me that wants to tell him that maybe we can work out a deal. Figure out a way to partner up. Because I would love to make a sweet tea ’shine. Simply never found the right ratio to meet my standards.
But then I remember that we made a deal. One night only. Wherever the moonshine takes us.
So I change the subject.
“But you opted for beer instead?”
“Yeah. Milo and I both interned at some of the local microbreweries in Fort Collins, and that’s where the ideas for our first brews came from. Then, from there, it took on a life of its own.”
I nod, understanding that on so many levels. Brewer gives me a knowing smile, making my heart skip. More than that, it makes me want to confide in him. Tell him who I really am, and share with him all the things that I know only another distiller will get.
Instead, I change the subject again. “We’re here.”
“Where’s here?”
My smirk takes over, and I let go of his hand, grabbing my flashlight from the center console and popping out of the Jeep. Brewer follows, both of us carefully stepping along the well-worn path that leads up to the small one-room cabin.
“Grab some of that wood, will you?” I point to the small pile by the door as I twist the key in the padlock, opening the front door.
Walking inside, I immediately head for the fireplace, feeling for the box of matches I know is on the mantel.
I find it, striking one and lighting the candle right next to where the box was, shedding some light on the situation.
The small glow does little in the dark, single room, but it’s enough to help Brewer know where to go.
“What is this place?” he asks, dumping the wood in the fireplace.
“An old family secret,” I reply, giving him a wink I’m not sure he can see.
Grabbing another match, I throw it on the newly placed wood, hoping it will catch. Sure enough, luck is on my side tonight, a small flame appearing thanks to a few leaves left on the logs, spreading to the rest of the pile.
The firelight brings more into view, although there isn’t much in here to start.
The fireplace takes up most of the room, leaving just enough space for an old, rickety table and one chair, plus a single bed.
The bed is newer—I replaced the rusty metal frame that had been in here a few years ago when I started to use this as my own personal space.
The space isn’t really built for two people, but we make it work. I have zero complaints about having to stand close to this man.
Taking Brewer’s hand, I shuffle us toward the far wall and swing open the shutter-style back doors, revealing the view.
“Holy shit…”
“I know.”
His eyes are wide and jaw goes slack as he takes it in, stepping out onto the little porch.
The town of Trouble sparkles below us, the dip of the mountain getting lost in a haze as it tapers down, before leveling off in town.
If you know what to look for, you can pick out all the highlights—the main drag downtown, the train depot, church steeple, even the distillery.
If you don’t, though, it’s still just as incredible.
A small glittery spot in the middle of the tall trees and mist.
“Trouble might be known for whiskey and moonshine now, but it started as a mining town,” I start, my nerves taking over.
“With Troublesome Creek running straight through it, Trouble Town, as it used to be called, was perfectly nestled in the Smokies for all the things the mining companies wanted in the 1800s. We were one of the first towns up here to have a railroad.”
“That’s impressive.”
It is. Our town’s history is a wild one—no denying that—but we also have a lot to be proud of.
“This hut was originally used as a hideout for miners who were looking to do a little on the side. The creek is maybe fifty yards that-a-way.” I nod to my left, toward the general region of where the creek bed is.
“When we were little kids, my dad would bring us up here to pan for gold, like they did back in the day. We never really found anything though.”
“We?”
I nod, sitting down on the edge of the porch. “My siblings and me. There’s four of us.”
Brewer parks himself next to me, so close that our thighs are touching. A light, fizzy feeling zips through me and I have to bite back a giggle. There’s no hiding my giddy smile though.
“Brothers? Sisters?” he asks, his interest genuine. Like he wants to know me.
“Two sisters and a brother. Our mom likes to joke that us girls are the perfect setup for a bad joke—a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walk into a bar. Our brother got this dirty dishwater mix, so he doesn’t really fit, but for as different as our hair color is, we all have the same matching hazel eyes. ”
“That’s fun.”
I shrug. “Some days. Others, well…” I pause.
“They’re the family eyes, the same ones our great-great-grandfather had.
The same ones that every generation has had since.
The ones that no matter where we were, no matter what we did, let everyone in Trouble and the surrounding areas know who we were.
Good luck getting away with anything because our eyes gave us away. ”
“I come from a small town, so I get it. Everyone would take one look at me and be like, you look just like Patrick…”
I spit out a laugh, once again his impression feeling very accurate. As someone who has lived their life being told which member of their family they resemble, I feel that deep.
“Been there, experienced that.”
“Are y’all close?”
“Ish. We’re all very different, but in a complementary way. We all work together, running the family business, so we have to be. But we’re still siblings and we have our moments.”
Like when Mikayla tried to break up Kyra’s wedding last year. That was a moment if there ever was one.
“So you’re close in age then?”
I nod. “Pretty evenly spaced. My older sister is thirty-five, my older brother is thirty-three, and my younger sister is twenty-nine. So we’re all right there.”
“So that makes you…”
“Thirty-one.”
Brewer chuckles, shaking his head, like my answer was the punchline to his own personal joke. Clearly, I’ve missed something.
“Why, how old are you?”
Oh dear Lord, please let him be legal…
“I’ll be forty-one next month.”
I let out a sigh of relief. I don’t know why I would think he’d be underage; he doesn’t look like a kid. Brewer is definitely all man. Then again, looks can be deceiving.
“My baby sister is twenty-nine,” he continues, staring out over the town.
“Our middle sister is thirty-eight. To say the youngest in our family was a surprise is an understatement. We’re really close though.
I know that sounds crazy, since there’s such a gap, but we’re two peas in pod.
Always have been. Middle sister is the crazy one.
She’s made some…questionable life choices. ”
“Which one is married to your best friend?”
Brewer turns to look at me, his smile growing. “You remembered that?”
“Well, it’s not every day you meet someone who says best friend slash brother-in-law. My brother-in-law certainly isn’t my bestie.”