9. Brandt
brANDT
Bright sunlight blinds me as I stumble out onto the concrete in front of the distillery, like I’m some kind of drunk being thrown out of a bar. Truth be told, my head is still spinning so fast after that meeting, part of me does feel drunk. Another feels like it was blindsided by a semi-truck.
Luna is a Murray…
Holy shit.
A loud whoop slices through the air, stealing my attention for a second.
A group of overly enthusiastic guys saunter toward the front door, ready to get their whiskey on.
Or maybe their moonshine. No, they’re definitely whiskey guys—something about them tells me that this group leans toward the classics, and still views moonshine as an outlaw’s booze.
Unlike the amazing woman I spent the weekend with. She got it.
Of course she got it. She’s a Murray. She is Tennessee Trouble. The master distiller no less. No wonder she knew so much about all of it—she lives and breathes Ol’ Reverend. Better yet, she took it and created something new. Something different. She’s the genius behind it all.
She’s even more impressive than I realized.
I need to get out of here.
Where to, I’ve got no idea. Zero. Zilch.
That meeting did not go as planned. My apology was…
well, it was shit. I was too distracted by the fact that she was sitting right there.
Giving her shark of a sister the chance to walk all over me.
Which means I can’t head back to Hickory Hills just yet.
I have to try again. Things need to be smoothed over before I leave.
If I head home with the threat of legal action still hanging in the air, I’m a dead man.
But I’m also in a town I don’t know. With my duffle bag in the bed of my truck, since I only booked the one night at the Smoky Spruce Lodge. Stupid me for thinking that I’d be able to waltz in there and make everything okay with a smile and an envelope. Maybe I should have brought Presley.
Or even better, Margeaux Finnegan-Hayes, wife of Gus Hayes, the executive vice president of our parent company. She’s a fast-thinking, smooth-talking lawyer. She would have known what to say.
Slamming the truck door shut, I reach for my phone, pulling up my best friend’s name.
Houston, we have a problem
Milo
No problems. You went up there to solve problems, not cause them
Well, about that. Know the girl I told you about?
From this weekend? The pretty blonde who miraculously knew all about brewing?
That’s the one
She’s a Murray
Those last three words land like a lead balloon, making my inside feel like a bomb went off all over again.
Milo
As in, the owners of Tennessee Trouble
Yup…
For a second I consider elaborating. But what else is there to say?
My phone buzzes and I look down, expecting to see a reply from Milo. Instead, it’s Brenna’s face on my screen. Of course she would call right now.
“Hey, Bren.”
“You could at least have the decency to use our group chat so that I don’t have to read over his shoulder,” she replies, not bothering to greet me back.
“Some things are not for little sister ears,” I clap back. “What are you doing at the brewery anyway? It’s the middle of the day. Don’t you have a business to run?”
It’s a legitimate question. Pour Decisions, our taphouse, is only open evenings, Wednesday through Friday, and Saturday starting at lunchtime.
While Milo might pop over there from the brewhouse during one of the days we’re closed, it’s not where we spend most of our time.
And I know for a fact Brenna hates how the brewhouse smells.
More than all that, Brenna now owns Hickory Hills Drug, our local pharmacy. She has her own business to worry about.
“We’re finishing up lunch.”
Looking down at my watch, I catch the time, realizing that it is about that time. I was inside the distillery longer than I realized.
“So, what happened?” Milo asks.
I let out a long, heavy sigh, trying to find the right words. “Meeting didn’t go exactly as planned.”
“You had a plan?”
I scoff, but the man has a point. I had a wing and a prayer, and a general idea of what I would say. That combination doesn’t exactly equal a plan.
“Ish…” I pause, waiting for another jab. “But I went in there, ready to apologize, offer up doing a joint promo, all the things Presley coached me on. And then she walked in.”
“She being the super-hot blonde? The one who made you taste colors, it was so good?” Brenna cracks.
Good Lord…
“Do you read all his texts?” I shoot back, unable to fathom what my baby sister just repeated to me. Talk about things I’d never say in front of her. “Again, some things aren’t for little sister ears. It’s guy talk.”
Guy talk that doesn’t happen as much now that my best friend is married to my sister.
He and I were never ones to get graphic, but that didn’t mean we didn’t share with each other when we hooked up with someone.
So yes, when we talked last night I mentioned meeting Luna and the incredible time we had together.
And maybe even made the tasting colors comment.
Which I now deeply regret. On so many levels.
“Whatever,” Brenna brushes my comments off. “So, now what?”
“What do you mean now what? Luna is actually Lindee Murray, master distiller for Tennessee Trouble Whiskey and Distilling.”
“Master distiller? Ohhhh, the plot thickens…”
“No, Brenna,” I correct, as Milo laughs in the background. “The plot does not thicken.”
I huff out another exasperated sigh. I’m not a worrier by nature—I’m just not. I don’t see the point in it. What’s meant to be will happen, and frankly, shit has a way of working itself out. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being freaked out at the moment.
This is a lot to take in.
Lindee Murray, master distiller, is the smart, funny, and damn near perfect woman I spent the weekend with. Her sister—and probably the rest of her siblings—hates me. Hell, she thinks I seduced her to try and sway her opinion. If I’d known who she was, I would have steered clear.
Damn, am I thankful I didn’t know…
“So…what exactly happened at the meeting. What was said?” Milo asks.
I give him the rundown, quickly and professionally, in business partner mode. Mikayla’s threats, my offer for a joint promo, her ask to co-sponsor the tour, all of it. Including Lindee’s accusation. By the end, my heart hurts, leaving me to wonder if I just fucked up everything.
“Would it be the end of the world to share the sponsorship of the tour?” he asks when I finish rambling.
“I know you thought Fire Lights is a hard pass, but the tour is different. It’d be just this once, and Dustin already cuts us a deal for the presenting rights, so it’s not like we’re losing a bunch by adding their name. ”
He’s not wrong. As ridiculous as the whole thing is, it’s feasible enough. And wouldn’t be anything out of our pocket. Other than giving in. I’m not sure that’s the message we want to send though. Southern Brothers cannot be walked all over.
“Bren, give us a minute?” Milo says softly, like he’s turned away from the phone.
Brenna doesn’t respond, at least not verbally, but I can hear shuffling and what sounds like a kiss. Another long stretch of silence after some muffled talking, and Milo comes back.
“Okay, dude, it’s just us. So tell me, what are you really more upset about?
The fact that the sister is wound tighter than an old clock and now you are stuck up there for a couple more days until you find a way to win her over?
Or that your dream girl is real, but kinda-but-not-really a competitor and is hurt that you are who you are? ”
Damn, Milo with the hard-hitting questions. Questions I’m not sure how to answer. Because both doesn’t fully cover it. Actually, if I’m honest with myself, both doesn’t cover it at all. It’s entirely the wrong answer.
“Lindee,” I answer, my heart turning it inside out as I do.
The look on her face as she asked me if I knew—if that was the whole reason for this past weekend—will haunt me. Forget seeing her bright eyes full of desire and mischief when I close mine. Nope. Not anymore. Now I’m going to see all that hurt and pain.
“Figured.”
Thanks, dude…
“So, what do I do?”
“I’d start with finding a place to sleep tonight,” Milo quips.
“As for the rest of it, I say agree to what the sister wants and make yourself look like a hero. But what do I know? You’re talkin’ to the guy who accidentally fell for his best friend’s sister when he was supposed to be watching out for her. ”
“Ha.”
I do need to find another hotel though. As nice as the Smoky Spruce Lodge was, if I’m gonna be here a couple of nights, I’m not sure that’s where I want to be staying. I think I drove past a little B&B in town, so maybe I’ll head there. If not, I might be camping.
“I’ll think about the tour sponsorship,” I tell him.
“And dream girl?”
“No idea.”
“Sounds like you’re off to a good start then.”
“Something like that.”
Promising I’ll keep him updated, we say our goodbyes. I toss my phone on the seat next to me, firing up my truck, ready to head I don’t even know where. It is lunchtime, and food would be a good idea. There’s lots of little cafés and restaurants in downtown Trouble.
And I think I know just the place.