12. Brandt #2
“Then, in the early 1900s, a young, charismatic preacher named Josiah Whitfield moved to town, preaching temperance and the evils of booze and wild women. He built a new church, much closer to downtown, and people were taken with him. More and more started to attend Whitfield’s congregation, leaving Reverend Abernathy with a dwindling population each Sunday.
No one is exactly sure how it came to pass, but once Prohibition was in full swing, Reverend Abernathy offered the basement of this church to my great-grandfather Gil and his younger brother, Fergus, as a place to hide their operation. He’s the reason it all survived.”
A soft breeze blows past us, whipping a stray strand of blonde hair into Lindee’s face, tangling in her black-framed glasses.
Reaching over, I loop my finger around it, sweeping it off her face and tucking it behind her ear.
The move is easy, gentle, and feels as natural as breathing. Like it’s something I do every day.
The pink in her cheeks deepens. Looking away, toward the backside of the church, Lindee shifts, and I can feel the heat from her body waft toward me. Letting out a sigh, she scoots around me, heading toward the entrance of the church.
“The reverend was a big supporter of the brothers, helping Fergus with things while Gil was off fighting in the war. He was also apparently a big fan of ’shine himself, hence naming it after him.
It’s hard to know if the reason he let them set up here was because he was trying to prove a point to the new guy in town, or if it was simply because he wanted some behind the scenes access. ”
“Payback is a much better story.”
“It is. My mother is a PR powerhouse and was in charge of all the branding and history and everything until she retired last year, and she took the story and weaved it into an unforgettable tale. She’s also the one who took the abandoned church and turned it into a museum.”
“Different than the archives?”
“Oh, yes…” she says as we walk inside. The single room structure still feels like a church, even though most of the pews and other religious adornments have been removed.
The sanctuary at the opposite end is still intact, with the altar in place and a single row of pews in front, showing off what it would have looked like at the turn of the century.
Leading up to it are glass cases filled with artifacts and photos on the wall, guests milling about as they enjoy everything on display.
“This is open to the public. Plus, the farm-to-table restaurant, the Common Table, in Reverend Abernathy’s old house.
We average around a thousand people a day during the summer who take the train up to see the church or eat at the Common Table, if they can get a reservation.
Only way to get into the archive is if you’re a member of the Ol’ Troublemakers or a special guest.”
“They let me in. Are you saying I’m special?” I tease, anticipation for her answer growing by the second.
“Something like that.” She winks at me. “Or Leland thought you were cute and wanted to show off.”
I bark out a laugh, louder than I should, drawing attention to the two of us. I hold up my hand in apology, clearing my throat and trying to lower my voice.
“Leland was a character.”
“He is. But he’s part of what makes the experience of coming to Tennessee Trouble.
He’s been with guest relations for over thirty years, so he’s been around for as long as I can remember.
He and Mikayla are actually really close—which sounds weird, but my grandfather died when all four of us were really little, and that’s when my parents took over the business.
Leland stepped in as a grandfather of sorts, helping my parents with us, but also with Tennessee Trouble.
He took that role incredibly seriously and still does.
He loves people, and it shows. Did he tell you about his following? ”
“Sure did. Half a million followers to see what he wears every day?”
“He and his husband, Larry, who is an accountant in town. They usually match. Plus, Leland will give advice to people.”
“Leland and Larry?”
“Can’t make it up.”
No wonder he has such a following. He was charming all on his own, but as half of a pair with names like Leland and Larry, there’s no competition.
It’s exactly the kind of thing that Brenna would follow and then make Milo and me watch a video she thought was funny.
Actually, I wonder if Brenna is one of those half a million followers.
I look around the room again, wandering toward one of the freestanding glass display cases.
Inside is a pair of gloves, a cap, and a dirty white shirt, along with a photo of Gil Murray wearing all three.
The old photo is black and white and partially faded, but it’s still more than enough to show off the resemblance to Lindee.
They share a smile and a set of cheekbones, and I would bet anything that if this were in color, those same gorgeous hazel eyes would be staring back at me.
“It’s really cool that y’all have all this,” I say, turning back to the pretty girl on my left.
“It is,” she agrees. “But this isn’t why I brought you here.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope.” That devilish look returns, stirring something inside me. She is trouble, and I fucking love it. “Not even close. I promised you something you’ve never dreamed of, remember?”
How could I forget? Then again, when it comes to this woman, the list of things I haven’t dreamed of is growing smaller and smaller.
She’s taken over a starring role in all my fantasies and monopolized my thoughts since I met her.
The fact that she thinks she has something up her sleeve that could make me even more excited is a dream in itself.