21. Brandt
brANDT
“I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.”
Rylan’s voice is full of wonder and excitement. He stops in the middle of the walkway, causing a traffic jam behind him, staring up at the massive stadium. There’s a buzz in the air already, the whole place overflowing with vendors and booths, the sea of people swarming them growing by the second.
“When it said it was at the Nashville Fury Stadium, I guess I thought they meant on the field,” he continues. “Not the whole thing.”
“Oh, it’s the whole thing,” I assure him.
“You got the big names out here who have booths and stores. Couple years ago, Walking Jack had a bounce house, which was interesting to watch. But then inside, the whole lower bowl is different wineries, breweries, you name it. It’s a lot of fun.
Especially if you’re willing to be adventurous in what you try. ”
“Why don’t we have a booth?” Mikayla asks, sounding like she’s just realizing what they are missing out on.
“We do,” Kyra snaps back. Lindee raises her eyebrows, giving me a look that confirms my desire to put space between us and them. “We send people every year. Last year was the first year I didn’t personally attend. How do you not know this?”
Mikayla huffs. “My knowledge of CocktailCon is minimal. As a legacy brand, we’ve never qualified for the competition, therefore it wasn’t on my radar. I didn’t realize there was an expo component to it.”
“It’s called CocktailCon. As in convention—”
“Right, well, we qualify this year,” Lindee cuts in, trying to ease the tension between her sisters. Taking my hand, she eases forward, putting space between us and the rest of the group. “Speaking of, we have to go check in. So we’ll see you in a bit.”
I watch Mikayla roll her eyes as Lindee holds on to me, then flick my gaze over to Rylan, who seems unfazed, and then Kyra, who is beaming like she was just named prom queen. I’m still amazed at how different each one of them is, all while sharing those same hazel eyes. It’s uncanny.
I spin us around, leaving everyone behind us, letting their conversation fade into the din of the crowd as Declan comments that they need to head to their meeting.
I don’t really care where they go or what they do.
This afternoon is about spending time with Lindee doing something we both love—learning about booze.
All we need to do is get checked in and then we are free to wander, sample, and network as we please until the awards ceremony out on the field this evening. That will be the crowning event.
Which means I need to find a way to tell Lindee that little thing I’ve been keeping from her now. I don’t need her finding out while standing in a crowd of hundreds of other people.
She’s not the only one who is a finalist for best original cocktail.
Her email came before mine. Which had given me a sliver of hope that it would never come up, despite the fact that I’ve been trying to find a way to tell her for weeks. But I’m not that lucky.
So I need to tell her now.
“Oh, there’s a meadery!” Lindee points out, her excitement palpable.
“There is an entire section dedicated to cider and mead actually. There’s one little craft place out of North Carolina that’s really good.”
“That could be something fun to try.”
I agree. To me, that’s the beauty of this event—seeing all the fun and creative stuff others in the industry have come up with.
Sure, there are people who show up to the event with the intent to get a good buzz, but for many of us, that’s not what it’s about.
This isn’t a frat party. It’s a celebration of the art behind the science.
“We can head there first after we get checked in,” I tell her, my own excitement starting to simmer.
“No, I mean…us.” She stops, then pulls me over to the wall to get me out of traffic. “Yes, I want to check it out, but…what I meant was…you and me. Like, the next thing we could work on together.”
Holy fuck…
My stomach does somersaults. Lindee wants to keep working together. Meaning, she does see some sort of future for us.
“You and me?” I choke out, my brain moving way too fast for my mouth to keep up. “Another project?”
Lindee nods, her beautiful hazel eyes dimming as self-consciousness takes over. Shit, that’s not that I meant to have happen.
“Yeah…” Biting her lips, she looks up at me, hoping that whatever comes next isn’t going to offend. “We could even make it an official thing? A collaboration between Tennessee Trouble and Southern Brothers?”
A collaboration between Tennessee Trouble and Southern Brothers. Fuck, that’s brilliant. And quite possibly the answer to every question that’s been floating around in my head for weeks.
Except how to tell her about my submission.
“Lindee, that’s…”
“If you think it’s silly, then don’t worry—”
I yank her into me, cutting her off with a kiss. It’s the only way I can think to stop her from spiraling down a road that she has no business being on. Fuck, she has no business being in that part of town, much less that road.
“No, it’s not silly. It’s…fantastic. So much so, I wish I’d come up with it.”
“Really?” She perks up, pushing onto her toes. “You think so?”
I kiss her again, gently and sweetly. “I do. Let’s do it.”
Lindee squeals, bouncing on the balls of her feet. I try to hold on to her, but she’s a wiggly bundle of joy, making it tough.
“Just one thing,” I say.
Taking her hand, I lead her around the corner, following the signs for check-in. The roar of the conversation quiets as we make our way toward the elevator.
“What’s that?”
The elevator dings, the doors opening up for us. We step on, and I wait until the doors close again to continue, wanting to take advantage of the silence.
“This means that you have to come to Hickory Hills to see the Southern Brothers setup. See how we ferment. Especially if we’re gonna add in hops to our mead.”
Lindee furrows her brow, turning to face me as we reach our floor. She walks backward, skillfully, keeping her eyes pinned on me.
“I’m undecided about the hops. We can discuss it.”
“And Hickory Hills?” I try to hold back my smirk, the parade raging inside me starting to take over. This whole thing feels too good to be true.
“Hickory Hills is a given.” She shrugs, as if it went without saying. “I want to see it all. The brewery, Pour Decisions, Milo…”
“Milo is overrated.”
Lindee laughs, stumbling. I catch her, stopping her from tumbling backward into a display.
“I’m sure he’s not. Anyone who is worthy of being a best friend, business partner, and brother-in-law must be pretty special.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll keep him.”
More laughter fills the air, sneaking its way into my veins. Everything about her is just as addicting now as it was when we were sneaking around and having our weekend fling. Being around her makes me feel…like everything makes sense.
It’s also making me understand why Milo couldn’t resist getting Brenna up on the bar. That’s one of many positions I want to put Lindee in. It’s right up there with cooking breakfast, movie nights, and sharing a last name.
Now I’m getting ahead of myself. She gave me a business proposition, not a marriage proposal.
I need to cool my jets.
And tell her about my drink.
“Let’s get checked in; I wanna go explore,” she says, breaking away and heading to the desk.
We go our separate ways, each proceeding to the designated spot for our last names.
The check-in process is quick and easy, the older gentleman on the other side of the table focused on getting me my name badge and the little badge ribbons showing off my categories as quickly as possible.
Grabbing all the items, I shove the teal badge ribbon denoting I’m a best cocktail finalist in my back pocket, and turn my focus on adhering the orange category sponsor one to my name tag.
“Look at you, all fancy with your sponsor ribbon,” Lindee mocks.
“Not quite as pretty as yours,” I joke back.
“Brandt Rawlins!”
I spin around, immediately discovering where my name came from.
George Ridgeley.
If ever there was what my sister and her best friend, Mell, referred to as a “business bro,” it’s George Ridgeley.
His name betrays his age, making him sound older than he is, but I truly can’t think of a more fitting moniker for the mid-forties beverage distribution rep who seems to have an endless supply of Dockers, loafers, and high-end, obnoxiously patterned golf shirts.
Today’s appears to be tiny overflowing mugs of beer, repeated at a rate that from far away probably looks okay, but up close might cause a headache.
“George, good to see you,” I greet, putting on my fakest smile and shaking his hand. I can’t stand this guy, and was thrilled when Milo suggested hiring Rose to handle dealing with sales and distribution so that we no longer had to try to shake this guy off.
“Been awhile. Haven’t seen you at a CocktailCon event in a couple of years.”
“Well, we’ve been busy.”
“I know you have. Two new offerings, three if you count the Shandy you’re serving in your taproom, plus adding on to said taproom.”
Damn, this guy is well-informed. I suppose that’s his job, but still.
“Still wish y’all would let me add Southern Brothers to the NatBev portfolio. We could help get y’all into some national chains, plus even some up in Canada.”
I suck in a breath, holding it for a few seconds so I don’t say all the things I really want to.
Like how it’s never been Southern Brothers wish to “go national” and be in every chain restaurant in the country.
Nor do we have any big draw to Canada. Canada has their own craft beer.
We are nothing more than what we’ve always said we are—two good ol’ Southern boys doing what we love.
“As I’m sure Rose has told you, we are focused on other things right now. Happy to be independent.”
“Well, should you ever change your mind…”
Yeah, yeah…I know how to get ahold of you…
I need to change the subject. Fast.
“George, do you know Lindee Murray?” I turn toward Lindee, drawing her into this conversation, hoping a quick introduction will help rescue me from this hell.
“Murray? As in a Tennessee Trouble Murray?” George asks, his interest clearly piqued. Maybe this won’t be as quick as I had hoped.
“One and the same.”
“Lindee is also the brains behind Wink I’m on the production side of things. I don’t know a whole lot about the distribution side. I do know that my older brother oversees logistics and transport, so I would assume we’re all set in that area. Should that ever change though…”
Damn, she’s good. I need to take notes. That was the most perfect brush-off I’ve ever seen.
“Just keep me in mind.” George smiles, like her rejection was nothing. “You know, I’m a little surprised to see you two together given the results.”
“The results?” Lindee asks.
Oh, shit…
I look down at George’s name badge. Sure enough, he has a voting member ribbon. Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He knows the results of the Most Original Cocktail vote.
“Did they not tell you?” George questions, pointing over at the registration table. “I’m a little surprised, given the runoff situation.”
Errrr…runoff?
Glancing over at Lindee, I say a silent prayer that this isn’t what I think this is. She doesn’t acknowledge me, simply continues to stare of George like he’s a one-eyed, one-horned flying purple people eater.
Meanwhile, George’s eyes dart between us, trying to read the room. And failing.
“There was a tie in the Most Original Cocktail category,” he continues, still clearly oblivious. “First time in competition history. So, they opted to hold a runoff. There’s a whole station dedicated to taking votes from the attendees on which drink should win.”
“What does that have to do with us?” Lindee prompts.
Don’t say it, don’t say it…
My heart rate spikes, breath stalling in my lungs as I wait for him to open Pandora’s box. To put it out in the open. Tell her what I failed to.
“They’re yours. The top two were the ones from Tennessee Trouble and Southern Brothers. Both were damn good; it was a really tough choice.”
Fuuuuuuuck…
I nod, not knowing how else to respond. What else is there to say now? Cat is out of the bag.
I’d do pretty much anything right now to shove him back inside.
“Oh.”
That’s all Lindee says. Oh. One single syllable.
My heart stops again, the entire room feeling like the world turned on its axis. This isn’t good.
“Bobby!” George hollers, holding up a hand and waving. “If y’all will excuse me.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, bobbing around us to head off to his next victim. I have no idea who he’s going to talk to. What I do know is that there is no way for him to do more damage than he just did.
“Lindee…” I say, cautiously.
Turning to me, the most beautiful, brilliant woman I’ve ever met looks up with tears in her eyes. Those hazel irises are glassy and hazy, paired with a quivering lip as she fights back some powerful emotion.
Fuck me. I did that. I caused her this pain. And I want to die.
Lindee clears her throat, her voice small and wobbly as she asks me the hardest question I’ve ever had to answer.
“You submitted a drink?”