ChapterTwenty-Eight
Sebastian
The parking area at Red River Gorge is busy with other hikers preparing for the trails.
I get out of my truck and drag my fingers along the smooth metal on my way to the passenger’s side, the vehicle almost too hot to touch.
The spring heat is a stark contrast to yesterday during Thunder Over Louisville, when we’d walked along the Ohio River and Rosalia had tucked herself into my side for warmth.
I reach Rosalia’s side as she’s climbing out. “I was coming over to help you.”
Her smile warms me like the sun. She’s holding onto the window and door frame. I offer her my arm. Taking it, she jumps the rest of the way down. “This truck is a monster,” she laughs.
Using all my willpower, I let her go once her feet are firmly on the ground. Before closing her door, I grab my backpack and tease, “And one I can drive.”
Driving myself instead of having Tom bring the Bentley had been the right call. This truck belongs on rugged terrain like this, not sitting in my garage between trips to check on the horses and pick up supplies.
“I’ll never doubt you again.”
I look away from her words. She’s joking, but I want them to be true. If she truly trusts me, I’ll take care of her. She’d never have to doubt me. The irony isn’t lost on me that I'm lying to her even as I crave her trust.
Turning back to Rosalia, I grin. She’s checking me out. Her gaze moves from my legs to my torso and then to my face. When her eyes meet mine, I quirk a brow. Her cheeks flush a cute shade of pink. “You look so different out of your suit,” she tells me.
“You look different too.” I take in the enticing sliver of stomach between her cropped shirt and leggings, recalling how fantastic her ass had looked when I’d picked her up from her apartment and helped her into my truck.
She runs her fingers over her lips. It’s her tell I’m now familiar with. It means she’s thinking about kissing. She drops her hand and eyes my backpack, frowning. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Your bag reminded me I’d packed us a lunch and left everything in my fridge. Caprese sandwiches and a strawberry salad, the ultimate picnic combination.”
I pat my stomach. “That does sound delicious.”
“I know you have a work thing after this, but when you drop me off, I’ll run up and get you some of the food.”
I nod. “There’s no rush. I’m just swinging by the warehouse to make sure the company’s balloon is ready for tomorrow’s races.”
“Did you change your mind? Will you be riding in Blackstone’s balloon?”
I give an inward shudder. “No.” Pointing to the trail, I ask, “Ready? ”
“Yes.” She starts toward the packed earth trail that winds between towering sandstone walls.
The air is cooler here in the gorge, carrying the green scent of new growth and the mineral smell of damp rock.
Redbud trees dot the landscape with brilliant purple blooms, and there’s the distant sound of water trickling over stone.
“How did your meeting go this morning?” she asks.
“Fine. It was just a quick update with a taster from my Tennessee distillery. He was in town for the fireworks.”
“Is that job what the title sounds like? This person gets to drink for a living?”
I chuckle. “Basically, yes.”
“Hmm, why wasn’t that job ever mentioned during my high school career day?” she jokes.
I grin, something I do a lot around her. “Because you didn’t go to school in Kentucky.”
“Fair enough,” she says, stepping around a larger boulder. “So, what’s your title? Bourbon baron?”
I chuckle. “That does have a nice ring, but no, master distiller.”
“What kind of degree do you get in college to become a master distiller? Did you have to major in drinking and minor in frat parties?” she teases.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Not quite. Chemistry, actually. With a lot of hands-on experience at the distillery.”
“Ah, so you were a nerd.” She bumps my shoulder playfully. “A nerd who knows his way around a bottle.”
“Guilty.” I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “I love the science behind crafting bourbon. And I’ve been working at the distillery since I was twelve, working my way from the bottom to the top of our company.”
“So did my brother and sister, with our father observing us the entire time. He even told us what to study in college.” I pause, then add, “Well, he tried to. Lillianna had a huge fight with our dad over his choice for her, but Mom stepped in and convinced him to let her study education instead. ”
I don’t want to talk about Thorne and his bid for my job and the wedge it drove between us. Instead, I tell her, “My father and I don’t agree on much, but if a kid of mine wanted to join the family business, I’d also have them work their way up from entry-level positions.”
“You want children?” Rosalia asks.
I glance over my shoulder, where we’d recently passed a family with toddlers. “I’m not against it. But having kids isn’t my deal breaker.”
“What is?” she asks.
“Trust.”
If I have my own family, I don’t want it to look like my childhood. More than bourbon would hold us together. I wouldn’t pit my kids against each other. And I’d marry a woman who wants to grow old with me, who loves me more than my last name and power.
“That is the most important,” Rosalia agrees. “Along with laughter. I think trust and laughter are needed for love to last.”
My good mood dips a little, knowing we’ll never have trust. That unhappy thought walks with me until we step through a narrow tunnel carved by centuries of water through red sandstone, our footsteps echoing off the walls.
The air is cool and damp here, thick with the earthy scent of moss.
When we emerge back into the open sky, the contrast is striking.
Warm April sunshine greets us again, alongside the sweet fragrance of wild dogwood blossoms.
I look at Rosalia and my heart expands. Her face is tipped toward the warm sun, a slight smile on her lips as she basks in the tranquility of the moment.
“I miss this,” she sighs, sounding wistful. She runs her fingers over a nearby blooming bush. “Being out in nature, surrounded by all this beauty.”
She gestures toward the layered sandstone cliffs rising around us, their red and gold faces catching the afternoon light. A pair of hikers with climbing gear passes us on their way to the rock faces, nodding in greeting.
Her serenity strikes me. “You didn’t hike much back in Michigan?”
She turns to me. “Hike? No, more like leisurely strolls. Michigan’s pretty flat, at least where I’m from. Nothing like these hills. ”
“No wonder you were excited to come out here.” I gesture to the trail ahead, a hint of a challenge in my voice. “Ready to tackle the hard part?”
She grins, her gaze glinting with determination. “Bring it on.”
I eye her tennis shoes, then offer my hand. “Those won’t have good traction. You might slip.”
“Thanks.” Her palm slides against mine and warmth spreads through me. Ignoring how much I enjoy the simple touch, I focus on the trail. “Where did you like hiking, sorry, walking, in Michigan?”
“I lived near an international wildlife refuge along the Detroit River. I’d walk there and other local trails at least once a week. And if I had a free day or two, I’d hop in my car and explore a new place. If I had more time, I’d head up north.”
“Alone?” I picture her in another sexy athletic outfit, walking in one of Michigan’s many forests.
“Not always. My mom would go sometimes. Or my ex. Though he wasn’t big into outdoor exercising. He liked the gym.” She looks away and mutters, “Probably because the egotistical jerk liked to look at himself in the many mirrored walls.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”
She shakes her head, her lips twisting into a wry smile. “Oh, you know. Boy meets girl; boy confesses his love to her, and at least two other women…”
I give her hand a gentle squeeze, understanding that hurt all too well. “His loss.”
Her gaze softens. “What about you? Besides hiking and horses, what do you do on your days off?” she asks.
I go with the subject change, though I don’t have much to offer. “Days off? What’s that?”
She giggles. “You’ve been going out with me, so you must take time off.”
“Before you, I hadn’t in a long time. Hell, besides our outings, I can’t recall the last time I’d ridden or explored a new trail. Probably not since my sister was home,” I tell her .
I could convince myself that I’m making time for her because I want to win the bet, but that would be a lie.
The truth is, I genuinely want to be with her.
It’s unsettling how quickly she has become a priority.
I, the notorious workaholic, am rearranging my schedule because I need to see her smile and hear her laugh.
“What about you?” I ask. “How does it feel to take Friday off instead of your usual Monday?”
She glances at the trail ahead of us. “Honestly, I can’t tell much difference since I stay local.
But as much as I love the city, it feels great to get out in nature.
” She takes a deep breath, as if to emphasize her point.
“But I am really excited for Monday and Fest-a-Ville. It’s so close to my bookstore, so it’ll bring crowds my way.
I’ve already sold out of the VIP seats for the local chef Q&A and book signings.
And I’m certain the talented musicians coming to my store in the late afternoon and evening will bring people inside. ”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” I say, impressed by her business savvy.
The trail narrows as it begins its switchback climb up the ridge, hemmed in by towering walls of weathered sandstone. Moss clings to the shaded crevices, and small wildflowers peek out from between the rocks.
I grip her hand tightly as we navigate the uneven stone steps worn smooth by countless hikers.“Watch your step here.”
Her fingers warm against mine. I love how natural it feels, this simple connection between us.