Chapter Seven #2
“That’s priceless, Brody. Truly. This made my night.” My face hurts from smiling. But also, him being there for me makes a lot more sense as I put all these puzzle pieces together about what kind of man Brody Vaughn is.
“Okay, enough about me,” he says, turning to look at me. “Your turn. You don’t get to mock my soft heart without offering up a sacrifice. Give me something equally ridiculous.”
“I really don’t know how to follow that. I feel pretty boring now,” I tease, taking a sip of my water. “Okay, fine. I’ve got something. It involves my brother.”
“Bryan?” Brody asks. “Interesting. The cool, composed big brother.”
“The very same,” I nodded, resting my elbows on the marble.
“So, when Bryan was seventeen and I was fifteen, our parents went out of town for a weekend. We were left alone in Greenwich. Now, Bryan was supposed to be the one in charge. But he and I got into our heads that we would throw a small, exclusive gathering of friends.”
“A teenage party,” Brody grins. “This should be good.”
“It wasn’t even a party! It was six people,” I clarify, holding up my fingers. “Six people, some overpriced cheese, and…a bottle of my father’s Highland Park, Forty Year Old Single Malt Scotch Whisky that Bryan poached from his study.”
“Oh, man,” Brody winces playfully. “Bad move.”
“It gets worse,” I groan, hiding my face in my hands for a second before looking back at him.
“We took one shot each. It tasted like moss and regret. We immediately panicked because there was a noticeable amount gone from the bottle. Bryan looked at me, terrified, and said, ‘We have to fix this before Dad gets back.’”
“Please tell me you didn’t put water in a forty-year-old scotch,” Brody laughs.
“Oh no. Water would have been a smarter move!” I cry out, laughing at the memory.
“No, in our infinite teenage wisdom, thinking of ourselves as experienced drinkers, mind you, we panicked because we knew water would dilute the color. So Bryan ran into the kitchen, grabbed some tea bags, apple juice, and soy sauce to ‘balance out the flavor’.”
Brody gasps and stares at me, his mouth open before he lets out a boom of laughter that shakes his whole body. “Soy sauce?! You put soy sauce in a four-thousand-dollar-plus bottle of whisky?”
“We brewed it like mad scientists in a measuring cup,” I admit.
“We poured it in, held the bottle up to the light, and thought, ‘Perfect. Flawless match.’ Fast forward three weeks. My father hosts a dinner party for some board members. He pours everyone two fingers of this prized whisky, toasts everyone, and takes a smooth sip.”
Brody’s mouth is wide open, and he is doubled over the counter now. “What happened? Did he choke?”
“Nope. He never broke character,” I say, as tears of laughter spring in my eyes. “My father is so controlled that he literally swallowed a mouthful of fermented soy sauce, tea, and apple juice, looked his guests dead in the eye, and said, ‘Ah, interesting flavor in this one. Very…complex notes.’”
“Complex notes!” Brody howls, slapping the counter. “Ellis, no. I can’t believe you ruined that whisky with Kikkoman!”
“Bryan and I were sitting at the other end of the table, holding our breath, trying to keep from dying of laughter. And none of the guests said anything about it,” I grin, shaking my head.
“To this day, my father thinks the distillery had a bad batch. Bryan and I have always kept that truth between us and swore to take it to the grave—until now. So you better not say a word to anyone!”
“You two were a menace,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye as he looks at me with affection. “Soy sauce scotch. God, I love that. The pristine Renwick family dynamic in a nutshell.”
“I think we thought we were clever,” I say softly, my eyes meeting his across the island. “Not as good as your story, but no one but me, you, and Bryan know the truth.”
“It’s a great story,” he says, and the playful air between us shifts subtly with an undercurrent of something sweet.
He finally breaks the silence with a smooth smirk, stepping out from behind the counter carrying two loaded plates of street tacos. “Come on. Let’s eat by the fire before the food gets cold.”
We move to the living room and settle onto the plush leather sofa in front of the fireplace. Outside, it’s turning dark, and I can see light snowflakes beginning to fall.
“Should we call the dogs in?” I lean forward as he sets the food on the coffee table.
“Nah, they’ll come in when they’re ready. Besides, if they were in here, Buck would definitely be patiently waiting for food to fall, so let’s just eat without those little beggars.” He jokes.
“Good point,” I say, nodding.
The tacos are absolute perfection. The pork is tender and rich in flavor, balanced by the sharp lime and pickled onions.
“Okay,” I admit, setting my empty plate down after finishing every single bite. “I was a bit skeptical before coming here about what kind of cook you were, but I gotta hand it to you, Vaughn. These were incredible.”
“Yeah, you really shouldn’t doubt my abilities, Princess,” Brody says comfortably, stretching his long legs out toward the fire. “I have a lot of hidden talents, Ellis.”
Before I can respond, Buck and Oshie come inside panting, and curl up together on the large rug near the fire, their breathing syncing up as they fall asleep.
“I’m sure you do,” I mumble, leaning back into the deep cushions, tucking one leg under me.