Me: Great. See you in 20.
Were my palms sweaty because I was about to go to Amara, hat in hand, and ask her to do me a solid? Or was it because I knew what the woman looked like naked?
Yeah, we were going with the first one.
I settled my ball cap on my head, stuffed my feet into my scuffed up Ariats, and headed out the door.
My house was on the northeast side of Traverse City, right on the shores of Boardman Lake, and about a fifteen minute drive from the winery. In the opposite direction, if I were to headinto the city proper, I could reach any of my businesses in the same amount of time.
That’s why the location for the distillery was so important. Land around here was a premium, especially on the northern half of Old Mission, where I desperately wanted to build. Naturally, the perfect piece of land was owned by Delatou, Inc., and I needed Amara to agree to sell it.
I couldn’t explain it, but I had this inkling that building this distillery and getting the business up and running would change my life. That it would fill the hole in my heart, and was the piece my life had been missing.
On the drive up, I rolled the windows down in my truck, content to let the fresh air soothe my anxiety. A lot was riding on this meeting, and I could only hope Amara was in a good mood. I still had no clue what I’d be walking into in terms of her relationship status, and I hoped whatever issues she had with Cal at the moment didn’t make me the enemy by proxy.
I’d been in the Delatou, Inc. offices at Chateau Delatou enough times to easily navigate my way to Amara’s, so I parked in the employee lot and made my way in.
Not bothering to do more than wave and smile at the people I passed, I made a beeline down the long hall to Amara’s door, knocking softly before moving inside. Amara greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and instantly my nerves evaporated.
We’d had a brief fling the summer I opened Lawless, but it ended as easily as it began. I moved onto my next business venture, Amara went to Europe, and we remained good friends. We just didn’t work as lovers. I was happy that my best friend and Amara had found each other.
“It’s good to see you, kid,” I said as I sat down on her cushy leather couch. She remained standing nearby, and I bit back a grin as her eyes narrowed.
“I hate when you call me that.”
“I know you do,” I said, letting the smile free. “Why do you think I do it?”
“You’re not that old, you know.”
I snorted. “Please. I’m pushing forty.”
And I felt it every day. Years of football compounded by natural aches and pains that came with aging meant I frequently woke up with creaky knees and tight lower-back muscles.
“Thirty-seven isnotforty,” Amara said with an eye roll. “And let’s be real, you look damn good for your age.”
I quirked a brow, lips twisting into a smirk. “You hitting on me?”
Amara grinned as she approached the drink cart. “Just stating a fact.”
It was too easy to fall back into this banter with her, and I had to get my shit together, to remind myself of the reason for this meeting. I wasn’t here to flirt with my best friend’s girl, innocent as it was.
“You want a drink?” she asked, gesturing to the spread of bottles.
“Bourbon,” I said, knowing a couple fingers wouldn’t hurt. “Whatever you’ve got.”
Amara selected the bottle of Four Roses—my personal favorite, at least until my own was in production—and poured some into a tumbler, filling a glass of water for herself.
I raised a brow. The Amara I knew never turned down acocktail. “You’re not drinking?”
“I can’t,” she said as she handed me my drink then sank down on the couch across from me.
My eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she said quickly, then deliberately settled a hand on her lower abdomen. “Great, actually.”
I damn near spit my drink out. She couldn’t possibly mean…
“Ho-ly shit. You’re not…” I trailed off, hoping I was wrong.
