“And it’s a great name, QB. It’s just…”
I sighed heavily, hating that this normally blunt woman was beating around the bush now. “Spit it out, Whiskey. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.”
“Well, you already have a club named ‘Lawless,’” she said slowly. “And I don’t want people getting confused. I love the whole vibe you’ve got going with the names of the spirits, and I don’t want to change any of that. But I had an idea…”
“Lay it on me, then.”
“Unlawful Spirits,” she said quickly. “It’s still keeping with the whole theme, but it’s different so people won’t get confused by Lawless the night club and Lawless the distillery. They’re two separate entities right? For branding and marketing purposes, we want to keep them as such.”
Unlawful.
I turned the word over and over in my mind, mouthing it silently, testing it from every angle. Trying to come up with some way to refuse Delia, to tell her it just didn’t work.
But—why? Honestly, it was perfect, and I was pissed I hadn’tthought of it myself.
“That’s a kick ass name,” I said at least.
Delia’s nose crinkled despite the wide grin on her mouth. “Don’t say ‘kick ass.’”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes you sound like an old man.”
“Iaman old man,” I joked. Though, my career as an athlete often had my joints feeling far older than their thirty-seven years, so maybe it wasn’t so funny after all.
Delia turned away from me, her lips forming words, low enough that I knew she hadn’t intended for me to hear.
“Not from where I’m sitting.”
I opened my mouth to press her, to beg her to repeat herself. But our food arriving saved me from poking that hornet’s nest.
Maybe it made mebasic, but fall was my favorite season.
With my birthday on Halloween, I felt a deep kinship with the autumn. My usual restless energy was somewhat soothed when the leaves began to change and the air smelled of decaying foliage. When temperatures dropped and Brie started serving up pumpkin spice lattes and hot apple cider at the bakery.
But that connection had its drawbacks, like how I somehow wound up on the planning committee for every damn fall festival event Apple Blossom Bay had.
From October first through Halloween, Apple Blossom Bay Fall Festival, or ABBFF for short, celebrated the harvest. The maple trees that dotted Main Street showed out, turning varying shades of vermillion, saffron, and burnt orange. With the water in the distance, the town was picturesque in a way that rivaled Salem this time of year.
Admittedly, it wasn’t a hardship to give back to my community, not when its citizens had unknowingly given meso much—namely, my sense of purpose in the world. Before I’d moved home after college, started work on my house, and began running social accounts for business owners, I’d been listless. But the encouragement of my neighbors and family had sent me down a path that proved to be the best thing to ever happen to me.
On a particularly sunny afternoon during the second week of September, I found myself on the patio at the winery with Amara, Brie, and Ezra as we figured out logistics for the part the winery would play in that year’s festival.
Being that Delatou, Inc. owned half of Old Mission Peninsula, a lot of which was forest or undeveloped plains, we opened our lands this time of year for the larger scale events. The fields near the old barn were planted with corn each year—which we then harvested, sold at the farmer’s market, and donated the money back into the community in one way or another—and turned into a maze. Next to that was a pumpkin patch, which Dad or someone else would take guests out to on a wagon hooked up to a tractor, allowing people to pick their own gourds to take home. The barn was set up with a photo station, a small gift shop, and a few food stands that Brie and Ezra kept filled every day.
In addition, the community center and town advisory board put on a myriad of activities, including a haunted house and vendor bazaar.
Two hours—and several of Brie’s hand-squeezed lemonades later—we had a solid plan in place for execution of this year’s events. I had just returned to the table after using the restroom, intent on packing up my things to head into town for yet anothermeeting. Across from me, Brie had been gearing up to leave as well. Ezra held up a hand, stilling us both.
“Can I run something by you guys?” he asked.
That pulled me up short. Ezra Wendt rarely asked for anything.
“What’s up, Ez?” Brie asked, slowly sinking back into her chair.
I offered my sister a reassuring smile. I didn’t know if anyone else in the family was privy to this information, but Brie and Ezra had had amomenta few years back. When Ezra had first come to work for the Chateau, Brie had been twenty-two, freshly minted culinary arts degree in hand, and recently apprenticed with a pastry chef in Chicago. She’d been home for a brief winter break at Christmas, had taken one look at Ezra and fallen ass over tea kettle for him.
I didn’t know the specifics of what had happened between them, only that it left Brie a little fucked up, always timid and wary around him, though she maintained professionality and cordiality when forced to interact with the man.
