“Isn’t this a tasting room?” Brock asked, his mouth turned down as he eyed the tables and the large windows that viewed the lobby.
“It functions as one yes, during the day. The Baileys have taken to calling it a cocktail bar so tourists know they can do more than sample in the evenings. But tasting room and bar are interchangeable for us.” I snagged a laminated sheet from under the bar and plopped it in front of them, anxious to serve them and move on. “Here’s a menu if you want some ideas.”
Cara forgot the table she’d initially been interested in and slid onto a stool. “Ruby.” Her expert pout had only gotten shinier and puffier. “It’s been forever. We used to be such good friends.”
We had been. Then her family had gotten money, moved out of the apartment building I was raised in, and Cara had found herself some friends with clothing and hairstyles that matched hers. She no longer wanted to talk books, didn’t care about Percy Jackson or Katniss, and definitely wasn’t interested in discussing film adaptations and how they never lived up to the book.
“It’s a busy night,” I lied. Everyone was taken care of, and a brief scan showed all the drinks were at least half-full. Damn. “What would you like?”
“A mojito,” she drawled. “It’s the perfect summer drink.” Her wide smile returned. “Don’t you think? This place has mojitos, right? I know it’s in the boondocks, but I’m optimistic.”
My right eye twitched. It only did that when I’d been staring at a screen for too long, which was most days, but Cara stressed me just as much. “So FYI, mojitos tend to be rum-based drinks, but I can make you a Copper Summit version with our original line of bourbon.”
She laughed, a sharp, cutting sound. “Isn’t a mojito a mojito?”
“This is abourbondistillery,” I said.
Brock bristled, more defensive over Cara than he’d ever been for me. “She said she’d like a mojito.”
“I’m just trying to highlight the difference, so there’re no surprises.” I attempted the same megawatt smile Cara had displayed. “Predictability is a good thing in a bar.”
He flinched and looked away.
Cara’s gaze sharpened as if she sensed the dig. “I guess I can’t expect much excitement in a town as small as Bourbon Canyon.” She put her chin in her hand. “Do you live here, Rubes?”
Some days, it felt like there was more for me in this little town than where I’d been born and raised. I pinched off the longing before it could ignite. “No. I’m still in Bozeman.” I grabbed a bottle of Copper Summit Original and started on the mojito. “What can I make you to drink?” I asked Brock. The sooner I served them, the sooner they’d leave. I hoped.
“I’ll just take a bourbon. Neat.” He straightened like I was going to challenge him.
I didn’t. He hated whiskey. If he thought he could gut through a glass of plain bourbon in front of his girlfriend, who was I to argue? It was a chance to squeeze some joy out of the night.
I slid the mojito in front of Cara and poured the drink for Brock.
She took a sip and frowned. Then she shrugged and smacked her lips. I was about to scoot out from around the bar when she asked, “What have you been up to since graduation?”
Why did she want to visit? For most of high school, she’d pretended I didn’t exist. “School and then work. You?”
“Mm.” She sucked more of the drink down. “Same. I’m working for my parents’ real estate company now.”
A thread of envy wound around my heart. Cara had walked into her family’s company. And Brock probably still worked as a project manager for his dad’s construction company.
My mom had toiled away at three jobs trying to keep us afloat while I’d been growing up. Now, she worked as a remote bookkeeper and had spent her time since I’d graduated catching up on everything she’d missed after becoming a teen mom.
“What a wonderful opportunity.” There. I’d been the bigger person. I saw my exit in the conversation and went for it. I was about to duck out from behind the bar when Cara put her left hand out.
A knot in my gut cinched so tight I almost doubled over. A giant square diamond sparkled under the bar lights. How had I missed that monster ring? Well, she had been pasted to Brock since they’d walked in.
Brock had never bought me jewelry. No guy had.
No guy had bought me anything.
“We’re gettingmarried.” She sang the last word.
“Congratulations.” The envy had returned. I didn’t want Brock, but why did a superficial person who bodysurfed on others’ feelings get to be spoiled? “Excuse me. I need to check on the other customers.”
I distracted myself from all the old feelings of inadequacy Brock and Cara exposed with orders and refills. While I was adding a splash of ginger beer to a bourbon mule, Brock took a sip of his drink and sputtered.
I gestured to my cheek. “Gotta shut off this part of your nose, remember?”
