“And the old-fashioned?”
“Pie. Because it’s also old-fashioned.”
He laughed, his throat working up and down. After taking a drink of my hard cherry lemonade, he ran a sink of soapy water and cleaned up the mess he’d made. Then he came around the bar and took the seat next to me. He took the old-fashioned since I was more partial to sweets, and each lemonade cocktail was its own dessert. Neither of them needed to be paired with anything.
The AC was strong in the tasting room. His heat wound around me like a cozy blanket. He had to be a furnace in bed. I used to dream of curling up with my husband during a cold winter morning.
He turned, bracketing me with his legs. “If you could go back to school for anything, what would you pick?”
I shook my head. “You first.” Fuzziness crowded the corners of my brain. I was nearly naked in front of this guy. He knew all my desires—family, travel, school. My parents might’ve been crap, but they’d taught me self-preservation.
“I wouldn’t do a single thing differently.”
He said it with so much assuredness it amplified my longing tenfold. “Nothing?”
“I got to grow up ranching. You know how fun that is for a boy?” He knocked back the rest of the old-fashioned, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his swallow. “Sure, it sucked to get up early when it was fucking freezing out or when I wanted another twelve hours of sleep. The tradeoff was that I got to be out on horseback all day. I’d drive tractors and trucks that other kids got for toys. Did I mention the horses?” He grinned.
“Yes,” I said, laughing.
“I went to college and got to do all that, but I learned the most from Dad. The most about business, the most about distilling, and the most about life. Him and Mama.”
“The house full of kids didn’t bother you?”
“I was barely inside, but no. It was my normal. The girls delighted Mama and even my kid brain could see that. When they were adopted, it was almost a relief we wouldn’t have to say goodbye to them.” He swirled the empty glass and the ice chunk clinked from side to side. “I guess Wendi would be a do-over, as in I wouldn’t have wasted my time with her. Maybe I’d start a family earlier, but there’s no reason to if you’re not with the right person.”
My emptiness echoed his. “I thought I’d have two or three kids by now.”
“I thought I’d have five.”
I was in the middle of a drink when I coughed. Slapping the back of my hand in front of my mouth, I struggled for control. His deep laughter rumbled through me before he waved a napkin under my face. I took it from him.
“Five if I started early,” he amended. “Now I’m an old fucker. Two or three sound just fine.”
“Damien always had a reason to wait, but it was a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t want to be tied to him, and I wouldn’t want a kid to have Wendi for a stepmother.”
“Amen to that.” He flattened his big hands on my thighs. “I answered. Your turn. No nursing school. What would you do?”
“Is money no object?” I had dreamed of what exactly I’d do so many times.
“Will it make a difference?”
“I suppose in how I’d travel.” The fantasies fell fast and hard in my head, stacking into a familiar wall of dreams that was always out of my reach. “I’d love to go to pastry school.”
“Pastry?” When I nodded, he thought for a moment. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“I’ve debated—should I go to culinary school? Get a degree or a certificate? Stick to pastries or train as a chef? If I was doing it again, I’d get a degree and get to know people. I grew up seeing how much networking benefited others.” And I’d seen the opposite. Doors were slammed in my face, thanks to my family’s lack of connections. “But now? I think I’d do a program. There are some fourteen-week ones in Boston, and I’ve looked at the pastry one. Pie in the sky? London. Then I’d travel. Like a taste-testing world tour.”
“Why pastry?”
“The only thing my aunt loved more than baking was going to bakeries, and she’d bring me. I like cooking too, but it’s not as interesting. If I could sell bread, I’d make it all the time. Kneading dough is therapy.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “You can smack it and it always bounces back.”
“You know what I’m the most upset about with the divorce?” He shook his head as if he was afraid of my answer. Like I would say I missed baking for Damien. “I had to leave my sourdough starter behind.”
“That bastard.”
I laughed. “I wasn’t living somewhere I could bake even though I could finally make bread and goodies without his comments.”
