Junie grabbed a bag out of the back seat. She paused with the back door half open. “And in the end it was nothing but brunch and bourbon...” Her lovely voice carried over the lawn. The tune sounded like love gone wrong. She tapped the toe of her strappy sandal. “What about...Brunch and bourbon and a broken heart.” She added twang and it was a party song.
“I like the one that sounds like there’ll be a line dance for it.” Wynter flounced past her. “But it’s not your style.”
Junie closed the door. “I can write it and sell it.”
Had I just witnessed the magic behind June Bee’s music? She made decisions that could make her millions on a random Saturday morning?
Everyone rushed toward me. Each one was carrying a bag. I stepped aside and lingered as they chatted and unloaded their goods. Fruit trays, veggie platters, charcuterie arrangements on a board with a shovel for a handle.
“Jonah started offering smaller-scale woodworking,” Summer explained when she caught me looking at it, pride filling her expression. She feathered a lock of strawberry-blond hair behind her ear. The rest was secured in a low ponytail. “He knows he won’t be able to flip tables around forever, so he’s starting to make cutting boards and charcuterie boards. You won’t believe what someone will pay for a cutting board.”
“Does he etch his picture into the back side?” Wynter asked. “You could tack on thirty more bucks for each product.”
Summer grinned. “He would give out cutting boards for free to keep from having to do that.” She leaned against the island and opened a bottle of orange juice. “We also brought mimosa supplies—except we had to buy ginger ale instead of champagne for the nursing ladies. Virgin mimosa, anyone?”
“Ginger beer would’ve made it a virgin mule,” Wynter said, “and I thought that fit this crowd. But I forgot to grab some from home before we went to the store.”
“Want one?” Summer asked, holding up the OJ bottle.
I’d drink whatever they put in front of me. “Yes, please.”
“Don’t let me forget to add ginger beer versus ale to my content lineup.” Ruby grinned and nudged me. “You and I can take ours with a splash of bourbon.”
“Which would make it a Kentucky mimosa,” Wynter said, then frowned. “Or an orange mule?”
Autumn pursed her lips. “Hmm... still no ginger beer. I’d go with Kentucky mimosa.”
“Ooh, I’m tracking that discussion in my posts too,” Ruby added.
Scarlett grinned. “Whatever you call it, make mine one too.” She thumped a bottle of half-empty bourbon on the counter. “I brought Original.”
“How much are we drinking?” My stomach rumbled. The food intrigued me more than the booze.
“Depends how much telling off your mama bothered you.” Summer handed me a flute.
“How did you—” I’d been rooted in one spot and they already had a feast laid out and a drink in my hand.
Three drinks. Ruby had a line of filled glasses in front of her. “These are all virgin. Unlike every one of us.”
Junie whooped and grabbed one. She held it in the air. “Load your plates up, ladies.”
“Mind if we go to the deck?” Wynter asked, handing me a plate.
“I . . .” I didn’t, but would Teller?
Wynter smirked as if she’d read my mind. “You could host a rager and tear the literal roof off and I think that man would just ask if you felt better.”
I took a nervous drink of my mimosa. “Not so sure about that.”
“Oh, we are,” Autumn said. “You know how we know?”
Summer lifted her arms to encompass the whole kitchen. “We’re here. He hardly has company over—not even family. I call dibs on the hammock chair.” She wrestled the sliding door open.
I filled my plate and drank half my juice. Ruby topped it off before I went outside. Heat wrapped around me, along with the fresh smell of pine trees and sunshine.
The umbrella on the patio table was up and the plexiglass surface was dust-free. Same with the chairs. Teller had gotten it all ready.
That man.
