“Thanks.”
I wind through the merch store and up the wooden staircase with metal handrails that reflect the rest of the distillery’s style. An elevator was added during renovations, and it’s often used by tourists. The second level looks over the trees and into the mountains behind the building. Guests receive some gold mining lore as part of the tour.
Three guys, none of them Hennessys, but all still shockingly handsome, exit the meeting room. Like the Hennessy brothers, the Foster brothers resemble each other. I met Lane and Cruz at Jamison’s wedding, and I see them running errands around town and chatting with business owners. Both are tall, with black hair and blue eyes. Lane’s short hairstyle does nothing to hide his shrewd gaze, while Cruz’s stylishly long hair just highlights his devil-may-care grin. They’re both tall, but stockier than their oldest brother, Myles. Jamison told me once that Myles is Lane and Cruz’s older half brother.
“Bring Wynter and the kids next time,” Lane tells Myles. “And if you’re not bringing Mae herself, I’m notletting you in without her chocolate chip cookies next time.”
Who’s Mae?
Myles smirks. “I dropped them off at your house. Along with the eggs.” He glances at Cruz. “Yours too.”
Cruz grins. “I knew I gave you my code for a good reason.” Cruz waves me over. “Heya, Campbell. Durban said you were coming by today. You ever meet my brother? Myles, this is Jamison’s sister, Campbell.”
I tuck the box under my arm and stretch out a hand.
“Nice to finally meet you.” He gives my hand a firm shake. I’ve never felt shorter than I do now around the Foster brothers, except for when I’m standing around the Hennessys. “Thank you for helping Foster House Gold break into the local events scene.”
“Seems to be our common goal,” I say, and again, there’s no flutter. Myles and his brothers are hot. No reaction. But the thought of Durban being through that door with his glower has my nerves tingling on high alert. What’s going on with me? “Nice to meet the oldest Foster.”
“And now we’ve shown her that it doesn’t get any better than me and Cruz,” Lane jokes.
“Now she knows you’re full of shit,” Myles says smoothly. “And I’m not buying lunch.”
“Haven can get it.” Cruz folds his arms, and his biceps bulge. “He lost the last bet anyway.”
“What can I get?” Haven’s the next to leave the meeting room, Iverson on his heels. They both nod their greetings to me.
“Lunch,” Cruz answers.
I brandish my box of pistachio-crème-filled cruffins. They’re my favorite of Elodie’s creations. I already atemine, or I’d be wearing half of the sugar coating. I can eat gallons of her custard. I open the lid and all the guys peer inside, interest lighting up their faces. “There’ll be dessert waiting for you when you get back.”
Myles snaps his fingers. “Thanks for reminding me. Wynter wants me to bring home a dozen of something.”
“Sure,” Lane says. “It’s Wynter and the kids asking for the goodies.”
Myles mock scowls at him. “Elsa likes to bake, but she changes the recipes without understanding the science behind them. Her last three batches of cupcakes have been... interesting.” Pride shines in his eyes regardless of how the cupcakes must’ve been. “She’s going to work as Bourbon Canyon’s baker, but she likes to sample other goods.”
A dad who’s proud of his daughter despite her mishaps. Who’d have thought?
The Fosters filter out. Iverson gives me a light slap on the shoulder as he passes. “Ready to kill them with kindness?”
The “them” in question is Stanford and January. “And competence.”
“You’ll do fine.”
He heads down the stairs after the others. I can’t tell from his tone if he’s really convinced I’m going to do okay. Iamgood at my job. I love planning and coordinating events. Meetings, gatherings—it doesn’t matter. It’s just too bad I had to come home in order to do it.
When I turn around, Durban is in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face.
I startle, and the lid of the box falls closed. “Jeepers. Scare a girl lately?”
He cocks an arrogant brow. “Just the jumpy ones.”
Fright is not what’s swirling in my belly and sinking lower. Fear isn’t making me appreciate his wide shoulders and the natural power in his stance. This guy doesn’t have to boast and intimidate to get respect or authority. He possesses it to the point where I might beg him to use it.
Oh God. Get off the subject of his body and what he can do with it. He’s so not my type.If I keep saying it, maybe it’ll become true. “Aren’t you going to lunch?”
“I have an important meeting.” He checks his watch. “And you’re early.”
