Shaking my head, I enter the distilling area. The smell of warm grains surrounds me. Open tanks of mash bubble away. Overall, it’s smaller than the mainheadquarters outside of Denver, but we make smaller batches too, and multiple spirits. We don’t have the distribution needs either, so fewer trucks have to navigate the winding highway here.
Iverson is at the tanks, Kasey sitting on a stool next to him, swinging her legs and holding a clipboard. She’s scribbling on it like she’s logging important data.
“Hiya, Uncle Durban.”
I muss her hair. “Keeping him in line, little one?”
She nods. “I’m doing what Mama told me.”
Iverson turns from where he’s monitoring the water fill for a new mash. “Durban, I know you have the wedding bull—uh, business, but can you cover chores for me if Jamison delivers early? Haven said he can help too. We’re trying to get everything figured out, since this wedding is going to take up any grandparent help we usually get.”
“Of course. Everything okay?”
He brushes a hand across the back of his forehead. His scruff is shaggier than usual, like he’s rushed out of the house after getting Kacey ready, but not himself. “It’s fine as long as her blood pressure is. She’s working from home a lot so she can have her legs up.”
I can see the circles under his eyes. Excitement simmers in his dark irises, but he’s also worried. And stressed. “Christine doesn’t care if she’ll miss the wedding,” he continues. “She wants to support Campbell, but you know how it is. Campbell might get blamed if her parents aren’t at the wedding party’s beck and call.”
“Auntie Campbell’s fun.” Kasey kicks her feet against the stool.
Auntie Campbell won’t be having a lot of fun thesenext four weeks. “I have the tasting in an hour, then I can do whatever needs to be done here so you can cut out early.”
Iverson scratches the side of his cheek and looks around. “Do you mind getting Kacey a snack?”
“Sure. Oh—I have a couple mash bills I can send you too.” Formulas for new recipes we can try. “And I found some other companies that do small-barrel aging successfully.”
“Yeah, sure. We’re planned out for the year, but go ahead. Send me what you’ve got.”
I clamp down on my tongue. This place has a lot of cooks in the kitchen. Lane and Cruz could each run the distilling side, not just the business end, but Iverson has taken to distilling like it’d been his calling his entire life and not wrangling cattle. I don’t want to ruin that for him, and I definitely don’t want him to feel like his role at Foster House is slipping because he’s growing a family. Iverson and Lane function more like supervisors—Lane on the company end, and Iverson on the distilling side. But that all leaves me feeling like I’m asking for permission, not collaborating.
“Come on, kiddo.” I hold out my hand to Kacey. I’m not putting pressure on Iverson when he’s already under stress. “I’ll make you a Shirley Temple while I’m getting the tasting room ready.”
She climbs down from the stool, and I bring that with me too, setting it by the standing desk and computers we use to log our times and temperatures.
I unlock the tasting room and usher her inside. We’re greeted by clean finishes that match the timber-and-steel look on the outside. Large windows face theparking lot and the rickhouse adjacent to the main building.
She scurries toward the bar and yanks a barstool out. Clambering onto it, she slaps her clipboard onto the top of the counter. There are drawings of... cats? A dog? A tick? It’s round and has four legs sticking out from various points around its body.
“Want a cherry?” I ask, getting a special plastic cup we store for her.
“Three,” she says with a toothy smile.
I fill her cup with Sprite and grenadine and plop in five cherries. She giggles.
“That’s why I’m your favorite uncle,” I tease. It’s not true. Haven’s the fun uncle. He swings her around while I avoid nursemaid elbow. He gives her endless refills of Shirley Temples while I cut her off at two. She could murder someone, and he’d make it a game to hide the body. I’m more likely to teach her about different soil types and how long body decomposition takes.
She draws more... creatures... while I dig out bottles of our gin, vodka, and whiskey. While she’s occupied, I’ll work on the menu for each bar we’re providing at the wedding.
I take out the notepad where I like to scribble mixology notes. So far, I’ve stuck to common cocktails for each spirit. For whiskey, we’ll offer a Manhattan and an old-fashioned, then our spin on some classics, like a mint julep with cherry liqueur and our own whiskey-infused cherries. Definitely not the ones I gave Kacey.
I drop three more regular maraschino cherries into her glass.
She digs them out. “Can I have more?” she asks around a mouthful.
“Let me get you some crackers instead.” I dig into the cupboard where we keep a stash for her. “Want a beef stick with cheese?”
She nods, and I prepare a preschooler charcuterie board for her, complete with two more cherries.
The door opens, and Campbell breezes in on a gust of huckleberry and sunshine air. Her hair is pulled off her face in a loose braid, and when she grins at Kacey, my heart rams into my ribs.
