“Mom got frustrated when I’d start so many projects and just leave them.”
Edna shrugs and takes a drink. “I don’t care if you start a hundred blankets and never finish. It’s not about productivity. It’s about hookers and booze.”
“All right. I’ll make sure I’m free.” The wedding party will have to accept that I’m not theirs twenty-four seven. “Until then, I’ll get it all arranged for you, and I can run a socials page or anything you want to keep your group informed.”
“Let me know your rates.”
I wave her off. “This is nothing.”
“Campbell Joanna Hawthorne, I am paying you.” Edna used to volunteer at the school when I was a kid. She downs the rest of her drink and digs a twenty out of her purse. “My ride’s here.” Slapping it on the table, she rises and shuffles away before I can argue with her.
“She keeps paying.” Durban picks up the money. “We save it and add it to her yearly bonus.” He stands and digs out a box from a cabinet behind the bar. “Joanna?”
“One of my grandmas.” I push the tables in. “Mom was terrified people would call me CJ, but she loved the name Campbell. So she extinguished every CJ she heard. What about you? Where does your name come from?”
“My brothers and I all have family surnames fromMom’s side. Iverson was her maiden name, Durban was her mom’s maiden name, and Haven was her grandmother’s maiden name.”
“Nice to have some family legacy like that.”
“I guess,” he says noncommittally. “I never knew them. There’s a history of running off.”
“I’m sorry.” I cross to the bar.
“It is what it is.”
I slide apart a few of the papers he set on the top. Neat, boxy handwriting fills the page. Some of the numbers are measurements. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.” He tucks the box back.
I don’t know Durban well, but these aren’t nothing. I’m being nosy, but I spin a sheet around. Oak-aged vodka, along with lengths of time and amounts for the recipe is listed.
Another piece of paper has a different time for double-barreled whiskey. “Honey infused?”
“Yeah,” he says gruffly and gathers them up. He stuffs them in whatever slot behind the counter Edna’s money is kept in. “Just what I do when the bar’s quiet.”
I know he and his brothers work the tasting room, along with the Foster brothers, but they really need to be capitalizing on that. How many office parties would suddenly be scheduled by the women making the decisions? Pictures of them are all I’d use to pitch the tasting room. “Have you done any yet?”
“No.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. I shouldn’t pry, but there are layers to Durban I haven’t seen before, and I’d like to pry them all apart. “Why not?”
He flattens his hands on the bar top and seems to deliberate. “They want to stick to safe products rightnow. They’re afraid that if we weave too far out of the margins, we could damage the whole Foster House reputation. So, we’re sticking with tried-and-true blends, and doing single-barrel lines, barrel strength, double barrel, and simple infusions.”
“But you want to play?”
“I’m interested in the science of it, yes.” His gaze sweeps around the bar, taking in the clean wooden lines of the beams used more for decoration than support. “My brothers and I all own a part of this place. Not the main headquarters, but this site. Foster House Gold. Forty-nine percent owners.”
“Forty-nine percent divided by three? So you don’t have as much say in how to run the place.”
He works his jaw back and forth. “The Fosters don’t make us feel that way, and Myles didn’t have to sell any part of this at all. He wanted to buy this property straight out.”
“Just like that?”
“Foster House does very well. But part of his brand is helping out people like us. Former foster kids trying to make a better life for ourselves. Iverson was in charge of the trust our dad left behind, and we agreed to sell the old mine and any acreage the distillery would need if we could invest back in. Myles did more than that. He trained us. Gave us a profession that won’t ruin our bodies, and hell, we even have retirement accounts now. I’m grateful.”
“But it’s not enough?” I ask softly.
A guy like Durban, who has shelves full of books and sketches out formulations and recipes and woos women with PhDs, won’t settle for being the help forever. He might’ve done it when they had nothing but a tapped-out gold mine, but now this distilleryisa gold mine, and he wants to take his pick and dig in.
