He grinned at my offer. “How about this, Eliza? We can swap whiskey for beer? You give me all your good whiskey because I can actually drink it. And I’ll give you all my beer. We’ll call it an even trade.”
It was my turn to narrow my eyes into slits. “First of all, dollar for dollar, that is a terrible trade. My whiskey collection is worth at least four times what all your beer cost.” That was true not only because my bottles of whiskey way outpriced his cans and crowlers of beer, but because he barelyhada collection. It was hard to build a vault when you drank it almost as soon as you got it. “Second of all, hell no. Never. You won’t even get it after I’m dead. I’m going to be buried with it. In a giant mausoleum. Like an Egyptian goddess with all her jewels.”
Ada snorted. “You’re insane.”
Charlie turned to face her. “She’s dead serious.”
The front door opened, letting in a cold gust of January air. It was well before opening, but it wasn’t a customer. Jonah Mason walked in with a bottle in his hands and a smile on his lips.
“Who’s dead serious?” he asked, wasting no time jumping into our conversation. Which was so Jonah.
A flush of embarrassment heated my cheeks. It was so stupid and so out of place. I’d known Jonah my entire life, and he was well acquainted with my whiskey obsession. Still, it took everything in me not to throw my hand over Charlie’s mouth the second he started filling Jonah in.
“Eliza with her million-dollar whiskey collection.”
“It’s not worth a million dollars,” I added sternly. Everyone who knew me and took home similar salaries from our thriving but small bar knew that.
“Not yet,” Ada teased with a wink.
Her comment made me smile and forget the temporary insanity I always experienced whenever Jonah walked into the room. In my defense, he was unfairly handsome with dark, longish hair that had just enough body to make it curl in spots. And he constantly and very annoyingly pushed it behind his ears in this bashful way that made most women’s knees weak. Like he knew he had great hair but was also embarrassed by just how great his hair was. See? Obnoxious.
The humble arrogance was somehow endearing and adorable all at once. And no matter how annoyed I seemed to get with him, I was also always equally bewitched.
And then there was his face. His freaking face. His nose was slightly curved from where my eldest brother, Will, had slammed his elbow into it and broken it during a middle school pickup basketball game. And a scar through his left eyebrow from when Charlie had chucked a throwing star at him in high school. A joke gone very wrong. And then there was that crooked incisor he’d never gotten fixed because his mom had never been able to afford dental care. He hid it behind close-lipped smiles and his tongue in a sort of nervous tic. But it was all just a part of his charm. The crooked tooth was the furthest thing from an imperfection. If anything, it only highlighted just how perfect the rest of his face was. And then there were his eyes. A murky blue-gray that was sometimes more gray-blue, sometimes all steely gray, and sometimes nothing but blue-blue. The kind of blue that hinted at thunderstorms and bad weather. A blue sky obscured by hazy fog. They were as mercurial as he could be, a constantly changing temperature that kept me mesmerized and guessing at what he was thinking.
And then there was his style. Currently, it was thirty-eight degrees outside, and he was wearing a long-sleeved brewery T-shirt, gray skater shorts, and leather flip-flops. He was a grown man who still hated to have his toes covered by shoes. He claimed shoes made him claustrophobic.
Irritating, right?
Or completely charming... depending on my mood.
He walked straight over to where I was sitting and thrust the bottle into my hands. “Brought you another one to add to your collection.”
I looked at the label. I already had it. I’d gotten up stupid early this morning to be the first one at my fav hole-in-the-wall liquor store that was all of ten feet by ten feet. The ancient proprietor knew everything there was to know about alcohol and always got the best shipments. He was even willing to sell it to you if he liked you.
We had gotten a couple bottles for the bar too, but I had wanted one just for me. Plus, I loved the hunt. And I didn’t mind paying retail when I knew I was supporting a worthy cause. The worthy cause being good, well-made whiskey.
But Jonah was so proud of himself, and I couldn’t let him down. “Are you serious?” I gushed. If for no other reason than I could now save one bottle and drink the other without feeling remorse. “Where did you find it?”
He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I have my ways.”
I stomped down the urge to throw my arms around his neck and give him a kiss on the cheek. It would have been totally platonic, but we weren’t those kinds of friends. Close friends, yes. But friends with clear boundaries, thanks to my obnoxious brothers and their constant running commentary on my personal life. And professional life, for that matter. They felt completely comfortable sharing their opinions on anything ranging from my style preferences to my dating choices. While my outfit of the day only seemed to bother them when I wore something too fashion-forward for their taste, their disapproval of my type of men appeared to be all-encompassing. They tolerated my friendship with Jonah. I could only imagine what a spontaneous kiss on the cheek would do to them. Or Jonah. They’d probably all keel over dead.
Adorable little sister, Eliza, was only okay as long as she was anything but feminine.
“Thank you,” I told him sincerely. “I’m so excited to try this one. It’s gotten the best reviews.”
“You mean JoeSchmo gave it a good review?” He couldn’t hide his scorn for my favorite local Instagram influencer. JoeSchmo always had access to the best whiskey and beer, for that matter, and had an impeccable palate. I almost always agreed with him to the very last detail. I’d come to rely on him for guidance on all things whiskey.
I shrugged. “He said it’s the best batch Coopers’ Craft has ever produced.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat.
I dug my elbow into his side. “You really are the best. Thank you.”
He rubbed his side but smiled anyway. “Hey, gotta keep my clients happy.”
“Wait a second,” Charlie protested. “How come I never get any of these client gifts?”
