I beg to differ.
The thing about being the daughters of a bourbon Master Distiller means we had access to beverages when we shouldn’t have. Dad was sure we’d never touch the stuff after one whiff, but he was wrong one time. That one time has made me refuse to try bourbon again.
7
I must have beenpart of the most unforgettable kiss known to man. If that’s a thing. He asked me if I was Melody or Journey. Journey has been coloring her hair since she was fifteen, so I’m the only redhead in the family now. Maybe I was a joke to him the night of the party, and he’d rather pretend like it didn’t happen.
Well, I can pretend the same. Just because Brett stole my first kiss doesn’t mean I need to give him the credit. He doesn’t deserve it.
"Why are you so quiet?" Journey asks as she parks behind the firehouse.
“I’m thinking," I tell her.
"About Brett?"
"No," I grunt. “Don’t bring his name up again, okay?"
"Okay, I won’t repeat Brett’s name again. It looks like he’s already here, though. That’s weird. Dad said he wouldn’t be in until ten."
I glance at the time on the dash, realizing it’s only eight. "Hmm."
"Well, let’s see what he’s up to," Journey says, casually, yet snarky at the same time.
"Have you seen him before today? Or since I saw him last ... ten years ago?" I ask Journey, curious if she knows more about him than she’s saying, or not saying.
Journey shakes her head and purses her bottom lip. "Nope. Ihaven’t heard much of him at all, in fact." She removes the key from the ignition, and we step out into the frigid air. The scent offresh snow swirls through the air around, me and with the clouds clearing in the sky, I notice the mountaintops are covered with a white blanket.
Journey unlocks the back door of the firehouse: it’s oversized, red, and rusty like it’s always been. It takes two hands to pull the thing open. I like that Dad didn’t change all parts of the original building. It gives the place character.
The shop itself won’t open for another hour, but I guess the machines need maintenance or need to be turned on, or—I’m not exactly sure.
I follow Journey in through the back room, spotting the basement light on. Before papa bought this location, the town’s firemen would park the firetrucks down there since the garage doors open to the side where the road is flat and flows onto the main Street. Even the fireman’s pole is still intact. I spent many days flying down that thing, burning the inside of my legs in the summer when I had shorts on. It’s a wonder how I only have fond childhood memories of this place.
Journey and I head down the battleship gray painted cement steps, finding the usual view of walls lined with barrels.
"He’s cleaning the new batch of kernels," Journey says.
"Huh? Kernels? Why would we be—"
The machine is so loud I can hardly hear the sound of my voice as we enter the machinery area. Sure enough, Brett is standing in front of a machine, hands in his pockets, watching whatever it is he’s doing.
Journey waves her hands in the air to get his attention.My personal thought is: he deserves to have the shit scared out of him, but I guess we can be nice since he’s here trying to help and all.
He doesn’t seem startled in the slightest when he sees Journey waving. In return, he offers us a simple wave, leans in to inspect a part of the machine, then heads toward our direction.
We back out of the area so we can hear a little better. "I thought you weren’t coming in until ten?" Journey asks him, checking her watch as if she needs to highlight her question. We know what time it is. We’ve been awake; up and about for four hours now.
"Yeah, I thought I’d pop byfor a few minutes, but I have to leave soon. I knew we had to get these kernels cleaned today and wanted to get a head start.”
"Oh," I say. It’s the only thing I’ve said so far while standing here watching the process of—I should know what this part of the process is.
"Journey, right?" Brett says, offering his hand to my sister.
"Yeah, we spent some time together when we were younger," she replies with a little smirk.
"Sure, I remember."Oh, you remember meeting my sister, but you don’t remember kissing me. How nice."Well, we have an incoming shipment of water due around noon, so I might need a little help to get the path cleared. Things seem a little out of sorts here."
I wonder if Mr. Crawley has been having trouble keeping up.
