Brett continues walking with Benji, entering the small path at the end of the street, which leads to the park. "Hello?" I call after him.
"I’m processing," he says.
"You’re being lame," I tell him. "Would you rather I say I’ll give up my share and walk away from my Dad’s business?" Still no answer as he continues walking ahead. "Because it won’t happen."
We reach the gazebo in the center of the park, and Brett ties Benji’s leash to a narrow column before turning to face me. He’s grinning.
"What? I don’t understand what you’re getting at," I snap at him. "Why are you smiling?"
"You’re adorable when you get heated," he says, his eyes squinting into crescents as he bites down on his bottom lip.
I cross my arms and press my hip out to the side because I’m mildly irritated with his mind-game. "What do you want me to say, Brett?"
Brett’s gaze falters to the wooden planks beneath our feet as if he’s conjuring the words to respond. He drops his hands into his back pockets and refocuses on my face. "I love you. I’ve fallen very much in love with you," he says.
I find myself lost, staring into his glistening moonlit eyes. My body shivers in response, and my mouth becomes dry. "You want me to say, ‘I love you. I’ve fallen in love with you’ too?"
Brett’s lips to perk up in one corner. "No, you don’t have to say that, but I’m telling you how I feel."
My head tilts to the side, and I smile up at him. "I know I don’t have to say it, but I do love you too, and I lost count of the days between the time I fell in love with you and today.”
Brett takes a few steps closer, reaching for my hand. "I didn’t want to accept a business proposal before telling you I would choose you and your happiness over half of your family business. I want to know you want me to continue running the shop with you because if you don’t, I will walk away from the business to make you happy and keep you in my life."
"I wouldn’t be running any part of the shop if it hadn’t been for you. I can’t imagine being there without you," I tell him. "Maybe the rest of our lives will happily fall into place, and maybe they won’t. But for now, let’s assume they will and gamble with the odds."
Brett’s cold hands cup my cheeks as he stares down into my eyes for a long drawn out second, smiling at me with contentment. "I really really love you," he says, lowering his lips to mine.
28
A Year Later
I didn’t thinkwe’d ever have another party in The Barrel House after Dad passed, but Brett thought it might be nice to continue his tradition. Usually,Dad would hold the party during the holidays, but the time of year is still raw, so he mentioned waiting a few months. Then we could recreate a Harold Quinn style bourbon party.
I’m excited to host the party. I think it will be a wonderful turnout, and Dad would be proud. I put a little extra effort into my hair and makeup, and I’m wearing something a little more elegant than I have in the past to these parties. Dad always dressed formally during a party. He said it was a form of respect for the business and it made him feel prideful. I needed to do the same today.
I found a perfect black cocktail dress. I spin in front of my mirror, telling myself I look the part of a business owner; classy and elegant.
I hear a horn blare from outside the house. I recognize the horn because Journey doesn’t get out of her Jeep unless necessary when picking someone up. She agreed to drive Mom and me to the party. Parking is only available right off the main street at the firehouse, and there are only a few spots in the back for staff. We opened the back lot where we take in deliveries, so we’d have more space, but it will still be a tight squeeze.
"Look at you, all fancy," Journey says as I try to climb into her back seat without flashing my butt to the rest of the neighborhood.
I scoot all the way in to look at what Journey’s wearing, and I’m not surprised to see the black pants. She has a coat on, so I don’t know what shirt she’s wearing, but I assume it’s dressier than her normal attire.
Mom takes a seat in the front and pulls down the mirror to apply her last coat of lipstick. “I’m happy we’re doing this," Journey says. "Dad wouldn’t have wanted these parties to stop."
"I agree," Mom says.
"He’ll be there with us," I tell them.
While driving down the back roads toward the center of town, I see Journey thumbing out a text on her phone. "Are you serious? Quit texting while you’re driving," I yell at her.
She hits the send button before dropping her phone into the cup holder. "Okay, I’m done."
"I’m serious. You’re going to get into an accident. It’s not worth it."
"Okay, okay, I understand." She says this a lot, and I’m sure she understands but chooses not to care.
"I really don’t like it when you text and drive either," Mom tells Journey. "You promised you weren’t texting while you drive anymore."
