"Okay, it was the last time."
"I hope so," Mom says.
The small titter of arguing eats up the rest of the time it takes to arrive at The Barrel House. We take a spot in the back and park behind Brett’s truck since we’d be leaving at the same time, anyway.
As we make our way to the front of the shop, the caterers are bustling in through the front door, mission style without expression. Tables are being opened, and cloths are snapping in the air before falling into place while serving ware is delicately set on a side table.
The three of us are standing in awe watching the caterers set everything up so flawlessly, so a hand on my shoulder makes me jump.
I turn, finding Brett decked out in a suit and tie, his hair slicked, and cleanly shaven. "Your dad liked to add a little class to his parties, so I wanted to uphold the tradition. I see you felt the same," he says, his eyes roaming the landscape of my body from head to toe. "You look absolutely gorgeous."
"You—" I say, breathlessly. "Wow,you look amazing." He wraps his hand around my arm and leans to the side to give me a kiss on the cheek. "I’ll be right back."
"It’s almost like … he’s too perfect," Journey says to me.
"There’s no such thing," I retort.
"I know," she agrees, looping her arm around my neck. "I’m glad your wish came true with him. It’s hard to believe you knew exactly what you wanted at seventeen, but I guess some of us figure out life a lot sooner than others, right?" The woman of few words speaks profoundly about life, but to a point, making me wonder if she’s unhappy being alone. She’s vowed to be single for life because it’s what will make her happy, but I have always wondered if that ideal life might not be so appealing someday.
"What about your dream?" I ask her.
"I’m living it," she says.
"You still don’t want to get married or have a family?"
Journey keeps her focus set ahead while we continue watching the caterers bustle around. "I don’t know. Maybe there’s someone out there for me. We’ll see."
Mom and I lean back to give each other a questioning look behind Journey’s head. I don’t think either of us expected her to say what she did.
"There’s definitely someone out there for you.” I hope she knows this.
Journey shrugs and walks off to straighten a tablecloth. "Something has gotten into her," Mom says.
"Someone," I joke and nudge my elbow into Mom’s side.
"Melody," she retorts. "Be nice."
It isn’t long before the guests pour into the shop, filling every corner, every open space. Every glass is in a hand, and the conversations are cheerful and full of life, just as Dad loved.
He always made a speech at the beginning of parties to thank his guests for their patronage and loyalty.
"I’d like to make a toast," I announce as loud as my voice will carry. I hold my glass up to get the crowd’s attention. It isn’t long before there’s nothing more than a low whisper from a few people. "I want to thank you all for being here tonight. As you know, this is the first Barrel House party without my dad, but we all thought it was important to continue his beloved tradition in honor of his favorite customers." Everyone is quiet and listening intently. The silence makes my heart pound. "My dad once explained to me—there are times in the distilling process when some of the bourbon evaporates from the barrel. This is due to a pressure change or temperature fluctuation. At first, I thought—what a waste, but then he told me those barrels often result in the best tasting product. In distillery terms, this occurrence is referred to as an angel’s share because the ‘bourbon evaporates into the heavens.’" I didn’t think of the irony at the time Dad was explaining this bit of knowledge to me, but now, the reminder makes me smile. "Well, my dad is now an angel’s share too—he is the part of The Barrel House that left us for heaven, leaving behind, nothing but the finest." I take a breath to swallow the choky feeling rising in my throat but lift my glass a little higher. "In honor of Harold Quinn, thank you for being here tonight."
Glasses clink, and a rumble of the word "cheers" rolls through the shop.
"I’d also like to say something," Brett says, walking up behind me and placing his hand on my bare shoulder.
He clears his throat before speaking. "This year has been difficult for the Quinn family, but I’m very honored to have been here to help keep this business running with the Quinns. Harold didn’t want his legacy to die with him, and we won’t let it." I lift my glass to clink his, but Brett pulls his glass away. "I’m not done," he mutters. Brett steps in front of me, facing the guests. "I had this conversation with Harold the night before he passed away. He said to me: ‘Son, it’s only a business, and though it was my life’s passion, my wife and daughters have always been my key to happiness. I know I can’t predict the future or alter what might be, but I’ve seen the way you have always looked at Melody, even tonight. If the two of you ever find a spark, I know she will understand the meaning of joy, as I did. Things may never work out in such a way, but if they do, I believe it’s meant to be.’"
Brett pauses after repeating Dad’s words, and it feels like my heart stops beating for a moment. I have my hand over my mouth, trying to keep myself from tearing up at the words I never knew Dad said to Brett.
"He said this?" I ask, feeling my throat tighten from the rush of surprise.
Brett turns around to face me, his glass in hand, a smile on his face. "He did. Maybe he felt an intuition. Maybe he lived long enough to know a spark when he saw one. This last year and a half with you has been nothing but bliss for me," he says.
"I didn’t know if I would find a sense of contentment after he left us," I tell him. "But I feel nothing but happiness when I’m with you.”
Brett places his glass down on a nearby table and reaches into his coat pocket, retrieving something, something to make my heart beat out of my chest. He kneels in front of me and opens a small black suede box. "Melody Quinn, will you be my forever happiness, my life, and my wife?"
