I puff out a sigh of relief when I enter my air-conditioned house. After running through the shower, I dress in a blue Dee’sSweets shirt with a clean pair of jeans. It’s been three days since I’ve seen her, and I’ve wanted to text her, call her, and stop by. But friends aren’t smothering.
Friends give friends space. And nearly come in their pants from a kiss.
There’s also her reaction after what I said—I never stuck around to find out. I said my piece and left. I can talk about forgiveness, but what if she doesn’t want to date a guy who has a juvie record? I’ve made a lot of changes, and I’ve worked hard, but there’s still lingering insecurity that it won’t be enough to erase the little shit I used to be.
I get in my pickup and drive to Foster House. Only Durban, Campbell, and Haven are there. Lane will clean up after he finishes the cutting and Iverson will arrive with Jamison and his kids.
Inside the tasting room, that punch of pride hits me. I helped design the interior, from the types of tables and chairs to the stone under the windows, to bring out that industrial aesthetic. When I stand inside, I feel like I went from the gutter to the penthouse.
I’m never going back there. I’ll never be that guy again, using my size to intimidate others. I’m better than I was raised, and I’m a fuckton better than my dad. I might’ve spent a night in jail, but not the rest of my life.
Durban’s behind the bar, digging out glasses and lining up bottles. At the end of the counter is a line of juice and water. Campbell’s pushing two tables together by the wall, a bowl with pretzels on one.
“What can I help with?” I ask.
Campbell steals a pretzel and hip bumps a table the last inch, her summer dress swirling around the tips of her boots. “Decorations.”
For the next hour, I hang banners and spread out tiny candy pacifiers, line up baby bottles for Durban to fill with virgin mimosas, and tape balloons around the room. By the time we’re done, the trendy tasting room is transformed into baby shower headquarters. Lane and I are pros at these after all the Bailey babies born over the last fifteen years.
Haven pops in from the main distillery, where he was checking on the tanks and recording temperatures and pressures. Then Jamison and Campbell’s other sister, Avery, shows up with her partner, Thea. Both are walking catalogues for athleisure wear. They look equally ready for a daylong brunch or a hike.
Jamison, Avery, and Campbell’s parents arrive next, the picture of lifelong ranchers. Their clothing is nice but sturdy and worn enough to suggest that they don’t just oversee the ranch, they’re hands-on.
Staff from the ranch start arriving. I’ve met Chef Cecil, but Durban introduces me to his wife. Then the guest ranch foreman and several housekeepers arrive, Chef’s sous-chef, and some of the guys the Hennessys worked with.
A chorus of cheers goes up when Iverson and his family arrive. The tasting room is full of people, and the sounds of talking and laughter bounce off the walls. I make small talk with everyone, but my gaze continuously strays out the window. Clem isn’t here yet, so I’m not giving up hope that Elodie’s going to show. Several more minutes tick by and my disappointment grows.
Clem pulls into the parking lot and my hope surges. I search for Elodie, but Clem’s alone. Fuck.
After half an hour, I step out of the tasting room and into the merch store. The door shuts behind me, muffling the noise. Will I ever quit screwing up with Elodie? She let me close to her as afriend and then I shoved my tongue down her throat and pushed my erection into her.
I shove my hand through my hair just as Lane lets himself into the main entrance of the place. His still-damp hair is shiny and combed to the side, and unlike the rest of us, he’s wearing his nicer jeans and a dressier shirt.
His brows rise when he sees me. “What’s up?”
I prop my hands on my hips. “Nothing. Just taking a breather.”
His gaze jumps to the full tasting room and back. “Lot of people.”
“Yep.”
“That doesn’t usually bother you.”
No. It never has. “Elodie’s not here. I kissed her the other night.”
As much as I’d like to keep my continued rejection to myself, it’s always helped to talk to Lane. It’s like he came through that entrance because he knew I’d be here, handling my emotions so I wouldn’t ask,Where’s Elodie?to everyone who talks to me.
Awareness fills his eyes. “That doesn’t usually bother you either.”
I’ve kissed plenty of women. Had my share of sex. None of them has stuck in my head. If they wanted more and I didn’t, I moved on. If they didn’t want more, I moved on because ultimately, I never did either.
This time I do. I want it all. “We went on a couple of dates, then she got spooked. I convinced her we could be friends, but then I kissed her.”
His brows draw together like he’s reading into the definition of that kiss and that it was no mere peck. “She pushed you away?”
“Not really, but I haven’t talked to her since then, and she hasn’t tried reaching out to me. I stepped over the line.”
“Or life just happened. She runs her own business. Things come up. We know that.”
