Durban is behind the bar. Does the distillery buy tight T-shirts and blue jeans in bulk? Except for Cruz’s older brotherLane, who wears suits once in a while, that’s all I’ve seen the five owners in.
Technically, there are six. Lane and Cruz have an older brother who stops into the bakery to pick up various desserts when he’s in town. Myles Foster is the founder and owner of Foster House, but he brought in his brothers and the Hennessys to invest and run the Huckleberry Springs site they call Foster House Gold.
I hear and see a lot in the bakery, and I like to be in the know. Because thenI’llknow if my personal business ever starts making the rounds.
I weave around the tables toward Clem. She grins at me.
“If she gets out of line,” Cruz says to me, “we’ll put her to work.”
Clem gives him a playful glare. I ignore him.
“Don’t listen to him,” Edna calls, not missing a beat in her crocheting. “We’ll move this shindig if the guys try to ruin our fun.”
Cruz chuckles, and gah! It’s such a deep, pleasing sound. “As long as no stools go through the window. And Durban will need you all to sign a disclaimer before there’s any dancing on the tables.”
Durban nods, but the smoldering glance he shoots Campbell suggests that there’s been some private table dancing already.
“Where can I put these?” Cruz holds up the bags.
“I’ve got them.” I set the containers with the samples on the bar counter. He doesn’t leave my side as I unload them. “Thanks,” I say in a way that sounds more like goodbye. He doesn’t move until I shoot him a deliberate stare.
He ducks his head, but his smile is allcharm your pants off. I immediately look away. A thousand pairs of panties can burn off, but I’m not going to do anything about it. After I arrange the containers of baked goods, I bring them to the bar counter.
“I have enough here for all of you to taste test,” I explain to Durban even though Cruz is leaning on the counter and hanging on my every word. “I put the huckleberry vodka in the batter and the frosting of the cupcakes. Your spiced gin was used for the oatmeal raisin cookie. Then”—I move the samples around to stimulate my memory—“another cupcake because I wanted to play with the gin. This time I put it in the filling. Oh, I also made a single-serving spiced cake with a buttery whiskey glaze. If there’s something you don’t like, don’t hesitate to tell me.”
“Samples?” Durban peers at the goodies. “You didn’t have to.”
“I told you I would.” I shoot Cruz a questioning look. Didn’t he pass the message along?
“That’s right, you did. I must’ve forgot.” Cruz’s lopsided grin probably makes all the girls forget when he doesn’t keep his word.
I don’t play relationship games like that anymore. It’s easier not to do relationships at all. No one’s made me want to—until Cruz turned my head. But I swiveled it right back to my goals—to run an honest, successful business and pay it forward as much as I can.
“Thanks, Elodie,” Durban says to me before turning to Cruz. “I’ve gotta pop into the storeroom. Be right back.”
Cruz nods, his attention on me.
I’m going to smolder and start smoking if he leaves it there, and it’ll burn away my resistance. I grasp for something, anything, to deflect the heat and keep my wits about me. It shouldn’t be so easy, and maybe it’s not fair to Cruz. He could’ve legitimately forgotten, or he could be like someone else I once knew and playing games.
“Don’t say you’re going to do something when you don’t mean it.” I keep my voice low so only we can hear.
He blinks. “I’m sor?—”
“Don’t apologize when you don’t mean it.” Anger that Cruz isn’t responsible for rises from the depths I try to keep it in and aims right at him. “Don’t keep trying to help me. I don’t want it. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but it’s not me. No more flirting. No more fake promises. You need to leave me alone.”
His jaw goes slack. Oh my god, did I go too far? The bewilderment and, dammit, hurt in his eyes turn my well-aged fury to panic. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and ignored him like usual. Only Cruz doesn’t make it easy.
The urge to apologize is strong. To tell him I don’t mean any of it. But I do. I have to.
I take refuge with my sister at her table, my heart racing. Eventually, Campbell sits with us. I struggle to draw a full breath and the middle of my shoulders aches from the tension I’m holding. The handsome distiller reminds me of too many bad boys I’ve known in my life. It’s not his fault, but I need space. Lots of it.
Cruz chats with Durban before he steps away from the bar. I slip a stitch on my project. I lashed out way harder than I meant to and much harsher than he deserved. I glance up and my gaze collides with his. He only gives me a tip of his head and disappears into the main distillery.
I slump in my seat and keep working on the bodice of an apron for the silent auction basket. Guilt and longing mix in my chest and breathing is hard again.
Well, there’s the space I wanted.
CHAPTER TWO
