“And I know what you’re doing.”
One golden brow arches. “And what is that?” He looks around the booth. “You’re Cruz, right? The founder’s brother?”
I don’t answer him. People like to use personal details as leverage. No part of my life has that sort of power and he needs to know it.
His smile fades, and a hard glint lights his eyes. This is the real Dean. “I’m going to stop by and see Dee.”
The way he uses that name rankles me. “It’s Elodie.”
He cocks his head. “Is it?” He gets a faraway look in his eye. “I feel like I’ve met her before.”
Again, something in his tone settles like lead in the gut. Does he know her? Does she know him? “And I feel like you’re messing with her. The folks around here won’t let you do that.”
“Nah, I’m not messing with her. I’m just a fan of that apricot bread. The whiskey glaze is new. Are you the inspiration for that?”
I don’t give him an answer.
He rubs his stomach. “I might just have to go get some now. Do you know if she’s single?”
Anger sears across the back of my neck. “I can’t see where it’s your business.”
“Eh, I can ask her.”
Dean is being a dick because he can be. He wants me to be flustered, get angry, and damage my own business. Anything I do will spill over to the Dee’s Sweets booth.
I flip out another tasting cup. “You say you’re not a gin guy. You’ve gotta try this.” I ooze some of that charm I’m known for.
This time, I fill the damn thing with our strongest gin. The botanicals slap a person right across the palate. Only major ginlovers will enjoy it. I packed it today because a few people in town are gin aficionados and will be stopping by.
Distaste turns down the corners of his mouth, but he’s not backing away from the challenge. He shoots the whole thing and his mouth twists. “It’s like drinking a juniper bush,” he wheezes.
“Ain’t it great?” Elton, one of the mechanics who likes to come into the tasting room and geek out on engines with Lane, lets out a guffaw. “Is that the Dry?”
“Foster House Dry,” I tell him. “Just for you.”
Dean shakes his head and tosses his cup in the trash we keep by the booth. “You can have it.” His expression darkens like he remembers he stopped by to get me worked up. “Well, I might have to save the sweet treats for tomorrow.” He smirks. “Can’t wait.”
He strolls away and I glare at him.
“Who’s Slick?” Elton asks, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Some guy who thinks he’s being smooth.”
“And what do you think?” Elton’s eyes are shrewd. He’s barely over five and a half feet tall, but he’s got swagger and arms as thick as the barrels in our rickhouse.
“I think he’s going to bother Elodie.”
A low growl comes from him. “I like her cannoli.”
To anyone else, that’d sound like innuendo, but I’ve chatted with Elton enough—and I’ve tasted Elodie’s cannoli—so I nod.
“Tell you what.” He knocks on the tabletop. “I’ll go see how the Dee’s Sweets booth is doing. Why don’t you package up my order of Dry?”
“Will do. And thank you.”
“Those city boys gotta learn they can’t fuck with us.” He swaggers away and the crowd parts for him.
I have no idea if Dean is from a city, but he’s got the sameI’m better than youattitude that I encountered a lot growingup. Nor is he an overt flirt who can’t take a hint like the girls in the bar last weekend. He’s the type to corner Elodie after close. He didn’t stop by the Foster House booth for the samples. I was his target. Why? Because I confronted him with Elodie? The guy waves too many red flags for me to relax while he’s in the state.
