“Five years. I moved here straight out of the ag program at UK.”
“Ag?”
“Agriculture.”
“Oh. Cool. I guess I never thought about getting a degree in agriculture. What is UK?”
Ian looks at me like I’ve spoken blasphemy. “The University of Kentucky. I have a Master of Science degree in biosystems and agricultural engineering with a focus on distillation and brewing studies."
My brain threatens to melt as I try to process what any of that means. “So…you have a degree in bourbon?”
Ian snorts. “Something like that, yes.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I have a vet tech certificate from a vocational school. I’ve never been fabulous at traditional school. I have a hard time sitting still.”
Even right now I’m feeling antsy. We’re standing on the curb of the street and Barrel is straining on the borrowed leash. I understand why. My body likes to move. I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet and wrapping and unwrapping the leash around my wrist over and over.
Ian turns to me. His hazel eyes study me with an intensity that is unnerving.
Like he sees me. Really sees me.
But then he looks down at Barrel and pets his head. “My brother is the same way. That’s why he’s the marketing director for Four Brothers. Always on the go.”
He steps off the curb. “And that’s why I’m the distiller.” He points to the left. “That’s the hardware store. I’ll let the owner know you’re parking there for the weekend. Do you need any help unloading?”
I shake my head. “I think unloading is going to have to wait considering the circumstances. I have the truck until Monday. Maybe I can find some teenagers who will help me Sunday for a few bucks?”
I had formed a loose plan on how I would carry all my belongings up a flight of stairs to my apartment before the move.It had involved begging my own brother to help me but he was supposed to come after work tonight. I am going to have to text him that the plan has changed. He will be thrilled to be let off the hook because he’d already told me he is busy tomorrow. He coaches my five-year-old niece’s teeball team and they are in full spring training.
“So you’re going to sleep in an empty apartment tonight?” Ian looks horrified by the prospect.
“Um…yes? I’ll grab my suitcase and pillow.”
He opens his mouth.
Closes it again.
Opens it, like he is about to make a suggestion as to how I can fix my chaotic life.
But then he closes his mouth a second time and merely shakes his head. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
Smart man. I don’t need all the flaws in my plan pointed out.
“I’ll swing by the festival later and check out your bourbon sampler,” I say, giving him a wave as I walk quickly toward my truck. The keys are in the ignition as promised and I clip Barrel back into his harness.
When I reverse the truck and turn, heading back the way I came, Ian is still standing on the curb. I can practically feel his sigh of relief the second the tire rolls off of the hose. That level of anarchy surrounding his booth display seemed on the verge of destroying him.
Ian Lennox may be seriously sexy, intelligent, competent as hell, and a kind soul, but we are total opposites.
Not that I’mnota kind soul. Or intelligent or sometimes sexy. I'm even competent. For the most part. But I’m not rigid and I’m not much of a rule follower.
It’s best to steer clear and donotallow myself to get interested in him. I may be a go-with-the-flow-girl but I refuse to make the same mistake twice.
Ian runs his hand through his hair and rubs the back of his head. Then he rolls up the sleeves of his flannel shirt in some arm porn before bending over to adjust something that has to do with something involving something I know nothing about.
Damn it. That was hot.
I hit the curb with my right tire. “Whoops.”
