“Like the way warmth pools between my thighs when you look at me like you’re looking at me right now.”
“Damn, girl.” Ian clears his throat. “That’s a new tasting note.”
“Write it down,” I say. “Very scientific.”
“I don’t think I can use that in our advertising but I’ll keep it in mind in private.”
He slides the final glass forward, making a point of touching my arm, stroking his fingers down my flesh.
“This one’s special.”
“Special how?”
“It’s the batch we’re making for the festival next year.”
“Next year? I’m impressed. I don’t even know what I’m doing next week.”
He gives me a wicked smile. “I know exactly what you’re doing next week. Me.”
Ian’s flirting never fails to amuse me. I give him a wink. “Sounds like a busy week.”
“It’s Sunday. The week startstoday.”
“Settle down,” I tell him. “I’m trying your very special bourbon right now.”
The amber liquid catches the afternoon light from the rick house window. Dust floats lazily through the air. This is my first time in the rick house and it might be my favorite place. The main distillery is too humid and Ian’s lab is very scientific and official. I like it out here, in the fields, the char barrels stacked all around us.
I take a sip.
It’s smooth. Warm. A little sweet at the end. “Oh wow.”
Ian watches my reaction like it actually matters.
“What do you think?” he asks quietly.
“Spring,” I say.
His brow furrows. “Spring? So you can taste that?”
“Yeah. Like warm air after winter when you open a window for the first time.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he nods slowly. “Exactly.”
I set the glass down. “You’re just saying that because I compared your bourbon to burping your house after a long winter.”
“No,” he says. His voice is softer now. “I’m saying that because that’s exactly what I was going for. You get me, Winnie. Like no one before.”
“You get me too, Ian,” I say, heart swelling with feelings so big I don’t even know how to identify them yet. “Like no one else.”
Barrel suddenly lifts his head and thumps his tail against Ian’s boot.
Overwhelmed by what is sparking between Ian and I more and more each day, I reach down, flustered, and scratch behind Barrel’s ears automatically. “Do you want some head rubs?”
“Yes, definitely.” Ian smirks at me.
“I’m talking to the dog!”
“This time.”
