“Why haven’t I seen you at any of the Four Brothers events in Nashville?” she asks.
“Because I live here.” And I hate networking events and launch parties and marketing chitchat.
Winnie looks like she might love a good party. I need to remember that. Not only is she not flirting with me, she seems unbothered by chaos. The total opposite of me.
Miss Bettie, who is still right at my elbow, hanging on every damn word, interjects. “Ian is the master distiller. A lot goes into that. Science.”
That amuses me. “Yep. Science. Which is what my booth is about.” It’s technically the Four Brothers Bourbon booth, but fuck my brothers. They didn’t help me with any of it so it’s my display. “And why I need your truck off my hose.”
The corner of Winnie’s mouth tilts up. Her brown eyes fill with a mischievous gleam. “So we’re back to your hose.”
I refuse to read anything into that.
Chapter Three
Winnie
Ian Lennox is hard to read.
I had no idea if he was flirting with me or not when he mentioned licking.
It didn’t seem like it. But then briefly I thought maybe he was. And now he just frowns at me when I try to tease him.
He has launched into an explanation of his water feature display, which is meant to showcase Kentucky water supplies and why it’s perfect for making bourbon.
“Uh huh,” I say, even though I’m not really processing anything he’s saying. I’m listening. I’m just not hearing it because it sounds a bit like a science lesson and when confronted with an educational lecture, my brain shuts down instantly.
Besides, all I can think about is how damn good the elephant ears smell in a booth just a few feet away from me. I skipped lunch to make it into town and unload the truck as soon as possible.
Instead, I’m strolling with my hands behind my back, Barrel’s borrowed leash loosely in them, while Ian talks about iron and pH balance and yeast fermentation.
It is not a sexy conversation.
But he is a master distiller after all so he’s earned the right to talk yeast.
“And that is why we use limestone spring water. Staying true to the Kentucky bourbon roots.” He points to a display of an elaborately built rock shelf with the merest trickle of water running down it into a stream with a Four Brothers Bourbon sign on a water wheel at the end.
There is no water in the water wheel.
“That’s amazing. I love the display.” I do. It’s very cool and Ian looks quite proud of his stream.
“As you can see, it needs water.”
I don’t feel like he needed to state the obvious. Good looking or not, Ian Lennox is a little uptight.
“I’ll move the truck just as soon as I get my keys back from the lady I gave them too.”
We’re almost to the street and the blockade. The truck is there and the door is closed but there is no sign of the woman from earlier.
“Who did you give the keys to?”
“A woman. About this tall”—I indicate my shoulder—”funky dangling earrings, yellow pants, bright pink hair, in her fifties, I’d say…”
Recognition crosses his face as he glances over at me. “You left your truck with Lucy McIntyre? That’s dangerous.”
Wonderful. “Why is that?”
“She is known as the town kleptomaniac.”
