“I have his old book.”
I pause for a long moment before speaking. “You have his recipe book?”
“Yeah. I found it when we were cleaning out his house. I didn’t think it was a big deal. I mean, you hated the guy, so I just shoved it on a shelf at your place and moved on with my life.”
“So, Grandpa’s famous whiskey book is sitting on a shelf in my cabin?”
I can almost hear her nod. “Dad… what’s going on with you? For real this time.”
Well, I can’t stop thinking about a woman two years younger than you. That’s got me pretty fucked in the head.
“Nothing, honey.” I back out of the lot and head down the mountain toward the distillery where I’ve just realized Marin is most likely standing feet away from my daughter. “Just haven’t been sleeping well with all this redneck shit going on. Last night we had another guy in the bar trying to hand out those free homemade beer coupons.”
“And you think Grandpa’s recipes are going to draw the locals in?”
“I do. Marin was talking about using social media to record the story too.”
“Marin?”
Did I really just say her name? What the hell is wrong with me?
“Who’s Marin?” Abigail presses, her tone light and airy. “Is she my new mommy, ‘cause that would be something. I’ve always said you needed to date more.”
“No,” I quip as I roll to a stop, my breaks squeaking, “I’m not dating. Marin is an employee at the distillery. She’s younger than you.” I say it like it’s now an impossible thought that we’d be dating, given her age, which it should be.
“Oh. Yeah,” Abigail snorts playfully, “that’d be weird then. Sounds like her social idea is good, though. Is she around today? I can say hi and we can brainstorm ideas together.”
“No!” I say way too fucking quickly. “I mean, yes. She’s there today but Walker needs her working. Maybe it’s best if you go to the lake with your friends this weekend. I’m pretty swamped here.”
This isn’t the reality I prefer, but I’m pretty sure I have no choice. There’s no way in hell I could make Marin stay in a hotel for the weekend, and there’s no way in hell I could explain to Abigail why my employee is staying with me at the house.
“There’s cash in the bottom drawer in my office. Take a couple hundred dollars and have fun this weekend,” I say with a sigh. “We’ll catch up next week. I’ll be in town for a conference. You can show me around that art museum you’ve been talking about.”
There’s no hesitation in her voice, only immediate acceptance of time with her friends. “Okay! I’ll see you next week then. Good luck with all this stuff. I love you!”
“Love you more. Text me when you get to the lake, and don’t do anything too crazy, okay? Your old dad can’t hack it.”
“I live to be crazy, so…I guess you should’ve thought of that before you had me.” She laughs and disconnects the line in true Abigail fashion, spunky and over the top.
God, what am I doing? This call should’ve made me see what a fucking asshole I am. It should make me see what a huge mistake it is to get involved with a younger woman. Instead, my mind refocuses on finding Marin, on marking my territory, on claiming what’s mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
My cock pulses at the thought of my hand sliding inside of her snug little pussy this morning as she so innocently asked me what edging was.
God damn, I need to get a fucking grip. I need a cold shower, an ice bath, a knock in the fucking head. That, or I need to give in to this and let reality be what it is.
I’m falling for a younger woman. An employee. A woman I shouldn’t be falling for.
The truth is, I’ve already crossed the point of no return. She’s mine.
Chapter Nine
Marin
Rosie leans into the counter, her long red curls sweeping against the smooth mahogany wood. She’s a natural beauty. The kind of girl I’d usually be jealous of, or at least start comparing myself to, but there’s something about Rosie that’s also so very genuine that I feel immediately connected to her, even though we don’t really know each other.
“That was Archer’s daughter, Abigail.” Rosie nods toward the door as a young woman in a short denim dress and a pink bow heads out into the street. “She’s in one of my art classes. We don’t really talk, but I know of her.”
