He had spent the whole tasting positioning himself as the expert, dropping terms like “angel’s share” and “cask strength” with smug confidence, clearly enjoying the guide’s nods and the little murmurs of approval from the group. But any time I chimed in with some random fact I’d absorbed from a Netflix special or late-night Wikipedia spiral, his smile got a fraction tighter.
It wasn’t that I was trying to one-up him. I just . . . remembered random crap. Weird crap. The kind of obscure crap that popped into my head at the best or, in this case, worst moments.
Like how Mizunara oak takes over two hundred years to mature, or how some distilleries use dunnage warehouses because the damp earth floors help regulate humidity. Ethan hadn’t asked for my input, but the rest of our tour group seemed to appreciate my comments, and that clearly grated on him.
When I correctly identified the burn as ethanol heat from the high proof, rather than “spice” like Ethan kept insisting, he finally snapped.
“You know,” he grumbled, voice pitched loud enough for the entire room to hear. “It’s cute that you’ve got all these random facts memorized, but maybe you should let the people who actually drink this stuff talk?”
The table went quiet.
Diaz let out a low whistle. “Damn, man. That’s how you talk to your date?”
Ethan shrugged, forcing a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just saying, it’s a little . . . too much.”
His words hit me like a slap to the face. The lights suddenly felt too bright, the voices too loud, the air too thick.
There they were again—those infamous words.
Too much.
My hands went still in my lap; the words stuck in my throat as the familiar feeling crashed in.Bennett settled one of his handson top of mine, almost as if he could sense I needed it. Even then, it wasn’t enough to stop my spiral.
“She’s adding to the conversation, asshole.” His voice came out garbled, like somebody underwater. Little did he know I was the one drowning. “You’re the one turning it into a pissing contest.”
Ethan flushed, mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but one look at Bennett’s expression shut him up fast. I exhaled, the tension in my chest easing a little, but still not enough.
I needed to get out of here. Quickly.
“I think I’m done for the night,” I said quietly.
Ethan grabbed my wrist to tug me back toward my seat as I half-stood to leave. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t be dramatic.”
Bennett was up in a flash.
“Take your fucking hands off her.Now.” His voice was downright lethal.
Ethan yanked his hand back and sputtered. “We’re on a date—”
“Not anymore,” Bennett said. He turned to me then, squatting down until his face was inches from mine. “You okay?”
I managed to nod, but my throat was tight. I could already feel the meltdown creeping in.
He read it on my face. “Want me to take you home?”
“My car—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
I didn’t argue.
I was done trying to explain myself and pretending I was okay when the lights and noise and Ethan’s words were pressing in from every side. All I wanted was quiet. Bennett’s hand on mine had been an anchor, but even that wasn’t enough to keep the wave from pulling me under.
Ethan started to protest again, but Bennett didn’t even spare him a glance. His focus was entirely on me, eyes searching my face like he could see the storm building.
“I’ve got you,” he said quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”
Bennett
