“She’s going to love it, Jo,” I say honestly. I don’t know how she managed to do it, to change from fine art to mainstream culture and design, but I’m impressed. And I know her sisters will be too.
The youngest Crowne smiles wide, looking at her work and giving it a nod.
I want to give Wyn the things she said she wanted, and not the ones that are just assumed or expected. That’s not who we are to each other. Traditional was never a part of our story, and I doubt it ever will be. But I’m going to ask her to marry me anyway.
I hadn’t planned to stay in Rumor. A few hours turned into twenty-four. And then twenty-four transitioned into the most important weeks of my entire life.
I think about my dad often, what he would have said if he’d met Wyn in a different time and place, what he would think about the choices I’ve made along the way. I knew him as best ashe was willing to share. A part of me wonders what today would feel like if he never left this town, if he’d stayed and fell in love with the girl, shared a life with a person who knew all the parts of him.
“Is that happening soon?” Jo asks as she moves back toward her canvas.
“Soon,” I say with a smirk.Really soon. Wyn and her sisters have been pushing really hard to get everything set for the new year, but I think tonight might be a good night for her to take a little break.
Jo smiles. “Not sure if this is too touchy-feely for you—goddesses know it is for me—but I’m grateful for you, Jules. My sister is...” Her eyes tear up as she looks to the ceiling, shaking her head. “Just don’t fuck it up,” she says with a smile as she points at me.
“Still not into the nickname, Jo,” I call out after her as she turns away from the shared space. The most ridiculous part is that I don’t really hate it—the idea of having people that folded me in like family and had nicknames for me. I almost forgot what it felt like to have people that noticed when I was around or not. I wasn’t planning to fuck up a damn thing, not with Wyn. She’s my family now.
My burner phone buzzes in my bag. I had planned to toss it. My plan all along was to leave that part of my legacy behind, but about two weeks after Reed had officially never wandered up the embankment of the river, Wyn said to me,“Whatever it is you decide to do, I’ll support you. If the only thing you have room for in your life is making beautiful jewelry and me, then I won’t complain for a single second.” She drew along the scar on my palm and added, “But, if you wanted more, if that legacy your family built is still something that you see value in continuing, you have my approval. If you want it.”
Eventually, my family’s legacies would die with me. But having Wyn’s blessing to make my own decisions when it came to the cleaning business meant more than I realized. I wasn’t ready to be done with it. After everything that happened, I know there are people I trust who would benefit from having access to my skillset—my soon-to-be family, included.
Wyn
The beauty of whiskey is that the rules are more flexible when it comes to aging. But we want at least two years and then another seven months in finishing barrels. For now, however, we’re in a waiting game for that batch. This younger batch, which had been barreled when I wasn’t here, isn't hitting right.
“It’s the emulsification.” I lean against the edge of the bench, trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with this batch. Frustrating doesn’t even begin to explain the feelings I’m having.
“It’s not the char on the barrels?” Tommy asks, taking another sip from the whiskey thief. “Wyn, I’m telling you, it was decent when it went into the barrel.” He looks up at me as I think about how to turn this around.
“Jack and Coke is the state drink,” I state.
He laughs out, “Yeah, for good reason.”
I smile, because I know flavors and this one actually has potential.
“What if we have our own take on it?” I thought about the soda barrels that Moonie’s always rolled in when we were growing up—a classic cola and a black cherry soda that came from a place up north in Connecticut. “We finish this blend in classic cola, infuse it right into the whiskey. It’ll salvage this batch and could roll out in early summer.”
He nods slowly, mulling the concept over. When I shared with Tommy about wanting to take this place over, it was part permission and part blessing I was seeking. He gave both.
I glance at our logo that Jo designed. The way theW’sintertwine, making the shape of a crown was a brilliant idea. Whiskey Women Distilling has moved quickly in a few short months. We’ll kick off officially in the new year, and then in the spring, we’ll finally be able to stock shelves and open the doors to our tasting bar.
It feels like I’ve found a purpose—not that I hadn’t felt it before, but this time, it isn’t for anyone else. Some days, it rivals graduate students and lab work, but I love every minute doing this. I’m not trying to prove a point or hide away from my family. This time, it feels right. Whiskey was always the obvious common denominator that I ignored or just wasn’t ready to see beyond something to play around with or pour.
Tommy drums his knuckles along the top of the wood barrel he’s leaning on. “I think it’s a great idea, Wyn.” He stands to his full height and says, “Alright, I’m going to head to the stables for a bit. Promised Nash I’d take him for a ride in the morning, which means I need to stock the apples and peppermints, otherwise he thinks the horses are sad about not getting snacks.”
I snort out a laugh. That sounds exactly like something Nash would say.
A text from Julian that came in three hours ago waits for me when I lift my phone. I have a habit of getting lost in what I’m doing while I’m out here. The late afternoons are when Tommy comes out and helps me solve any issues or to experiment with things that Stevie and Jo glazed over about.
JULIAN
I’ll meet you at the distillery around 7 tonight. Don’t go home without me. Love you.
I smile.Home. I love the life we’re building. Home is just a short walk down the hill. We drove out to Oregon shortly after I put in my resignation to the university. I packed up my office, and that same night, we got in his Bronco and drove out to the Northern Pacific Coast, packed up his rather expansive studio space, and put his oceanside place up for rent.
I’m not sure how much time passes when I look up from work again. I stretch my neck and squeeze my eyes shut, listening to Stevie’s latest podcast episode finish and glancing at my phone. It’s nearly seven, and I got lost in work. It’s become our habit—work a bit late, make dinner together, and then either spend time out here or at Julian’s studio. We both care about what the other does, what we want to accomplish. Some nights, it’ll be relaxing on the chair together and listening to music, or grabbing dinner with my sisters, but Julian doesn’t just fit into my life; he helped shape it.
A paper airplane lands next to me on the bench, making me smile. He’s here just like he said he would be. When I pick it up and turn it in my hand, I realize this clean, pointed fold wasn’t a quick one. It took some time. I turn around and find him standing against the sliding doors, feet crossed at his ankles and hands in his pockets.
