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My New Old Fashioned was about to make its debut, and Ivy threw herself into my corner with an impressive level of gusto. “We shakin’ things up today!”

The expo took place at a venue in the heart of Atlanta, a renovated industrial space that boasted brick walls, wooden beams, and a large covered patio. Our booth was in a corner, the leaded glass windows behind it throwing sunlight in diamond patterns onto the black tablecloth and bottles of whiskey. Xavier and Katrina from Sales had already arrived, arranging bottles beside stacks of plastic cups.

“Hey, guys,” Xavier said as we approached. He had showcased Henley Single Barrel and Small Batch at the forefront, and raised an eyebrow at the case of extra Honey bottles I’d brought. “You really like that stuff, don’t you?”

Ivy set down our ice chest and pulled out the pitchers of my pre-mixed creation, arranging them at the opposite end of the table. “Trust me, sugar. This’ll be the best thing on the menu.”

Xavier sniffed one pitcher. “You don’t really serve cocktails at an expo. You’re supposed to show off the unmixed product.”

“Oh, I had no idea,” Ivy said with the air of someone who very much had an idea, but wasn’t in the mood for mansplaining.

I played into the clueless-little-girl act. “Yeah, I never would have guessed.” Ivy and I traded glances, and I said, “But⁠—”

Ivy continued for me, “Since we brought the mixer⁠—”

“—and it’s already here⁠—”

“—we may as well use it, right?” Ivy threw him a smile.

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth perked.

“I have no clue what’s happening,” Katrina said, “but I’m here for it.”

“We’re going to serve New Old Fashioned apology cocktails. Every time you give one out, you say, ‘Here, honey.’”

Katrina’s eyes lit up when I set up my repentant letter board sign near the pitchers. “Oh, I love this.”

Grinning, I set out a bowl of oranges and filled the fancy ice bucket I borrowed from Ivy with the square cubes.

Xavier stayed long enough to help set up, then left the event in our capable hands with a wary, “Good luck.”

A few minutes before the expo opened, all three Shepherds wandered toward our table.

“Hello, Mrs. Shepherd.” I reached across our table to grip her hand.

She smiled. “It’s Nessa, darling. What a lovely setup you have here.”

“Thanks—”

“What’s this?” Cam asked, motioning toward the letter board sign.

At Henley Bourbon Company, we strive to look forward instead of backward. Recently, we lost sight of that and offer our sincerest apologies. No matter who you are, you deserve the best. The highest quality. You deserve Henley. Join us as we take a step away from the old-fashioned and into a new era. Here, honey. Try a New Old Fashioned.

“That,” I said, “is an apology.”

A flicker of a smile appeared on his face, some mixture of surprise and pride and “Well, this is gonna be good” that quickly disappeared behind his practiced mask.

Shep leaned in to read it, his eyebrows lifting. “Very bold, Miss Honeycutt.” He looked at Cam. “Did you approve this?”

“Yes,” Cam said at once.

Cozy warmth encased my heart. He was sticking up for me? Now it had to work. The pressure was on.

“This will work,” I said, more to convince myself than them. “Trust me. You hired me for a reason.”

Shep’s silvery eyes cut to me. “Did I?”

“Can I try one?” Cam asked before I could answer.