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A chorus of whoops and cheers followed, and the surrounding crowd dispersed. The energy in the room only swelled. It crackled around us, full of potential. Customers continued to visit our booth, but I kept one eye on the security guards slowly heading our way.

“Oh my god.” I shook Ivy’s arm. “She’s coming.”

Ivy laughed. “Deep breaths, sugar, or you’ll pass out.”

Time somehow crawled and leapt forward. It was either hours or seconds before Carley reached our table and pointed at the logo with a frown. “Used to steal my daddy’s Henley in high school.”

“Me too,” Ivy said with a smile.

“Y’all’s video was unhinged, though. My place won’t have no—” Carley’s eyes fell on the apology sign.

Prepared with a New Old Fashioned in hand, I waited until she finished reading—and the judgmental cast to her expression softened—before holding it out to her.

“Here, honey.”

She smiled, flashing blindingly white teeth. “Okay, okay. You’re making amends. I can get behind that. Let’s see what you got.”

My stomach tightened. Ivy’s tension beside me wound tighter than a guitar string. Katrina actually closed her eyes.

The plastic cup rose in slow motion toward Carley Gentry’s pink glossed lips. It touched them. Tipped. Golden liquid spilled into her mouth.

Her reaction was immediate. Fake lashes fluttered in pleasure, and she whooped. “Holy—” She thrust the cup at the statuesque woman next to her. “Try it, Tina!”

Tina obeyed and nodded her approval.

Carley made gimme hands. “Another, please.” She turned to the crowds nearby. “Y’all gotta try this!”

I quickly poured another. Others pushed closer, reaching for their own drink and our table became a flurry of noise and activity. Ivy and Katrina set to work mixing.

Carley picked up a bottle of Henley Honey, her thumb running over the Sugar Springs, GA portion of the label. “I grew up in Kenietta, you know. We played Sugar Springs. Always lost, too.”

Kenietta was another poorer relation of Sugar Springs, so I leaned closer to her. “I grew up in Sweetwater.”

Her brows flew up, a new interest sparking in her eye. “You don’t say. Maybe we’re kindred spirits, escaping our small towns.”

“Definitely. Though you got the talent whereas I’m just a semi-decent mixologist and had a spare letter board to help right some wrongs.”

Smiling, she pointed at the apology sign. “This is classy. You did this?”

I nodded. “It needed to be said.”

As Carley sipped, her gaze fell on my chest, and she pointed. “Ha!”

I looked down. I’d rather be a shot of whiskey than your cup of tea.

“That would make a great line in a song.”

I laughed. “Feel free to use it.”

“Seriously?” She set down her—now empty—cup and yanked out a bedazzled phone. “What’s your name?”

“Shay Honeycutt.”

“Honeycutt hawking Honey. Doesn’t get any more Southern sweet than that, does it?”

“I know. ‘Sweet’ should probably be my middle name.”

Her laugh tinkled like a bell. “You into TikTok, Shay?”