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I follow his instructions and start pouring in the milk⁠—

“STOP!”

I startle, spilling the milk everywhere. “Fuck.” I chuckle. “Scared me there, Titch.”

“You put too much milk in,” he says, frowning. The quiet, shy kid is gone, replaced by a bossy little tyrant.

I nod seriously, hiding how pleased I am that the sadness in his eyes is gone. “My bad, I’ll remember for next time.”

NOAH

Why am I here?

I stare up at the copper still, half listening to the tour guide as he says something about needing to wash beer to make the whisky and then about low wines. I’m stuck on what beer and wine have to do with whisky production, and how you can wash a liquid. Maybe I should be paying more attention, but the smell in this stillhouse is overbearing. Even breathing through my mouth, I can still smell it.

“You have that I’m about to kill someone look on your face again,” Bailey murmurs next to me.

“Well, I might,” I bite out.

This is all Jake’s fault. He made me come because we don’t get enough time to hang out, and we haven’t seen Rich in ages.

Guilt trip. That’s what it is. I don’t even drink, so why would I want to go on a whisky tour?

We shuffle out of the stillhouse and follow the group to the next building. I look at Bailey’s profile. The dark purple bloom on his cheekbone makes me angry all over again.

“Stop staring at it.”

“No.”

Bailey sighs, lifting his hand to stroke the bruise gently.

“Are you going to tell me why he hit you?”

“I told you, I don’t know. He would never—it’s not like him.”

I cock an eyebrow. “And how would you know what he’s like?”

We step into a cool, dark building, gathering in a semicircle around the tour guide. The room is full of oak casks, and the smell isn’t as bad here. The metallic tang from before is replaced by a sweet, woodsy scent.

Bailey uses the tour guide as an excuse not to answer my question, but I won’t forget. I just need to get through this damn tour.

Finally, we end up in a cosy bar and settle into a corner on a couple of sofas. On a small table in front of us, we each have a flight of whisky samples from the distillery. I turn my nose up at the fumes coming off mine and push it away.

“You don’t want to try it?” Richard nudges me. He, Jake, and Bailey are all holding up their first glass.

I narrow my eyes at Bailey. He shouldn’t be drinking while he’s on anxiety meds.

“No,” I say. “I don’t drink.”

“Well, why’d you come, then?”

“Good question.” I glare at Jake.

“Slàinte,” he says, taking a sip of his whisky.

“Tell me,” I demand as soon as we get back to Theo’s cottage.

“You never let anything go, do you?” Bailey replies, irritation seeping into his voice.