Page 108 of Sweet Like Whiskey

Andgreat. Now I sound like Jackson, too.

Virginia leans in to give my cheek a kiss, and then she heads out of the petting farm. I stick around a minute longer, petting the goats and stopping Snickerdoodle from eating my pocket. I wonder if she’s used to a certain someone bringing her treats.

When I get to the ranch house, the eleven o’clock lunch hour is already underway. I slip into the kitchen, not wanting to be seen. Everyone has been perfectly nice since the…incident, but I still feel like an ass. I shouldn’t have gone out on my own like that. All I ended up doing was causing everyone—and myself—a world of trouble.

It’s a mistake I won’t be making again.

The soft sound of feet approaching alerts me that I’m no longer alone. Remi looks surprised to find me lurking in the kitchen.

I offer him a small smile. “Hey, I was just…”

He holds up a finger and presses a button on the device behind his ear. “Sorry, go ahead.”

“You didn’t have to turn it on for me,” I tell him. I wouldn’t have minded typing on my phone like I’ve seen some of the ranchers do when Remi doesn’t have his CI on.

“It’s no problem,” he replies easily.

Still… “You prefer not to use it, though?”

At least, that’s the impression I’ve gotten.

Remi tilts his head back and forth. “It’s…complicated. The implant has its uses, that’s for sure. But people seem to think I can’t exist happily without sound, and that’s just not true.”

I can’t begin to imagine what that’s like, but it’s clear Remington doesn’t view his deafness as a deficit.

“I, uh… I’m trying to learn ASL,” I admit, smiling a little sheepishly when Remi’s eyebrows fly up. “I’m only on letters, so it might take some time.”

He looks at me for a long moment, lips finally lifting at the corners. “Most people don’t bother.”

“That sucks,” I say plainly.

He huffs a laugh. “Kinda. You hiding in here?”

I groan. “Am I that obvious?”

“Little bit. Wanna join me in the studio?”

“The…what?” I ask.

Remi laughs again, walking over to the pantry. He grabs a box of crackers and a bag of chips and then waves me forward.

Curious, I follow the youngest Darling brother down the hall, past the bustling dining room and up to the second floor. He opens the door at the end of the hallway, and we climb up a narrow set of curving stairs. My mouth falls open when I see what I assumed was an attic but is in fact a wide-open room beneath the pitched roof of the house. Canvases of all sizes are stacked around the space, paint splotches driedeverywhere.

“An art studio?” I ask.

Remi nods, setting the snacks on the floor before walking forward. “Keeps me busy when I’m not with the animals. You can hide up here if you want.”

Awed, I take a seat as Remi pulls a canvas away from the wall and sets it on an easel. Seemingly unbothered by my presence, he starts uncapping paint bottles. I open the box of crackers, snacking as I watch him work. There are a few small windows running along one wall of the room, right beneath the slopedceiling, so the space is plenty bright as Remi starts painting. He hums to himself every once in a while, his movements fluid and relaxed.

I’m so caught up in watching him that I don’t realize how much time has passed until Jackson suddenly crouches down beside me, startling me as he sets a plate with fruit and a ham sandwich on the floor.

I give him a smile as my heart rate comes down. “Hey,” I say quietly. “I’m guessing I missed lunch?”

Jackson hums. “You did. Had to track you down. Wasn’t expecting to find you up here.”

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. You doing all right?”

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