Page 15 of Sweet Like Whiskey

I hop up as the table erupts into laughter. “All right, all right,” I grumble, grabbing my empty glass and making for the kitchen. Never mind that there’s a pitcher of water at the table. I go to the tap and fill up my glass. After guzzling it down, I set the glass aside.

“Okay?” Ash asks from the doorway, apparently having followed me.

“Fine,” I say, waving off his concern.Whyhe’s concerned is a point I try not to think too heavily about.

“For what it’s worth,” he says slowly, his tone making me still, “I would’ve liked to see that.”

I whip around and stare in shock as Ash exits the room, one question I hadn’t even wanted to ask answered. Not that it matters one way or another who Ash is attracted to.

It doesn’t.

Not even a little bit.

Not. At. All.

“Fucking hell.”

With a growl, I head back into the dining room. Fortunately, the rest of our meal passes without any more talk of testicles or full moons. Mom kindly shoos Ash when he tries to help clean up, telling him he’s officially off the clock and that evening cleanup falls to the family. Ash takes a seat out on the porch as the ranchers head home. His chair rocks gently, the sun not yet starting to set, but it will soon.

“I think he fits here,” my mom says quietly from beside me. Colton is carrying a stack of plates to the kitchen and Lawson is stacking glasses.

“Sure,” I answer noncommittally. It’s only been a day.

“Not everyone is your ex, Jackson.”

I suck in a short breath, my muscles tensing. “Ma.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, well,” I mutter. “You said he fit, too.”

“And I was wrong,” she says easily, even though I know the cost of her admitting that. My mom is stubborn. As unyielding as the mountains and just as hard at times. “He tried to fit, and that was the difference. He never sat outside and breathed the air.”

“We’ve all gotta breathe.”

“Jackson Darling, whatever am I going to do with you?” my mom says, not waiting for an answer before she walks off. A minute later, I hear, “Hank! Good Lord, man, you don’t wash the glasses with the damn Brillo pad. Have you learned nothing?”

I shake my head, pausing when I see Lawson standing still at the end of the table. There’s a collection of forks in his hand.

“Law?”

He startles.

“You sure you’re all right?” I ask.

He grabs a few more forks. “I will be,” he says simply before walking off.

Letting out a sigh, I head onto the porch. Ash glances my way before looking out over the land again.

“This place is beautiful,” he says.

“Maine isn’t?” I ask, taking a seat next to him.

He makes a soft, thoughtful sound. “It is. It’s gorgeous there. The coast…it has its own kind of grandeur. The salty air. Blue as far as the eye can see. But this…” He shakes his head a little. “It’s rough here. The land, the mountains, even the work you all do. It’s like you’ve carved a life out of hardness, out ofharshness. And I like that.”

“You like hard work,” I say, not quite a question. I already gleaned as much from the way he jumped in today, happily setting to his tasks.

His smile goes a little crooked on one end. “I like a challenge,” he answers.

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