Page 11 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“So, uh,” one of the newer arrivals says. “Who are you?”

I bark a laugh and reintroduce myself. The occupants of the table go around, doing the same, but I know it’ll take more than one introduction for me to remember everyone’s names. As I’m stepping back into the kitchen, figuring I’d better start cleaning up, my skin prickles with awareness.

“Checking to make sure I didn’t burn the place down?” I ask, smiling to myself as I wipe flour off the counter into my hand.

“Just checking,” Jackson answers, his voice rumbling through the space between us.

“Did you eat yet?” I ask.

“Not yet. Did you?”

“Sampled as I went,” I admit.

He gives a gruff hum. “Once lunch is done, you should take some time to unpack. It’s up to you when you wanna fit in your time off, but today, take the afternoon.”

“Got it,” I tell him, tossing a smile his way. His brusque delivery doesn’t fool me one bit. He’s not the hardass he pretends to be.

He nods but hesitates at the doorway.

“Something else?” I ask.

“No. Just…smells good,” he practically grunts. And then he’s off, disappearing from sight to join the lunch crowd.

“Sooomuch trouble,” I mutter under my breath.

It only takes forty-five minutes for the table to get picked clean. I start collecting empty dishes as the ranchers head back to work, many of them thanking me, a few others patting their bellies before shoving their cowboy hats atop their heads. A gentle breeze blows in the door as they leave.

“Was it enough food?” I ask Hank, the only person left.

“Oh, it was plenty,” he tells me, nursing his glass of lemonade. “Dang good, too. They couldn’t stop eating, otherwise we’d have more leftovers.”

“I’m glad everyone enjoyed it,” I tell him honestly, nodding to Remi, who walks in and snags a biscuit.

The younger Darling says a quick, “Thanks,” before he’s gone.

“You don’t have professional experience?” Hank asks me, seemingly in no hurry to get on with his day.

“None. I thought about going to culinary school at one point, but it just never happened. Went a different route instead.”

“Well,” he says, a little smile on his face. “I think we lucked out, snagging you.”

I huff a laugh, pleased. “Thanks, Hank. I think I lucked out, too.”

The older man hums at that, reminding me of the absent Jackson. I finish stacking plates before heading back into the kitchen. When there’s a thunk against the doorframe, I jump and look over.

“Shit, did I miss it?” a new face asks. He has the Darling-blue eyes Hank passed to his sons but darker hair than Jackson’s. He looks a little younger, too, though not by much.

“Lunch? Yeah, you did, but I think there are a few scraps left.”

“Thanks,” the guy says, taking a step away before backpedaling. He comes fully into the kitchen and holds out a hand. “Colton.”

“Ash,” I tell him.

“Welcome, man. Shit, I bet my brother loves you.” Before I can askwhich brother?he lets my hand go and adds, “Sorry to run. It’s just been a day, and I’m fucking hungry, you know?”

“Go,” I tell him, huffing a laugh.

He does, giving me a quick salute as he leaves the kitchen. I stand there a moment longer.

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