Page 23 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“Hey,” he says, noticing me immediately. He’s standing in front of the counter, an apron draped over his neck and tied around his waist as he kneads dough. His hands and forearmsare dusted in flour, the smooth planes of his face lit by the midday sun that’s shining in through the south-facing window.

“What’re you doing?” I ask gruffly.

He wings up a blonde eyebrow, sparing me the briefest of glances before refocusing on the dough. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It’s your day off.”

“Yeah, well, I really wanted to get a loaf of gluten-free bread made up for Ira’s sandwiches this week. Figured I’d do it now. Sounded like fun.”

I make a sound, and Ash gives me another look.

“What is it?” he asks, tone patient.

“You should be relaxing,” I get out, knowing my mom would call me a hypocrite for saying so. But hejustgot here. I don’t want him run ragged from the start.

I don’t want him running off…

“Jackson,” Ash says mildly, interrupting my unwelcome thoughts, “this is the most relaxing job I’ve ever had. I get to cook for a bunch of people that enjoy my food, clean up a little, and then sit around in one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever been. Believe me, I’m plenty relaxed.”

He does look it. Even though he’s working the dough rhythmically, his body is loose, not tense. He’s smiling, for Christ’s sake. He lookshappy.

“Fine. Just… Don’t work too hard.”

He snorts at that. “What’s that saying about the pot?”

I roll my eyes, turning around.

“Meet kettle!” he calls.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, heading back down the hall. When Ash starts humming again, I stop and close my eyes. I open them to find Remi standing right in front of me and jerk back. “Not a fucking word,” I warn quietly.

He locks his lips and tosses the imaginary key before walking off.

My ringing phone is a distraction I welcome. “Yeah?”

“Hey, boss. Slight problem,” Archie says. He’s my manager over on the dairy side of things. “We got a call from Plum’s. They had a refrigerator malfunction overnight and lost a decent chunk of product.”

“They need more milk,” I deduce.

“That’s right.”

“I can run it,” I tell him. “Have it ready for pickup in ten minutes?”

“You got it. Thanks, boss.”

As I slip my phone back in my pocket, Ash’s voice comes from behind me. “Problem?”

I turn, finding him hanging halfway out of the kitchen doorway. “Nothing major. Just a supply run.”

He nods a few times, lips pursed.

“What?” I ask slowly.

“Can I come?”

“You wanna deliver milk?” I ask, not sure I heard that right.

He nods, looking damn eager.Christ.

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