Page 83 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“Hey,” Ash calls as I step through the doorway. “Where’s my goodbye?”

With a grumble that has Ash smiling wide, I stomp back into the room. I slide my fingers into his hair, tug his head around, and plant a kiss on his lips. When I let go, I swipe that damn flour off his cheek.

“Better?” I ask.

That smile never leaves his face. “Yeah, darlin’. Much better.”

Ash laughs as I roll my eyes and head out of the kitchen. My lips twitch into a smile, and try as I might, the sound of Ash’s happiness won’t leave my head all morning.

“Hey, Jackson? Where are the signs for the festival?”

I raise a brow Colton’s way, pausing as I pull off Starlight’s saddle. “I dunno. Where’d you put them last year?”

“How am I supposed to remember?” he says. “That was ayearago.”

“Yet you expect me to know,” I mumble.

“They’re in the loft at the petting farm barn,” Remi answers, passing with his arms full of empty feed bags. “Red tote.”

“Thanks, bro,” Colton says, heading off.

“You going with him again this year?” I ask Remi, putting my tack away.

He shoves the feed bags into a large trash bin. “Someone has to keep him organized.”

Guilt flares at my brother’s words, even though I know he didn’t mean anything by them. It’s just thatIwas the one who used to run the Darling Ranch booth at the fall festival with Colton. Up until Otto broke the news that he was leaving right there on the side of the street while I was eating an apple cider donut.

“Remi, I—”

“Oh, don’t start,” my brother says sternly. “That wasn’t a criticism. I’m happy to do it.”

“Are you sure? I can—”

“Stop,” he says, hand striking his palm in an ASL mirror of the word. “You do enough around here. Colton and I have the festival handled. End of discussion.”

My lips twitch. “You’re starting to sound a lot like Mom, y’know.”

He throws a horse brush at me, which I catch before it hits my chest. The‘fuck off’he signs my way has me huffing a laugh.

“Just lemme know if you need anything,” I tell him, fairly sure at this point I can enter the festival without feeling a potent mix of rage, sadness, and grief over the end of my previous relationship.

“We won’t,” Remi answers, his departure signaling the end of our conversation.

I’m not sure when my baby brother went and grew up.

When I get back to the main house, it’s dinnertime. I didn’t have time to shower and change beforehand, but that’s fine. It’s not often that I do.

My mom catches me as I’m entering the house via the mudroom door, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. “Jackson Darling.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“Did I do something in your forty years of life to make you hate me?” she asks, her hands on her hips.

My brow goes up. Slowly. “I assume that’s a rhetorical question?”

“Maybe myson,” she goes on, “the boy I raised with my own two hands, could tell me why I had to hear he has aboyfriendfrom my friend, Louise.”

All right… That wasn’t quite what I was expecting.

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