Page 14 of Unravel Me

“Hey, asshat, don’t you have work to do?” I say as I pat my brother on the back.

“I could say the same to you.”

“Yeah, but didn’t you hear? I’m the boss.” I give him a wink and he punches my arm. “Hey, Hannah. How are you?”

“Hey, punk. I’m good. You here for coffee? I have extra apple cinnamon muffins in the back if you want one.”

My order’s been the same for a decade. Black coffee and an apple cinnamon muffin. Truth be told, I fucking hate the muffins. Can’t stand apples. Or cinnamon. They were Ivy’s favorite, and I would surprise her with them any time she was having a bad day. Or a good day. Or just anytime I wanted to see her smile.

I started ordering them shortly after she left and it just stuck. No one knows but me.

“Same as always, Han. All to-go. Unlike this jerk, I’ve got things to do this morning.”

“I’ll get it all packed up for you. No worries.”

Hannah leaves us to pour my coffee in a to-go cup and pack up the breakfast I’ll force myself to choke down later.

“I expected your face to look worse after that beating you and Dallas gave each other. Haven’t seen Dallas all weekend so I don’t know how he fared.”

“My face is fine, it’s my ribs that took the beating. You hanging out with Hannah and Charlie tonight?”

“Nah. Levi is supposed to be coming in for a few days to see Charlie so she’s going to be with him,” he says reluctantly. Liam does what he needs to do to keep the peace between him and Charlotte’s dad, but I know deep down he hates the fucker more than I do.

“Alright. You okay?”

“Yep. All good.”

Hannah walks back up to the counter and hands me my coffee and muffin.

“Alright, Sawyer! Here you go.”

“Thanks, Han. Rickhouse later today?” I ask my brother.

“Yep. I’ll text you.”

“Sounds good.”

I grab my things and head outside, where I’m immediately attacked by the tiny, sorry excuse of a dog, again. I shake my leg gently to get her to let go of my pants, but she keeps a death grip on them with her sharp little teeth.

“Ms. Nettie. C’mon,” I say, exasperated. “Control your animal. I’ve got places to be and preferably with my pants not ripped to shreds.”

“Oh get over yourself, Sawyer. Maybe if you weren’t such a grump she’d actually like you and then she wouldn’t come atcha.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly it. Now please grab her so I can go to work. Or I can call Mr. Hopkins down at the station and have him come talk to you about the leash law?”

“Sawyer Hayes, don’t you dare threaten me or I will call your mother right now.”

“My apologies, Ms. Nettie. I am limited on time and need to get to work. Could you please pick up Minnie so I can go?”

“It’s Winnie.”

“Yes, Winnie. Could you please pick up Winnie? I’d like to get to work,” I say through gritted teeth and a fake smile.

Finally, she leans down and picks up the little rat and I’m able to head to my truck.

Aspen Ridge Distillery supplies traditional American whiskey to Washington and Oregon, and all operations take place here. Our main building is a large warehouse that looks more like a log barndominium than it does an office space. Floor-to-ceiling windows line the length of the front of the building with large, wide glass doors that open up the space to a huge deck. Inside, is a massive open floor plan with two sets of stairs on either side of the room leading to a U-shaped loft, which flows around the perimeter and hosts our offices. The ceiling boasts exposed logs and industrial pipes, the floor, a smooth poured cement. My mother’s touch is everywhere. There’s a coffee bar on the bottom floor and potted plants scattered throughout. Large, framed photos of my family through the generations line the walls, and it reminds me of the hard work that paved the way before me.

I pull open the door to my office, revealing a stark contrast from the rest of the furnished building. My office is bare and sterile. I take a seat at my desk, dropping my food down and booting up my computer. Windows line both sides of the room, the side behind me giving views of the rolling mountains, the other, a straight vantage point of the hallway and stairs, allowing me to see who’s coming my way when the privacy smart film is off. I sip my coffee and choke down the muffin as I go through my morning routine: check my calendar, email, and make plans for the day ahead. A little before lunch I decide to make my rounds and check on things with Dallas, before meeting with Liam and Carter to tour one of the rickhouses. I jog down the stairs where I hear Dallas and Blaire in a heated argument. Rounding the corner, I find the two of them standing in front of a wall that houses shelves with various bottles of whiskey. I lean against the wall and cross my arms, hoping to witness Dallas being owned by this fiery woman.

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