Page 57 of Whiskey Kisses

“Partly. I had a feeling it was Cole, that he might show up again.” He frowns, watching the video again. “And he did. It took him a minute, but he found me. Again.”

“I guess I’m not surprised.” I’ve always known Cole was capable of this. I’d just hoped he’d outgrown the creep factor. “He’s got eyes everywhere.”

“I figured.” Tristan nods slowly. He looks like he wants to say more, maybe ask me something, but he never does.

17.Tristan

In the morning, I wake up way earlier than I want to. My body is so used to rising at dawn that I rarely sleep in, even on the days I really need to. Shit, it was nearly dawn by the time Evie and I finally went to bed. We just kept talking and snacking on that damn fudge until we were delirious.

I’m paying for it now, though. Feeling like death, I roll heavily off the bare mattress—the sheets are halfway on the floor—and drag myself into the bathroom, Evie’s soft, even breathing mocking me. Counting her birthday, this is the second time that girl’s kept me up so late that I can’t make it to the gym.

“Don’t blame me,” her phantom voice teases, and I grin, making my way to the toilet. Yeah, yeah. No one held a gun to my head. It’s crazy, this thing with Evie. Finding out that she has feelings for me changed everything. It flipped a switch, giving me permission to reciprocate—permission I didn’t realize I needed because I never saw Evie like that. But now that I do, I can’t see her any other way.

It’s like looking at one of those optical illusions, where you see one thing, but then if you keep staring another image materializes. She’ll always be the sweet, compassionate, geeky girl from my childhood. It’s just, she grew into herself, and the end result is fucking hot. When you like someone’s outside as much as their inside, you’ve got a winner.

But what if it doesn’t go both ways? Evie’s always liked the way I look, but what happens when the shine wears off and she gets to know the real me underneath? The Tristan that fights too much, and forgets everything, and zones out and loses shit? I stare at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands. What does Evie really see when she looks at me? And will she look at me the same way a year from now?

Relationships rarely last because starting is the fun part. But beginnings give way to middles, and that’s when things get tricky. Being married on paper won’t mean shit if the bottom falls out, and I’d never keep Evie if she wanted to leave. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Being crushed on for years only to be left by the girl who did the crushing?

The thought of Evie joining the ranks of my exes makes me feel slightly ill.

“You’re catastrophizing,” I tell my reflection. “As usual.”

One year. Enough time for the dust to settle with the distillery and with us. If we make it, great. And if not, well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Dad peersat me from the other side of the screen. “How’s it going? You look exhausted.”

“I am,” I admit, gulping down some more coffee. I’m downstairs in a small study off the dining room, morning sunlight shining through the dusty windows.

“You hittin’ up the bars down there, kid?” he jokes, raising an eyebrow.

“Not exactly.” I shift in my seat, fiddling with my phone. It feels wrong that he doesn’t know about Evie yet. It’s not that I’m ashamed; I stand by what I did. But I know my parents, and the rushed way things went down will seem distasteful to them. They just celebrated their thirty-third anniversary, for God’s sake. They take the institution of marriage very,veryseriously.

Plus, the fact I married Randall’s daughter is going to sound messy. Because itismessy.

“Tristan,” Dad prompts. I blink, coming back to his patient smile. He’s used to me drifting off. Not even my meds help when I’m thisunderslept. “Just give me the rundown on the Deschamps and you can go. How are they connected to the Doyles?”

I nod, running a hand over my face. Lucky’s been feeding him bits and pieces of information as he uncovers it, but Dad wanted to talk to me since I have a local perspective. Plus, additional intel from Evie and even our friend Kenny.

“All right,” I begin, glancing at the notes on my phone. “So, we knew that the Deschamps had a long-standing relationship with Randall. Lots of trading favors, bribery, all that shit. Kenny told me the Deschamps are big in commercial real estate down here, so I guess they use their connections to get shit zoned in their favor. They’ve even greased the wheels for a couple of Randall’s ventures in the past.”

“How so?” he asks.

“What do you think?” I smirk, rubbing my thumb against my fingers. “By loaning him lots and lots of money.”

“Surprise, surprise,” he says. “Go on.”

“Looks like things are souring between Randall and the Deschamps lately. Apparently, Doyle Whiskey is on prime real estate … and the land it’s on happens to abut Deschamps’ land. They’ve set their sights on both the distillery and the land. I’m not sure why they’re so keen on it, other than the possibility Randall owes them money too, but they’re getting more and more aggressive in their attempts to acquire it. But Randall’s already rejected past offers to purchase,” I explain, lifting my eyes from my notes. “Kenny thinks they might have something on Randall, but who knows.”

“Damn it, this really complicates things for us,” he laments. “You’re no longer just dealing with Randall, because you’ve got this other family trying to make moves, too.”

He doesn’t know the half of it. “Yeah, and it gets even more convoluted. Lucky’s contact found out that the Doyles used to be in business with the Deschamps way back in the day. Doyle Whiskey’s secondary warehouse on West Saint Julian Street used to be owned by the Deschamps family, and they’ve been trying to get Randall to give it back to them.”

“What a clusterfuck.” Dad grimaces, rubbing his face. “Is he gonna give it back?”

“Apparently he was going to, as a partial repayment of his considerabledebt to them, but he keeps putting it off and there’s not much they can do about it because there’s no legal grounds.”

“They could try suing,” Dad says thoughtfully. “You know, I’m surprised the Deschamps haven’t moved on him already, if they’re as fierce as they sound. Maybe they’re biding their time, waiting to use whatever they have on him.”

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