Page 9 of Whiskey Kisses

“No wonder this fucker keeps putting us off.” I snort, tossing back half my whiskey. “He’s caught between the mother of all rocks and hard places.”

“Indeed.” Kenny nods, gazing out at the river.

“What’s the name of the Deschamps’ restaurant?” I ask. Maybe I’ll drop by some time, see what sort of vibe I pick up.

“Mama Avanelle’s,” he says. “Owned by Mrs. Avanelle Deschamps. She’s nearly one hundred, though.” Kenny raises his eyebrows. “Her great-grandson, Cole, runs the place these days. He's slicker than an eel and twice as mean.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I murmur, my words laced with just enough steel to let Kenny know that frankly, I don’t give a fuck how mean Cole is. He’s never met me.

Takingadvantage of dawn’s pleasant temperature, I go for a long run through and around Forsyth Park. It’s nearly empty, save for a couple walking their dog and a man sleeping on a bench near the iconic fountain in the middle.

After a shower, I get dressed in a lightweight business casual get-up, grab coffee and one of the granola bars from my welcome basket, and head out. I’m hoping to catch Randall Doyle before he goes to work for the day. I want him to know I’m here on my terms, while making him feel like he’s safe on his turf.

Parking on the street, I get out and scan the property from the sidewalk. An older Rolls Royce sits in the circular driveway, and security cameras dot the top corners of the house, markers of tech near buried beneath the ivy clinging to the walls. Everything’s a bit more … weathered than I remember. Patches of rust cover the iron gates, the intricate scrollwork toward the bottom hidden by weeds. Katherine’s garden, where we played for hours as kids, appears overgrown now. My father said that Katherine left Randall years ago, and then passed away, so I guess he hasn’t bothered keeping it up.

Nostalgia breezes over me as I enter the gates. Suddenly I’m ten again, sweaty and scabby kneed from hours of make believe and climbing trees. The Doyles’ verdant gardens had been an emerald kingdom back then, our shouts lighting up the summer air like fireflies. It’s kind of sad what this place has become. Sad, also, that our families are at odds now. It didn’t have to be this way.

The mansion itself looks like something out of a gothic movie. Walking up the steps, I pause at the front door and snort at the fussy door knocker, a tarnished bronze stag with a heavy ring. I’ve just raised my hand to knock when I hear an angry voice on the other side. A second later, the door swings open and a woman rushes out, flying into my arms with such force that I step back. “Woah.” Steadying her, I reach instinctively for the gun in my waistband.

Blushing a painful shade of red, she looks up at me with hazel eyes like sunbursts, brilliant gradients of honeyed browns and almost iridescent greens. Only one person I’ve ever known has eyes that unusual, and recognition slams into me even harder than she just did. “Evie?”

4.Evie

Speechless, I disentangle myself from Tristan Kelly’s careful grasp just as Daddy comes to the door.

“Evelyn …” His voice trails off as Tristan turns to look at him.

I gape at the soft, light brown curls that used to make my heart skip a beat. Tristan, with whom I was once obsessed, is standing on our doorstep, facing down my father. He’s wearing a fine white dress shirt tucked into tailored gray slacks, more than a suggestion of muscles shifting beneath the fabric as he moves. He’s so much bigger than he was the last time I saw him.

Face burning, I peek at Daddy over one of Tristan’s broad shoulders. Of course, he calmed down the moment he saw we had company. Berating one’s daughter is unbecoming of the genteel Southern gentleman my father pretends to be. “Tristan,” he says smoothly. Unfazed. “What a surprise.”

I don’t know why Tristan’s here, but now would be a good time for me to go. Unfortunately, I bump into a pot of petunias as I step back, and both men turn to look at me. Tristan’s eyes flicker over my face, concern etching a crease between his luminous, grass green eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I reply quietly, ignoring my father’s gaze. He’s stillseething, but he’s doing a good job of hiding it because he’s a pro at superficial charm.

“We were just discussing Evelyn’s schedule for the week,” he says.

Tristan steps aside so his back is no longer to me. “Is that right?”

“It is,” I murmur, checking my watch without actually seeing anything. “But I should get going. Good to see you, Tristan.”

“Actually, you might want to stick around for what I have to say,” he says to me. “If you can spare a few minutes.”

Daddy’s lips curl into a phony smile. “I was on my way out the door myself, Tristan, so you’ll have to make an appointment with my secretary.”

“You know what? I do have a few minutes,” I blurt, curiosity underscoring the urge to defy my father. “He came all the way from Boston, Daddy, surely we can sit down real quick.”

Tristan grins, and it shoves my stupid heart into a gallop. He is even more handsome as a man than he was as a boy, and that’s saying something. “I appreciate that, Evie.”

“Well then.” With a frozen smile, Daddy leads us into the sitting room and opens the drapes. “What can I do for you, son?”

“I’ll get right to it.” Tristan sits, casually crossing his leg over his knee. “Have you come to a decision about our offer concerning the distillery, Mr. Doyle?”

My pulse skips as I glance between the two men.An offer? What kind of offer?

Daddy’s jaw ticks despite that corny smile. “You really do cut right to the chase, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, out of respect for your time, as well as Evie’s.” Tristan cocks his head. “So, have you?”

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