Page 90 of Whiskey Kisses

“I did wonder that.”

His eyes narrow just a bit. “You busted my son’s lip, didn’t you? Gave him a black eye?”

Did I? That would explain why Cole made himself scarce after our little skirmish. “It was in self-defense.”

“He bit off more than he could chew, eh?” He snorts, taking a sip of his drink. “He’s always been wild for the Doyle girl. Guess he wasn’t thinking straight.”

Is this why he hauled me in? To get revenge for the fight with Cole? And how’d he know that Evie was there, too? Did Cole tell him or did Danny find out another way? He definitely seems like the type who’d have eyes and ears all over the city.

“Is that what this is about?” I ask delicately.

“Yes and no.” He clasps his hands over his knee. “It seems you and yours have stumbled into something that belongs to me and mine. Now you’re new here, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, but you need to know that I’ve had designs on Doyle Whiskey for a long time. We’re entitled to it, and I’ll tell you why. My great granddaddy was makin’ and sellin’ whiskey with Randall Doyle’s granddaddy during Prohibition, over a hundred years ago. They sold it out of basements, back alleys, and speakeasies all over this great state.”

“I had no idea,” I lie, intrigued to hear this from the horse’s mouth. It’s like history come to life.

“That distillery might’ve belonged to Doyle, but my family provided financial backing all through the twenties and thirties, even when they went legal again.”

“So, what changed?” I ask. “Why isn’t it Doyle and Deschamps Whiskey?”

“Long story,” he says with a smirk. “All you need to know is that it was a messy breakup then and it’s still messy now. That family has owed mine for years, you hear me? Years. Some reparations have been made, but not nearly enough.”

“I was under the impression that Randall himself owed you money,” I venture.

“He did, but those were new debts,” he says, crunching on a piece of ice. “As is our familial tradition, he came to me for help when he needed capital for repairs and a new business venture or whatnot, and I obliged.”

“He and my father had a similar arrangement, one he did not honor,” I explain, though I suspect he knows already. “Hence, my presence in Savannah. I came to collect a debt, that’s all.”

“Seems you picked up a wife, too,” he says, corners of his mouth curling in a sly smile. “Was that part of the plan?”

“Evie was a bonus.”

He grunts, shaking some of the ice from his glass into his mouth. “Seems like more trouble than she’s worth, is what she is.”

It’s so fucking tiresome, the way people around here regard Evie. Like she’s a possession. An investment. “Evie and I have known each other for a long time, and I knew as soon as I saw her again that she was the one.” Not a total lie—forever might not have been on my mind when Evie and I reunited, but hooking up certainly was.

“That simple, huh?”

“When you know, you know.”

“Here’s the problem, Tristan,” he says with a sigh. “Randall had already promised that girl to us. To Cole. He has history with Evie, too. Betcha didn’t know that.”

“I did know that.” I clench my fists on my lap. “But with all due respect, Mr. Deschamps, Evie made her choice, and it was not Cole.”

Danny’s eyes flare. “With all due respect, it was not her choice to make, son.”

“That’s where we disagree. You can’t make someone marry?—"

“Yes, I can. This ain’t about love,” he says with a scoff. “It’s about a plan that was put into motion before you kids were even alive. There’s a lot more at stake than Evie’s feelings—or even Cole’s, for that matter.”

“I get that joining your families would’ve given you access to the distillery, but?—”

“It would’ve done a helluva lot more than that,” he says. “Don’t think you understand it all, because you don’t. There was a lot riding on that marriage, and you fucked it up real good.”

“I apologize, but it was never my intention to get in the way.” At first, anyway. I came down here to make Randall Doyle pay up. That’s it. Evie was just collateral damage. Sweet, sexy, collateral damage that blew up my world in the best way. It’d be a lot easier if I had nothing but whiskey to worry about down here, but given the choice to go back and do things differently, I wouldn’t.

“Your intentions don’t matter much to me, son.” Danny leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “It's actions I'm interested in. Making things right.”

“How do you propose I do that?” I ask, my mind whirring with the possibilities of what he might suggest. “We won’t annul the marriage.”

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