Page 17 of Whiskey Kisses

He frowns and starts to say something, but then stops and looks past me, at the house. “You gonna make me stand out here all day?”

“You want my daddy to run you off his property?” I ask. “’Cause he will.”

“Nah, he’s not even here. I just saw him in town.”

“Doing what?” I ask, surprised.

He laughs a little. “I don’t know, Evie. He was talking to some guy on the sidewalk.”

Hoping I don’t regret this, I push open the gate. “Where did you park?”

“Down the block.” He slips inside, latching the gate behind him. “Don’t worry—if Daddy Doyle does come back, he won’t even know I’m here.”

“Hmph.”

Tristan follows me back to the vegetable garden, chattering a mile a minute about how much he used to love playing here when we were kids, and how my mom had the best rhubarb pie, and wow—is that the garden I talked about last night? He’s suggesting I grow some Maryjane over by the bird feeders when I shove my basket at him. “Here, make yourself useful.”

“Put me to work,” he says, winking. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

I squint at him in the late afternoon sun, my silly heart skipping a beat as I try to figure out if he’s being flirty. It wouldn’t mean anything.Tristan’s been a tease for as long as I can remember. He could make Mama blush with gushy compliments over her buttermilk biscuits as easily as he could Maribelle, pulling her onto his lap during movie night.

Whatever. Collecting my supplies, I start up the carriage house stairs, careful not to bump into the potted dwarf citrus trees I found at the nursery last weekend. Tristan follows closely, nearly bumping into me when I stop to open the door to my apartment, and I glance back just in time to catch him raising his gaze.

“Tristan Kelly!” I gasp. “You were not just looking at my ass!”

“Guilty.” He smiles slyly, following me inside. “With all due respect, you have a phenomenal ass.”

Oh, boy.“You’re something else.” Face burning, stomach flipping, I drop everything on the counter and point for him to do the same. Poppy and Juniper look on from the windowsill, staring at Tristan. They’re probably wondering what species he is. I don’t make a practice of bringing boys here.

I take off my hat, loosening my hair from its messy braid, and head for the sink to wash my hands. “Do you want something to drink? I have water, sweet tea with lemon, and beer.”

“Sweet tea sounds good.” He plops onto a barstool, looking around the room. “I think you have more plants in here than you do outside.”

“Probably.” Shrugging, I follow his gaze from the massive Monsteras on either side of the window to the Pothos dripping from a little shelf in the corner. Spider plants, peace lilies, elephant ears, and ferns crowd a nearby table. “They make me happy. Clean the air, too.”

He nods, turning back to me. “You’ve got a cool set-up here.”

“Used to be the carriage house. Daddy had it redone when I came home from college.” I pour us each a glass, sliding his across the counter before taking a sip of mine. Nothing like the cold, sugary relief of sweet tea on a hot summer’s day, for real.

“Mm, that’s good,” he says, licking his lips after a long sip. “Not really a tea person, but there’s something aboutsweettea. I like the lemon.”

I lick a tang of lemon from the corner of my mouth. “Only way I drink it.”

“What is all this?” he asks, picking up one of the tiny glass bottles on my countertop.

“Some of them are extracts, but most are tinctures,” I reply. “I make them with the herbs I grow.”

Leaning down, he examines the handwritten labels stuck to the bottles. “Like what?”

“Echinacea, elderberry, turmeric, ginseng. Whatever.”

“Oh, right—you were talking about that last night,” he says, his face brightening with realization. “How’d you get into it?”

“My great aunt. Long story,” I say dismissively, not wanting him to bore him with nerdy herbalism chatter. “Hey, is your arm okay? I saw you flinch when DJ landed that punch.”

“Yeah, it’s all right. A little sore. Only reason he got me was ‘cause it was two on one.” He lifts his chin, his eyes locking with mine. “Until you stepped in, anyway.”

Poppy makes her way over, rubbing against Tristan’s leg. Chuckling, he bends to pet her. “You flirting with me, cutie?” I roll my eyes. I guess like recognizes like. “What’s your name?”

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