Page 77 of Whiskey Kisses

“Cole’s nuts. That’s his angle.” She gasps suddenly. “Wait, do you think he got her pregnant?”

I stand up, offering Evie a hand. “Either that, or Cole’s got a fetish for pregnant women.”

“Ew,” she says, letting me pull her up.

“It’s only ew if it isn’t his baby.”

“I’m too high for this conversation.”

Snickering, we go back inside where, thanks to Timmy and Finn, it smells like fresh, buttery popcorn. “Mm,” I hum, starting toward the kitchen.

But Evie hooks her finger through my belt loop and pulls me back. “Let’s go upstairs. I have a fetish for this,” she croons, running her hand over the sleeve of my white dress shirt.

“My shirt?” I laugh.

Her hand drops down to my zipper, which she brushes briefly. “The whole look.”

I callDad while Evie’s in the shower.

“Tristan,” he answers.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey. Everything okay?”

It’s getting late, almost midnight, but I knew he’d be up. We’re both night owls. “Yeah. Just wondering if you saw the document scans I sent Lucky.”

“I did,” he says. “Everything looks good.”

“I told him I’d send the originals tomorrow. It was late when we finished up today.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You’ve handled this perfectly. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Warmth spreads through my chest. His approval still means as much as it did when I was a kid. “Thanks for trusting me with the job in the first place.”

“We all gotta pull our weight, eh?” he jokes. “How’s the audit coming along?”

“They gave me a call today, actually. Said it’ll be a couple more days,” I reply. “It’s not as straightforward as we’d like, but we expected that. Evie mentioned there was some shady stuff going on when she worked there a few years ago—double invoices, shit like that, so I’m sure there’s a lot to sort.”

Dad chuckles. “It is what it is.”

“Yup,” I agree. Out of all the shit Randall—and Maribelle—have pulled, that’s the one thing we can relate to. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something. Concerning the Deschamps.”

“They been giving you trouble?” he asks, his voice sharpening.

“Nah, not yet. But …”

“They won’t sit by idly while we get rich off the most respected distillery in the South.”

“Something like that.” I take a sip of water. “Evie thinks we shouldconsider setting something up. Clear the air, sort out Randall’s debt with them.”

Dad grunts, skeptical but interested. “What do you think?”

“I don’t love the idea,” I hedge. “I came down to deal with what Randall owed us, not to tangle with everyone else. But I get where she’s coming from. We need as few enemies as possible if we’re gonna do business in town, even if we’re not living here.”

“Hmm,” he says, unconvinced.

“Another option would be returning the warehouse on West Saint Julian Street to the Deschamps,” I continue. “I think we can agree that it’s rightfully theirs, and it has all kinds of structural damage from years of neglect anyway.”

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