Page 35 of The Distiller's Darling

“Your friend is amazing.” Naomi linked her arm through Iain’s as they strolled toward his car at the far end of the lot. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Traffic had been terrible getting down to Santa Rosa, and Iain had been worried they’d miss the start of Gavin’s show, but seeing the relaxed smile on Naomi’s face made their mad dash worth it. He would never admit it aloud, but he enjoyed being the one to make her light up like this. She frequently wore a cynical scowl instead of the smile that transformed her face; Iain knew it was generally due to something her mother had said about the choices Naomi made. It made him happy to know he could give her a few moments of respite from all her familial expectations.

That was yet another thing they had in common. Iain always felt guilty complaining to any of his friends back home, but he didn’t worry about Naomi judging him. While their families were worlds apart—literally—she just got it. She understood how hard it was for Iain to live up to his father’s expectations, and how frequently he was compared to his two older brothers. Probably because she was in the same situation.

Cathal Brennan would like nothing more than for Iain to come home and settle down with a nice Irish girl who’d give them lots of grandbabies—exactly as his brothers had done. And Naomi’s mother? Well, he’d overheard enough of Naomi’s conversations with the woman to know she wanted her daughter to settle down with a successful Jewish doctor. Someone exactly like her brother. It was no wonder Iain and Naomi got along so well—they were practically the same person.

“You’re welcome,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on her lips before opening the passenger side door for her. When they were both settled in their seats, he pulled out of the lot and onto the freeway, back toward River Hill.

“Want the last dumpling?” she asked, tilting the box of cold Chinese food his way.

“No thanks. I know you want to finish them.”

Naomi popped it into her mouth and smiled. When she swallowed, she said, “You know me too well, Mr. Brennan.”

Iain’s chest pinched tightly, and he rubbed the ache away with the heel of his palm.

“You okay?”

He nodded and flicked his eyes her way. “Yeah, just a twinge. Probably your dumplings.” He winked, but even as he said it, the words rang false in his mind. Iain had a stomach made of lead. You had to, when whiskey was your lifeblood. He could drink loads of the stuff and never suffer heartburn or acid reflux—an unfortunate side effect of whiskey for some. Maybe Mr. Chin’s had used a new spice in their dumpling filling that he wasn’t used to.

Whatever it was, he didn’t like the feeling—at all. It was like someone had wrapped their fist around his heart and then squeezed with all their might.

Naomi rooted around in her purse. “I think I have an antacid in here somewhere. There!” She pulled out a silver foil-wrapped tube and passed it his way.

Iain plucked a tablet out of the wrapper and popped it in his mouth. Eww, disgusting. “Thanks,” he said, swallowing down the chalky substance that coated the inside of his mouth like a grotesque mixture of sawdust and toothpaste.

“No problem. I’m not a huge heartburn girl, but if I’m feeling stressed about something, the acid in my stomach builds up, and it just fucking hurts.” She laid her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “And I know you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders lately.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” Iain answered idly, rubbing the spot above his left pectoral when it clenched again. Until this afternoon, he’d been worried he’d have to return to Dublin with his tail tucked firmly between his legs to a loud chorus of ’I told you so.’ This whole thing—trying to launch an unknown brand, and in California of all places—had been his idea. He’d put his and Maeve’s reputations on the line, and if things didn’t work out, they’d never hear the end of it. Failure was not an option.

Naomi twisted in her seat to better face him as he guided his car down the freeway off-ramp toward her cottage at the edge of River Hill’s town limits. “How long have you known Gavin?”

Iain was thankful for the change in topic. Thinking about what his father would say if his gamble didn’t pay off made him moody, and he didn’t want to brood. He wanted to enjoy the rest of the evening with the beautiful woman at his side. “We went to school together,” he answered, a fond smile stretching his lips as he turned onto Naomi’s street. “We were in a band together, if you can believe it.”

“No way!” She bounced animatedly in her seat. “You’ve never mentioned you’re a musician.” Abruptly, the excitement dimmed from her eyes, and she looked out the window as he pulled into her driveway.

Briefly, Iain wondered if she’d come to the same conclusion about that statement he had. He hadn’t ever mentioned he could play the guitar because that wasn’t what their relationship was about. They only talked about the present—he told her about his difficulties making a sale, and she explained how the sculpture she was currently working on was fighting her—but they never really got into their pasts. Or, for that matter, their futures. Almost as if they had an unspoken agreement not to bring up something that might make this … something more.

Naomi pushed open the car door, and he came around the back of the vehicle to take her hand. Brushing aside their awkward moment, he lifted her knuckles to his mouth. “I can play guitar. Not as well as Gavin, but I can carry a tune.”

They reached her door, and he dropped her hand. Setting the key in the lock, she twisted it, and the door snicked open. They stepped over the threshold and, as if moving by instinct, Iain moved behind her to help her with her coat. They did this so often now that it was almost second nature. And that was a thought that didn’t need exploring.

“Can you sing, too?” she asked, dropping her keys in a bowl on a low, mission-style table and kicking off her heels. He shook his head in a negative as she headed toward the kitchen at the back of the house. “Oh, well. Drink?”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, unwinding the scarf from around his neck and hanging it on the peg next to her jacket. He removed his coat and hung it up as well, pausing a beat to stare at their clothing hanging side by side, the pain in his chest making itself known again.

He shook his head to try and banish the strange thoughts that were buzzing around in his head like a swarm of angry bees. He liked Naomi; they got along really well. And hell, he loved fucking her, that went without saying.

That’s all this is, he told himself. And he really wanted to believe that, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he wasn’t developing … feelings for her. Unwanted, inconvenient feelings.

They’d made a deal, damn it, and he had every intention of upholding their bargain. Brennan men always kept their word, and he’d promised Naomi this wouldn’t happen. He needed to shut this down, and fast.

Iain stared at his reflection in the mirror hanging next to the door. “Get yourself together, man,” he scolded his scowling expression. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Running a hand over his artfully-mussed hair, he caught his eyes one last time before turning away. From all outward appearances, he was still the same guy he’d been earlier that day. He could go on pretending that nothing had changed, that something about the seemingly simple domestic routine of returning to Naomi’s home together like they’d done it a million times before hadn’t thrown him for a loop.

It was probably just Gavin’s music getting to him. His friend had unveiled a new song tonight about falling in love with someone you’d only ever considered a friend. It was about a girl back home they’d both known since they were teenagers; Iain still couldn’t believe the two had hooked up, much less fallen in love. The world truly worked in mysterious ways.

He stepped into the kitchen to find Naomi at the counter muddling a sugar cube with bitters for an old fashioned. Dropping a twist of orange peel on top, she passed the glass to him. “Cheers on your sale.”

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