Page 45 of The Distiller's Darling

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Standing on the sidewalk outside the small regional airport in Santa Rosa, Iain’s mouth split into a wide grin when his sister stepped out into the California sunshine. “I can’t believe you came,” he said, pulling Maeve into a hug.

“When my brother calls—the good one, mind—and says to get my arse to California, I’m there.”

He rolled her carry-on luggage behind him as they made their way to his car. “You’re here four nights, right?”

Angelica had offered up Iain’s old room at the Oakwell Inn at a reduced rate. It was an added expenditure he hadn’t anticipated—especially now that he was counting his pennies in anticipation of his family’s censure—but the tiny space above Max’s garage simply wasn’t suitable for sibling slumber parties.

And there was no way Iain was going to ask Naomi to put his sister up, especially since everything between them felt a bit unsettled. Her statement about him not turning up on her doorstep had hurt more than he’d let on. Add to the fact that he hadn’t heard from her in a couple of days, and he was left wondering where they stood. The last thing she’d said to him was to stay away, and he hadn’t heard a peep since. He was trying not to worry.

“Three,” Maeve clarified. “Mam thinks I’m at a hen do in Vegas.”

“Smart.”

“I needed to get away. Fionn’s on one of his high horses, and Dad cornered me with the promise of my own project at Brennan’s. Obviously, he hopes if he bribes me well enough, I’ll get you to come over to the dark side.”

Iain snorted and rolled his eyes as he pulled onto the freeway. It had only been forty-eight hours since his father had stabbed him in the back with the news that the family had no intention of producing Whitman’s Revival no matter what he did. Since their call, Iain had received five different emails promising him all manner of promotions, hoping to get him to return to the family fold. He’d ignored them all.

What the old man hadn’t counted on, of course, was that the two youngest Brennans were tired of being dictated to, and they’d swiftly hatched a plan to take control of their destinies. Or, at least, the beginnings of a plan. That’s what had brought Maeve to California so quickly—to see if Iain’s scheme had any merit.

“Do you want to go to Angelica’s to take a nap, or head over to the distillery first?”

Maeve bounced in the seat. “The distillery!”

He should have known. Ever since he’d floated his new idea past her, she hadn’t been able to stop talking about it.

“I can’t believe you found one that’s for sale.”

Neither could Iain. Truly, it had been a stroke of luck. A few tech bros had decided it would be cool to distill gin and vodka with their buddies. They’d invested in all the equipment but had quickly grown tired of the venture. Now they wanted out. Noah had found out about the fire sale through the grapevine—no pun intended—and had given Iain a call several days ago. Originally, he’d intended on proposing the facility to his family. Now, he wanted it to be his. His and Maeve’s, rather. On paper, everything looked like it could work, but he needed his sister to inspect the stills before they’d know for sure.

Iain exited the highway and turned down a road leading into the small industrial part of town. It wasn’t the prettiest section of River Hill, but they didn’t need it to be. He wanted to make whiskey, not win beauty contests.

“I’m curious to see what you’re going to think,” Iain said, pulling into the driveway that led to a handful of warehouses. “I held off on checking it out in person until you could see it too.”

“How come?” Maeve asked, hopping out of the car even before he’d put it in park.

Iain smiled fondly. After eighteen hours of travel, most people would be ready to drop, but not Maeve. She was like the Energizer Bunny when she was amped up on an idea. And this was a whopper of one. “You’re the talent, remember?”

Iain entered the code into the security keypad and waited for the lock to disengage. When it did, he hefted the heavy steel door over his head with a grunt and stepped back to survey the space. The warehouse was over ten thousand square feet—well larger than what they’d need initially—but if things went well, they could grow into it.

“Well?” he asked.

Maeve turned to him, her jaw hanging open and excitement sparkling in her bright green eyes. “It’s perfect, Iain. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better distillery even if you’d asked me to.”

“Are you sure? The stills are good?”

She nodded and lovingly ran a hand over the gleaming copper. “God bless tech bros who have more money than sense.”

Iain laughed. “They claimed to have purchased ’only the best,’ but you can never tell. How does some programmer know what type of still is best?”

“However they knew, they knew.” She turned to face him but her hand continued to stroke the still’s copper surface. “What’s the next step?”

Iain blew out a breath. This was the part that made him nervous. He wasn’t worried about himself so much. No matter what happened, he’d land on his feet. There were always jobs in tourism marketing to be had, but Maeve was another story. She hadn’t gone to university, instead choosing to go to work directly in their family’s distillery as soon as she was done with school. If their venture failed, what would happen to her?

As if sensing his unease, Maeve laid a hand on his arm. “Iain, stop worrying about me. I already told you, I’m in. You couldn’t keep me away.” She craned her head back to take in the long neck of the still. “I’m gonna need that big brain of yours to focus on how we’re going to make it all work, not worrying about what happens to me if it doesn’t. We can do this. We will do this.”

Well, that settles that, Iain thought, wrapping his sister in another tight squeeze. Her faith in him never ceased to amaze him. She truly was the best damn person he knew, and if for no other reason than to make her a success, he vowed to do everything in his power to get their distillery up and running. “Now, sweet girl, I sell my shares in Brennans and we buy this place. I’ll call the lawyers.”

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