Page 60 of The Distiller's Darling

“I will.” With her eyes locked on his, she bit her lip … and then looked away. “We’ll talk soon.”

He nodded, and then realized she might not be able to see him in her peripheral vision. “Yeah, call me and let me know how the show goes.” He took a step back and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat.

Naomi gave him a small nod and then turned on her heel and strode quickly out of the gazebo. Iain just stood there, watching her go, wondering if he’d ever get the chance to watch her walking toward him. Toward them.

He let his shoulders slump as he turned to leave, too. He pulled his phone back out of his pocket and hit the ’call back’ button waiting on the screen. “Hey sis, what’s up?”

As he walked from the town square back to his apartment, Iain listened with increasing astonishment as his sister explained that after he’d left their mother had laid into their brothers and father. By the time the smoke had cleared, Cathal Brennan was crawling back to Ireland with his tail between his legs to beg for his wife’s forgiveness. The way Maeve told it, he’d be begging for Iain’s next—all from the safety of a different continent.

After all he’d gone through, Iain no longer had to sell his shares of Brennan Family Distillers if he didn’t want to. No matter what he decided, though, their mother wanted to use the money she’d inherited from her own father to get the Whitman’s distillery up and running. For generations, she’d said, Brennan men had been investing in their sons; it was time an O’Brien invested in her daughter. He and Maeve could either take the money as a loan, or she could stay on as a silent investor—whatever Maeve and Iain wanted was what Colleen Brennan wanted for them.

By the time Iain had hung up with his sister, his mind was reeling. He’d never expected their mother to defy their father in such spectacular fashion. Then again, he’d never expected his father to betray him so spectacularly either. According to Maeve, an apology would be forthcoming, but at the moment, Iain didn’t know if he was ready to accept. The hurt was still too fresh.

As he lumbered up the narrow steps to his tiny place, his feet dragging after the emotionally taxing day he’d just had, he thought long and hard about exactly what it was that he wanted.

He wanted Maeve to have her distillery, and he wanted to be the one to run it.

But most of all, he wanted a certain recalcitrant artist by his side through it all. Now, he just had to convince her that’s where she belonged.

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