Page 9 of The Distiller's Darling

“I hear that a lot.” Iain grinned, letting the faint, familiar discomfort wash through him and disappear.

He wasn’t ashamed of his family name but he didn’t like using it to open doors for him, either. There was a market for a more approachable style that would entice non-whiskey drinkers, and he wanted to launch it without relying on the Brennan name. Unfortunately, his dad and brothers hadn’t come around to his way of thinking. Iain was doing everything in his power to convince his family to give the new expression his brilliant sister had developed an opportunity to stand on its own merits—devoid of the proud, historic Brennan name.

“Is that the business that brings you out this way?” Max asked, setting out a bottle of wine and uncorking it.

Iain nodded. “Yeah, I’m trying to launch a new label.” He exhaled. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, actually, but I’m out here in an effort to convince my dad and brothers there’s a market for it.”

“Sounds familiar,” Noah said, his face turning thoughtful.

“How so?” Iain’s eyes swiveled between Max and Noah.

Instead of answering, however, Noah reached across the bar, this time taking hold of the wine Max had uncorked. Grabbing two glasses, he poured some of the ruby liquid into one, and then the other before passing it to Iain. “This is mine.”

Iain wasn’t a big wine drinker, but he could appreciate it—when it was good. River Hill was located smack in the middle of California’s Russian River appellation, and it stood to reason if an award-winning restaurant stocked the stuff, this one would be.

He swirled the glass and inhaled. Right away, he picked up the musty aroma some pinots were known for, followed by hints of black cherry and mint. So far so good. He took a small sip, and his taste buds fired. “Feck, that’s good,” he said, smacking his lips together appreciatively.

Noah smiled, and then filled both their glasses. “It should be. It won a double gold this summer.”

“Nice.”

Noah nodded. “Yeah, it was. Especially since my dad took home the same award five years in a row before me.”

“Ah,” Iain said, taking another drink. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, then.”

“Maybe not exactly,” Noah mused, holding his glass up to the light and inspecting the ’legs’ that snaked down the side when he tilted it. “But enough to know you’ve probably got an uphill battle in front of you.”

Iain exhaled. That was putting it mildly. Every time he thought he’d made progress with his family, they’d read some article or hear some rumor that would have them expressing concern for the venture. Some days, he felt like Sisyphus pushing that damn boulder up the hill, only to watch it roll all the way back down again. It sometimes made him wonder if it was all worth it. But then he’d spent the holidays with his family and seen his two older brothers leading near-identical lives and known that it was.

He loved his family, and he loved Ireland, but Iain wanted … well, he wanted something more. He knew that made him sound ungrateful, but he was the third son, and he’d always known he’d have to forge his own path or be stuck following in his brothers’ footsteps, never quite getting the chance to be his own man.

“Yeah,” Iain agreed, taking another sip and savoring the complex flavors. “The latest battle is about the name and the label. Even if I can prove this is a viable venture, they don’t want to deviate too far from the traditional branding. I get it; everyone knows the Brennan name and recognizes the label. But this isn’t Brennan whiskey—I mean it is, obviously—but it’s different casks, new blends, totally new flavor profiles. Essentially, really experimental stuff the traditionalists in my family don’t understand.”

“Okay, now, that’s exactly like what I went through with my dad.” Noah pointed at him. “He offered to let me make my own wine, but it all had to be under his label. I could have my name on it—in smaller font, obviously—but it still had to be his.”

“Exactly!” Iain shot back, gratified to have found someone who understood what he was going through. Someone, it seemed, who’d come out the other end successful. “This can’t be ’Brennan’s Blended Whiskey’ or whatever they want to call it. This is like nothing we’ve ever done before. It has to be totally new and fresh—and that includes the name and the label. Only every graphic designer I know is on my dad’s payroll, and the ones I’ve tried to find elsewhere have been rubbish” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “If I see one more watercolor barley chaff I’m going to fucking scream.”

Noah rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then twisted the bottle of wine around so the label faced Iain. “What do you think of this?”

Iain studied it for a few seconds. The colors were bold, the font eye catching while still being easy to read, and the overall design strong and masculine without being too in-your-face. It was a great match for the man who’d produced the wine within. “I like it. Why?”

“My friend’s an artist who does graphic design on the side. She does all my labels. I’d be happy to put you guys in touch.”

Iain considered the offer. He wasn’t getting anywhere with the design team back home, and he hadn’t stumbled upon a design here he liked well enough to put it on the bottles he’d brought with him. He knew the fact that it looked like he was peddling hooch wasn’t doing him any favors. If he wanted to get distributors in the U.S. on board with the new brand, his whiskey needed to look the part. And that meant getting his shit together and hiring someone who’d produce a beautiful label that would stand out from the competition. Noah’s offer just might be the lifesaver he needed.

“Yeah, sure. That’d be grand. Does she have a card you can give me?”

“I don’t think I have one on hand, but I can set up a meeting for you, if you’d like. She’s local.”

“Perfect. Let me know the time and date and I’ll be there.” Iain shook the other man’s hand again. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Noah grinned at him. “Oh, I bet you can.”

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