Page 20 of The Distiller's Darling

Iain blew out another long breath. “Tell me about it. Sometimes I wonder whether they know me at all.”

“That’s true of families everywhere,” Naomi said. “Business just makes it more complicated. When your livelihood is intertwined with your family, it’s a lot harder to stand up and prove yourself.”

“Were you ever in the family business?” Iain asked her.

“Please. Do these look like doctor’s hands?” She held up the hand that wasn’t clutching her fritter, showing off the streaks of clay and ink she hadn’t bothered to scrub off.

Sean smirked at her. “Not cut out for it, huh?”

“Not interested. And don’t poke fun at me, baker boy.” She leveled a finger at him. “I’m leaving you alone. For now.” Sean’s drinking hadn’t impacted anybody other than himself—yet—but it was only a matter of time. “Come on, Iain, let’s leave him to wallow in his bread dough.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sean called as Iain held the door for her. “Hope you survive.”

“Seems like a good guy,” Iain remarked as he strolled down the street next to her. “Nice that he’s on track to take over the family business, assuming that’s what he wants to do.”

She shook her head. “No way to tell. He used to be a record producer in L.A. Big time. Something happened and now he’s back here.” She paused. “He drinks a lot.”

“I assume you don’t mean that in the good way.”

Iain made a living from selling alcohol, she realized. “Sorry. No.” She winced. “Awkward.”

He shrugged. “Appreciating it is different from drowning in it.”

She nodded. “So, what are you going to do about your problem, since we’re not solving Sean’s out here on the sidewalk?”

He grinned at her. “Actually, I’m pretty sure my problem can’t be solved on the sidewalk either. At least, not if public decency laws are still a thing.”

She laughed. “Oh, is that what we’re talking about now?”

“Maybe.” He unwrapped his fritter and took a bite. “This is really good.”

“I know.” She’d planned on taking hers straight home and devouring it while she stared at the clay and waited for inspiration to strike, but strolling along next to the sexy Irishman was unexpectedly fun. She folded the paper carefully down so she wouldn’t get her fingers sticky and took her first bite. “So … your place or mine?”

He winced. “Given that ’my place’ is still a tiny room at the Oakwell Inn, I’d be grateful to go to yours.”

“Yeah? How grateful?”

* * *

Extremely grateful, as it turned out. Naomi couldn’t even regret the time lost working in her studio because yet again she jumped up out of bed crackling with creative energy.

She shook Iain, who was drowsing. “Do you mind if I go upstairs?”

“Mmph. Go for it.” He scrubbed his hands over his eyes and stretched as she admired the play of his muscles. “Can I make some calls from your office?”

“Sure. It faces the front window and I don’t have any curtains, though. Fair warning.” She grinned at him. “The neighbors might be curious.”

He sat up, and her mouth watered a little at the sight of his bare chest. “Should I give them a show?” He flexed an arm.

“Depends on your goals.” She laughed. “You might get a basket of brownies from Mr. Hughes, but Mr. Tidewell would probably critique your form.”

“Aging bodybuilder?”

“Former Navy.”

“Ouch. I’ll put on a shirt, in the interest of international relations.”

“I think we already had those,” she teased as she headed out the bedroom door and up the stairs.

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