Page 8 of The Distiller's Darling

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** Three months later **

With a sigh, Iain hefted his tired body onto a stool and then rested his elbows on the gleaming copper bar top. During his brief trip home for Christmas, his father had told him he had three months left to prove that his plan for an experimental second label of the family’s whiskey was a sound financial move. But between the jet lag and near-constant headache he’d experienced since leaving his brother’s place in Wicklow, he needed to spend at least a few of those ninety days getting back to his old self. Until he did, he wouldn’t be much good at his job anyhow.

He’d chosen River Hill as his new base of operations after reading an article in the airline’s in-flight magazine about Angelica Travis, an actress he’d seen in a few movies years ago, renovating an old estate into a high-end bed and breakfast. The reporter who’d written the piece couldn’t say enough good things about the inn, its owner, or the town. An hour and a half outside of San Francisco, the Oakwell Inn was the perfect place to recharge his batteries. Thankfully, with it being low season and mid-week, they’d had a room available.

The first thing he’d done after setting his suitcase down was head to Frankie’s, a restaurant famed for making the best carnitas around. According to the article, its owner, Max Vergaras, was one of the hottest up-and-coming chefs in the state. The article had also mentioned something about how he was mixing artisanal alcohol with fresh, local, seasonal ingredients to create a truly innovative cocktail menu. Iain might be famished, but he still knew how to do his job. A visit to Frankie’s was good for his belly and for business.

“What can I get you?” the dark-haired man behind the bar asked, passing him a glass of ice water. Once of the things Iain loved most about visiting America was that practically every restaurant served their water ice cold. There were few things worse than drinking room temperature water.

“According to an article I just read on the plane out here, the only answer to that question is the carnitas tacos.”

The man’s lips hitched to the side. “Ah. That’d be the one about Angelica’s place.”

Iain nodded. “I’m staying there for a handful of days before heading down to San Francisco for business.”

“Good choice.” The other man pushed his hand forward. “I’m Max, by the way. I own this joint.”

Iain leaned forward and extended his palm. “Iain Brennan. Nice place you’ve got here.” With exposed brick walls, rough-hewn beams, and lots of copper fixtures on display, Frankie’s was a perfect blend of rustic and industrial. He’d always thought if he ever opened his own distillery one day, he’d want it to look just like this.

“Thanks.” Max smiled and pulled his hand back across the bar. “And here comes Angelica’s boyfriend, Noah Bradstone. Feel free to tell him to fuck off when he grumbles about you being in his seat.” The smirk he flashed let Iain know he was kidding, but it didn’t quite prepare him for the other man’s gruff greeting.

Noah reached over the bar, grabbed a bottle and a shot glass, and then dropped onto a stool next to him. “She’s killing me, man.”

“What happened now?” Max asked, visibly fighting a smile.

Amused, Iain watched as Noah, a big man with wide shoulders and strong, work-roughened hands, let out a frustrated groan and poured himself two fingers’ worth of the amber liquid. “I told her when she gets back next week, we should quit dicking around and just go get married already.”

“How romantic. I can’t imagine why she’s not rushing back.”

Noah waved Max’s sarcastic remark aside. “She said, ’Sure, that sounds great,’ and then went back to talking about the show. How did I manage to find the one woman in all of California who’s even less interested in getting married than I am?”

Max looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow. “You think she doesn’t want to marry you? I don’t know, Noah … Angelica loves you. You guys are sickening when you’re together.”

“Don’t get me wrong. Angelica loves me; that’s not the problem. She couldn’t care less about a wedding, though.”

Iain fought a smile as he dug into his tacos. Frankly, he could appreciate a woman like Angelica Travis. Unbidden, his mind flashed to the Founders’ Ball in San Francisco three months earlier. Sex with Naomi had been among the very best Iain had ever had, but the absolute best part was that she hadn’t asked for his phone number or made a big deal about seeing him again. Hell, Naomi’s forthright manner had been half the reason things had been so explosive between them. She’d known exactly what she wanted—and what she didn’t—and hadn’t been afraid to tell him. Their goodbye the next morning had been easy and uncomplicated, and he’d walked out of the hotel whistling, knowing he’d always remember the stunning brunette with great fondness. Now that he was heading back to the city, he wondered what the chances were of running into her again. Not that he’d go looking, but if their paths should cross, he wouldn’t turn down a few more naked hours with her.

“So, are you two getting married next week, or not?” Max asked, calling Iain’s attention back to the conversation taking place between the other two men. The one he only felt mildly guilty for eavesdropping on.

Noah grunted. “Fuck if I know. Maybe? You should probably get your good suit dry-cleaned just in case.” He threw back his double shot and winced as the liquid burned a path to his belly. Slamming the glass down onto the bar, he grimaced. “That stuff’s shit. Why do you serve it?”

Max reached across the bar and grabbed the unlabeled bottle, stashing it under the counter in one smooth movement. “We don’t. It was a sample the guys from Bottleworks dropped off for me to try.”

Noah scrubbed his palm over his mouth as if to wipe away the bad taste. “I get what they’re doing and why, but just because you want to make hooch doesn’t mean you should. You can’t just throw a bunch of crap together and assume it’s going to work.”

Iain laughed at Noah’s observation, which had the other man swiveling around to face him. Iain hadn’t noticed it at first, but up close, he couldn’t shake the feeling they’d met somewhere before. That didn’t make any sense, though. This was his first time in River Hill. Still, there was definitely something familiar about the man, and it wasn’t just his opinion about alcohol. “If everyone thought like you, my job would be so much easier.”

“How so?”

“My family’s in the whiskey business.”

“Oh yeah? Anything I’d know?”

Iain laughed and, like he’d done with Max a few minutes before, extended his hand. “Iain Brennan.”

Noah’s eyebrows shot up. “No shit,” he said, dwarfing Iain’s palm in his. “The first time I ever drank whiskey, your name was on the bottle.”

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