Page 63 of Grace on the Rocks

“How did you?—”

“I could hear them!”

Bryan chuckled, andGraceshoved a bite of bread in her mouth to keep from saying something rude.Whywas it the best bread she’d ever eaten?

“What’s next?”Wesasked.

“Macallan 12,” he said, unstoppering the bottle with a satisfying pop.

“What does the number mean?”Wesasked.

“Years aged.Thisis aSpeyside, from theSpeyRiverin the northeast.Mightremind you of aChristmaspudding.”

Grace was hyperaware as he leaned forward to splash theSpeysidein her glass, a wave of his own fresh sandalwood scent washing over her and leaving her heady.Whenhis shadow backed away without taking his sandalwood with him, she inhaled deeply into her glass to settle her nerves.Thedram did sort of smell likeChristmas.

“Fruity,”Wesobserved.

“Aye.Youmight catch a hint of ginger, as well.”

Grace tasted it, letting the spicy flavor roll around her tongue and burn its way down her throat.Eithershe was adjusting to the liquor, or this one was very smooth.

“I like it,”Wesdeclared. “Ifthat’s meant to remind me ofChristmaspudding,I’llhave to try one.”

“Aye?Thewinner, is it?”

“Oh,Idon’t know.Ishould probably go back and sample them all again.”

Bryan didn’t reply, just pushed the bread and chocolates closer to them.

“You’re smiling,”Westold him. “Ican hear it in your breath, butI’mnot kidding.Ionly ever mixedJackwithCoketo get drunk at parties, aside from my grandma’s mint juleps.”

“Ah, the infamous mint julep,”Bryanreplied, and nowGracecould hear his amused smile too.

“Have you ever tried one?”Wesleyasked.

“Afraid not.”

“It’s gross,”Gracesaid, and then felt them both turn towards her. “What?Steeplechasewas like the highlight of my mom’s whole year.”

“She has an unsophisticated palate,”WestoldBryan.

“Clearly,” he agreed.

“I… don’t hate these!”

Bryan barked out a laugh that warmed her almost as much as the whisky.Sheliked the way his laughs seemed to burst out of him like he was so unaccustomed to it they even caught him by surprise.Shealso liked being at least partially responsible for it.Laughterlooked—and sounded—good on him.

“Maybe that will be my distillery’s tagline.Finnbar.Youwon’t hate it.”

“It’s not the worst slogan,”Gracesaid, a little sheepish.Shedidn’t hate it.Infact, she was enjoying herself more than she ought to be.

“Not the worst is exactly whatIwas going for.Andfor the record, these are far above to any bourbon.Nooffense.”

Wes snorted, butGracefound herself grinning for no reason.

“What is it you like so much about whisky?” she asked, emboldened by the alcohol and the blindfold.Somehow, despite making her feel more vulnerable, she also found it easier to talk to him.

His clothes rustled, andGracecould picture him shrugging his shoulders practically up to his ears.

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