Page 93 of For the Promise

I scan the table. It’s covered in various whiskey samples as well as my notes from each blending attempt. I gather the notes together. I will carefully review them to figure out the issue.

Once I’ve disposed of these blends, I’ll start over.

The door bangs open and slams into the wall. “What the hell, Jaxon?”

I frown at Blossom. She can’t possibly be upset I’m pouring whiskey away. She knows enough about whiskey distilling to understand I’m not wasting the whiskey. Unlike my brothers who think any liquid from the barrels is drinkable. It’s not.

“These are the blends I didn’t approve.”

She fists her hands on her hips. “I don’t give a shit about the whiskey.”

“You’re angry?”

“What was your first clue?”

“The door banging open.”

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t being literal.”

I grimace at yet another example of my social awkwardness. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Answer your phone.”

I’m getting more confused as this conversation progresses. “Sorry?”

Her nostrils flare. “Stop saying sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” She growls. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I trail off and inhale a deep breath. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why are you mad?”

She points at the clock.

“It’s seven p.m.,” I read.

“And?”

“And…” I search my mind for why she would be angry at me for working at seven p.m. I work late most days. She knows this. Except for when I have plans.

“Oh shit,” I mutter when I remember. “We were going to dinner.”

“And you forgot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Enough with sorry! It’s bad enough you forgot we were having dinner today but you didn’t answer any of my texts. I was worried. I didn’t know if you were hurt. If something happened. If you were lying dead in a ditch with your face being eaten off by a seal.”

I open my mouth to tell her seals don’t eat human faces but then I notice her sniff and a tear leaks from her eye. Her tears slay me. Fortunately, I know what to do because she taught me how to handle this situation. I wrap her in my arms and sway her from side to side.

“I’m so sorry, Petal. I didn’t think. I always switch my phone on silent when I work. I didn’t hear your messages.”

She fists my t-shirt. “You don’t know how it feels to get a call telling you the worst has happened.”

I wipe her tears from her cheeks. “I wish you didn’t know how it feels either.”

“But I do.”

Her eyes, normally a brilliant whiskey brown, are red and puffy. It breaks my heart to see her this way.

“Tell me how to make you feel better.”

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