Page 2 of Bourbon Girl, Part 2 of 6
"Not really," I admitted, rubbing my temples where a headache was already forming despite the early hour. "Couldn't sleep."
He shifted into gear and we merged onto the main road, the rhythm of the diesel engine filling the silence between us. I could see him glancing at me periodically in the mirror, his brow furrowed with the kind of concern I wasn't used to receiving from anyone.
"I noticed you checking your phone a lot yesterday," he said after a few minutes, his voice carrying that particular tone men got when they were fishing for information.
I had been checking my phone—scrolling through social media searches for Keith Banyon, looking up his liquor distribution company, trying to find any piece of information that might help me decide whether to contact him or keep running in the opposite direction.
"So?" I said defensively.
"So," he continued with growing amusement, "I'm wondering if you're losing sleep over some guy. Is that what this is about?"
I released a long sigh. The weight of the secret I'd been carrying felt heavier this morning, and Jett's unexpected concern made something crack inside me. "As a matter of fact, yes."
His eyebrows shot up in the mirror. "Really? I was just messing with you."
For a moment, I considered telling him everything—about my search for my father, about Keith Banyon and the blurred photograph, about the terrifying possibility that I'd found what I was looking for and had no idea what to do with it. The words gathered at the base of my throat, ready to spill out in a rush of honesty that might make me feel human again.
But before I could speak, Jett's expression shifted to something mock-serious. "Well, in that case, I gotta say—no guy is worth losing sleep over. No guy except me, that is."
Despite everything, I felt my mouth twitch into an almost-smile. "Your modesty is overwhelming."
"I'm just saying, if you're going to toss and turn all night thinking about someone, it might as well be someone cute who owns his own bee farm." He grinned at me in the mirror. "I mean, the honey alone should seal the deal."
"You're ridiculous," I said, but I could feel some of the tension leaving my shoulders. There was something oddly comforting about Jett's easy confidence, the way he could make light of things without dismissing them entirely.
"Ridiculously irresistible," he corrected, and for a moment, the morning felt lighter.
That feeling lasted exactly until we pulled into the strip mall parking lot and I spotted Naomi Sook waiting by the tour office. She waved enthusiastically at our approaching bus.
"Well, look who's back," Jett said, and the pleasure in his voice was unmistakable.
Naomi practically bounced up the bus steps, bringing with her the scent of expensive perfume and the kind of confidence that came from knowing you looked fantastic first thing in the morning.
"Hello!" she called. Her smile encompassed both of us but lingered longer on Jett. "I hope you don't mind me joining you again. My editor loved the preliminary article, so I'm back for more research."
"Not at all," Jett said, his whole demeanor shifting into something warmer and more attentive. "Great to see you again, Naomi."
I slumped lower in my seat, watching their easy interaction with the kind of sourness that made my coffee taste more bitter.
I closed my eyes and wished, not for the first time, that I could've just stayed in bed.
August 3, Sunday
yeast straina specific genetic variety of yeast selected for flavor and performance
THE MORNINGair carried the earthy promise of rain as I approached the tour bus, my sneakers squelching slightly on the dew-dampened grass. I was already dreading another day of forced cheerfulness. I climbed aboard and saw Naomi sitting directly behind the driver's seat, her legs elegantly crossed and her hair falling in perfect waves over one shoulder. She wore a crisp white blouse that defied the humidity, and there was an unmistakable radiance about her—the kind of glow that came from a night well spent.
Jett kept his eyes firmly fixed on his clipboard, scribbling notes with unusual intensity. His hair was still damp from what I assumed was a recent shower.
The evidence was written all over both of them in a language I didn't want to read.
"Good morning, Bernadette!" Naomi called out with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she'd already had her coffee and possibly something else that put her in an exceptionally good mood. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Morning," I managed, settling into a seat several rows back and trying to ignore the way my stomach had twisted into an uncomfortable knot.
"I was just telling Jett how much I'm enjoying my extended stay in Kentucky," Naomi continued, turning slightly in her seat to face me. Her skin had that enviable dewy quality that came from good genetics and expensive skincare. "How are you acclimating? It must be quite an adjustment from Arizona."
"It's been great," I said, grateful for a neutral topic. "The landscape is so different—all this green, and the way the morning mist hangs over the hills. It's like living in a postcard."
