Page 3 of Bourbon Girl, Part 3
My phone buzzed and Dylan's name appeared on the screen.Learning about mesquite barrel aging today. Wish you were here to taste it with me.
The message made my chest tighten with longing. I'd never experienced this particular brand of ache—missing someone's physical presence, wondering what they were doing, counting days until their return. My romantic experience consisted of a few awkward dates and one brief relationship with a coworker in Arizona that had fizzled when my mother's illness required all my attention.
This felt different… like I wasn't the only one taking a chance.
I respondedWalking through a sunflower maze. Wish you were here, too.
Ahead of me, Poppy's voice rang out in triumph. "I found the center! There's a tire swing and everything!"
I followed her excited calls through the final turns of the maze, emerging into a circular clearing where an ancient oak tree provided blessed shade. Poppy had already claimed the rope swing, her legs pumping as she soared back and forth. Clinton was laughing and recording a video on his phone.
"Bernadette, you made it!" she yelled.
I smiled and waved, soaking in the family scene. I glanced at my phone, but Dylan hadn't responded. The thought of him returning, of whatever was developing between us becoming real and immediate again, filled me with equal parts anticipation and trepidation.
Some mazes were easier to navigate than others.
September 3, Wednesday
column stillacontinuous distillation apparatus used in most large-scale bourbon production
THE BACHELORparty climbed aboard the tour bus like a pack, their testosterone-fueled energy filling the confined space with raucous laughter. Six men in their late twenties, all sporting matching t-shirts that proclaimed "Jake's Last Stand."
"Well, hello there, beautiful," the groom-to-be called out as I stood to begin my welcome spiel. His confident swagger suggested a lifetime of getting his way. "I'm Jake, and you're about to make this the best bachelor party in Kentucky history."
His friends whooped their approval, and I caught Jett's disapproving expression in the rearview mirror. His obvious irritation sent an unexpected flutter through my chest.
"Welcome to Birdwhistle Bourbon Tours," I began, projecting my voice over their continued commentary about my appearance. "Today we'll explore four distilleries that represent—"
"Forget the distilleries," interrupted a sandy-haired groomsman. "We want to exploreyou."
More laughter and more uncomfortable leering that made my skin crawl. Jett's eyes found mine in the mirror, his expression shifting to protective anger.
"I prefer to get back to the history," I said firmly, then resumed my recitation, knowing I'd probably killed my chance for decent tips.
The day crawled by as the bachelor party treated each stop like a personal audition for my romantic attention. At Woodford Reserve, Jake cornered me near the gift shop, his breathreeking of mouthwash attempting to mask morning alcohol consumption.
"Come on, sweetheart. One drink after work. I promise to show you a good time."
"I'm flattered," I lied smoothly, "but I have a boyfriend."
It wasn't technically true, but it felt true in some essential way that surprised me.
By the time we reached Goldenrod, my jaw ached from forced pleasantness. The sight of the rustic distillery building should have brought comfort, but instead it reminded me of Dylan's absence.
"Not going to say hello to loverboy?" Jett asked as I lingered by the bus while our group stumbled toward the entrance.
"He's still in Texas," I reminded him.
"Ah. Well, if the boys cross the line while you're in there, just leave. Or text me."
I swallowed, then gave him a grateful nod. I followed the bachelor party into the tasting room where the scents of aged wood and bourbon immediately transported me back to my last evening with Dylan. The space buzzed with late-afternoon energy, tourists sampling flights while soft jazz played overhead.
"Bernadette!"
I turned my head and balked slightly to see Jessica, Boyd, and Portia Biggs standing in the premium tasting area. Jessica smiled and waved. I cautiously made my way over, conscious of my ill-fitting tour guide uniform.
"Hello," I ventured.
