Page 26 of Bourbon Girl, Part 3
His hands tangled in my hair as I pressed closer, the warmth of his body and the richness of the whiskey making everythingfeel heightened, electric. This was what I'd been hoping for, what I'd dreamed about during those long nights in my van.
"Well, well," a cold voice cut through our private moment. "Isn't this cozy."
We broke apart to find Portia standing in the doorway. She wore a smirk that made my stomach clench with dread.
"Portia, you could've knocked," Dylan said, frowning.
"This is as much my room as it is yours," she said flatly. "Dylan, did you know your little tour guide has been keeping secrets?"
"I don't want—" Dylan started, but she held up a manicured hand.
"She came to Kentucky to hunt for her biological father. Isn't that sweet? Oh, and the best part—she's homeless. Living in a van at a campground like a drifter."
My face burned with mortification as I watched Dylan's expression shift from confusion to something that might have been pity.
"How could you possibly know that?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"Naomi was full of information when she came to interview us," Portia said with obvious relish. "Such interesting details about the people working in our industry."
The betrayal hit me like ice water. Jett was the only person who knew about my search for my father. He must've told Naomi, shared my secrets during pillow talk.
I grabbed my pursed and blindly ran toward the door.
"Bernadette, wait," Dylan called.
But I couldn't face the questions in his eyes, the shift in how he was looking at me now that he knew the truth. "Leave me alone!" I shouted.
I fled through the empty distillery and out to my van, my hands shaking as I started the engine. The drive back to Happy Trails passed in a blur of tears and rage.
At my campsite, I pulled out the college admission papers I'd been carrying for weeks, the application to finish my hospitality degree that had felt impossible just days ago. Under the van's dim interior lights, I signed my name with decisive strokes, sealing my commitment to a future that suddenly felt like the only solid thing left in my crumbling world.
September 29, Monday
chargethe amount of mash loaded into a pot still for a batch distillation
THE STRIPmall parking lot baked under the late September sun as I walked across the cracked asphalt, clutching a manila folder that contained three pages of typed recommendations. I'd spent most of the night crafting the proposal after signing my college papers, channeling my anger and disappointment toward Jett into something productive.
The tour office door stuck slightly in the humid air, and I had to give it an extra push to get inside. The smell of burnt coffee and Teresa's sickly perfume hit me immediately, taking my breath.
"Bernadette!" Marv looked up from his cluttered desk, dabbing his forehead with a fast-food napkin. "We don't have any tours today."
"I know," I said, approaching his desk with more confidence than I felt. "I wanted to give you this."
I placed the folder on the one clear spot among his scattered papers. Teresa, perched on the edge of the desk in a lime green blouse that hurt my eyes, leaned forward with obvious curiosity.
"What's this?" she asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.
"A business proposal," I said, addressing Marv directly. "Ideas for turning the tour operation around."
Marv opened the folder and began reading. I'd outlined everything from social media strategies to partnership opportunities with local restaurants, from improved customer service training to seasonal themed tours.
"This is... comprehensive," he said, genuine surprise in his voice. "Where did all this come from?"
"I've been thinking about the business a lot," I said. "Observing what works and what doesn't. These are actionable changes that could increase bookings and customer satisfaction."
Teresa snatched the papers from Marv's hands, her manicured nails clicking against the pages as she flipped through them.
"Social media partnerships?" she scoffed. "Themed tours? This is a bourbon business, not a theme park. We don't need a two-bit tour guide to tell us how to run our company."
