Page 84 of The Bourbon Bet
“How?”
“Because it’s me.” He grins, but it fades. “And because I know the Blackstones.”
“You know Louis and a little about Thorne. But not Sebastian.” I pop the trunk and spot Paige’s bright pink thermos.
“That’s fair,” Dad concedes. Grabbing the coffee and locking the car, I can’t shake his words.
Do I really know Sebastian? We’d grown close over the past few weeks, but his family’s reputation is hard to ignore. What if there is more to him than I’ve seen? What if he is like his father and brother?
We head back to the field. “But bear with your old man,” he says. “And your mother. I know she tends to fret. A lot. It all comes from a place of love. Mine too. I worry about you. Sebastian Blackstone has the power to hurt more than your heart. Especially with what’s happening with your lease.”
I force a smile, hoping to disguise my anxiety. “None of that matters. I have an appointment with the SBA on Tuesday morning. Things will be cleared up.”
I hope. Kinda.
If I take that route, I’ll have to find a new store, which will require downtime and the extra cost of moving.
My stomach drops as a darker possibility emerges. What if the SBA does help me, and I no longer have to help Thorne? He says I can walk away at any time, but what about the NDA?
When I signed it, his logic seemed sound. “I have no reason to tell Sebastian,” he’d said dismissively. “That would give him time to change what’s in the portfolio.”
But now I see the dangerous loophole. The NDA only silences me, not him. If I walk away from our deal, nothing would prevent Thorne from telling Sebastian everything out of spite. Sebastian would believe I betrayed him, and I’d be legally bound from defending myself.
The trap feels complete, closing in from all sides, no matter which way I turn.
My dad taps my shoulder. His face tells me he’s been talking while I’ve been spiraling.
“Sorry, did you say something?” I ask.
He nods. “Do you want me to manage your store while you’re at the SBA meeting?”
“Won’t you be at work?”
“I can let them know I’ll be late.”
My eyes blur slightly, and I blink hard. Even when he thinks I’m making terrible decisions, even when he’s scared for me, he’s still here. “I appreciate the offer, but I've already put up a sign saying I'll be closed until noon and cancelled the morning coffee hours. But thank you for always being willing to step in when I need you.”
We start walking back across the field toward Noah and Paige, my dad’s steady presence beside me grounding my scattered thoughts. As we approach the group, my gaze catches sight of the Blackstone Bourbon balloon, its distinctive logo bringing Sebastian back to mind.
Not the rumors or his family name, but the man who quieted my anxieties with gentle reassurances. The man who ignored his fear of heights for my happiness, who had my bike fixed because he’d noticed my distress. The careful way he held me last night as if I were something precious. Those moments reveal more truth than whispered rumors ever could.
The lease problem and Thorne’s deal are all tangled together, and I'm not sure how it will work out. Maybe Sebastian is exactly who I think he is. Maybe he isn’t.But all these worries are built on ‘what ifs’ and other people’s opinions. What I’ve actually experienced with him—that’s real.
As another balloon rises against the brightening sky, a tentative resolution settles over me. I can’t control what others think of Sebastian or me. I can’t undo my mistakes with the lease or predict how tomorrow’s meeting will go. But I can trust what I’ve seen with my eyes and felt with my heart. From now on, I’ll try to listen to my voice above the chorus of well-meaning advice.
I smile, joining my little group with a lighter heart. Dad’s hand finds my shoulder and I lean into his touch, grateful for his concern even as I silently choose my own path. I’ll face whatever comes next as I have everything else: one step at a time, learning as I go, and trusting myself enough to rise above the fears that would keep me grounded.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rosalia
The sun glints off the polished brass of the Blackstone Bourbon sign as the Bentley drives through the gates of the distillery. Now that my stress levels are much lower than they were the first time I was here for the gala, I’m able to appreciate the property’s beauty, from the oak trees lining the road like proud sentinels to the rickhouses scattered in the distance. My gaze settles on the red brick buildings with their crispblack trim.
My phone rings from the small clutch resting on my lap. I pull it out, and a quiet happiness fills me at the sight of Sebastian’s number flashing on the screen. “Hi, traffic was nonexistent, so we’re a little early,” I tell him. “Tom’s driving past the main parking lot.”
Background conversation and grinding machine gears filter through the phone. “Damn. I’m running a little behind. Would you like to wait in the car or come inside?”
There’s a hint of frustration I haven't heard from him before. Is it the stress of running such a large operation or something else? Does he regret making plans with me?
