Page 85 of The Bourbon Bet
“Go inside,” I reply immediately. Seeing him in his element at work is too good to pass up.
“Okay, I’ll have Tom escort you inside. And again, I apologize.”
“It’s fine. See you in a few.”
We park next to a building with a brass sign that reads “Distillery.” A minute later, Tom opens my door and offers his arm. “Mr. Blackstone would like me to accompany you.”
I’m relieved. The two-story distillery is spacious enough to get lost in, and I have no desire to wander around in my crimson cocktail dress and three-inch heels searching for Sebastian.
We step onto a massive porch that should be at odds with a working distillery, but instead oozes southern charm. Tom pulls open the black metal door, steps aside, and waits for me to enter first. Undertones of caramel, vanilla, and oats greet me. The scent reminds me of summer mornings at my grandparents’, eating oatmeal in their sunny kitchen, and helping them with the crosswords. There’s even a slight fruity undertone in the air, like the berries added to the breakfast treat.
A large banner hangs across the entrance hall: “Blackstone Bourbon—Official Sponsor of the Kentucky Derby.” Beneath it sits an ornate countdown clock: “Derby Day: Five Days!”
My stomach twists into a painful knot. The ticking of that countdown clock seems to follow me as we walk deeper into the distillery, each second eroding what little time I have left.
I take a deep breath and lock those thoughts away in a mental vault. Not now. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Today is about Sebastian, about us, about this rare chance to see him in his element. I plaster on a smile and focus on the people bustling around in jeans and polos with the Blackstone logo. Not that it helps much. I swear the clank of machines pauses, and whispered conversations follow in our wake. My gratitude for Sebastian asking Tom to escort me deepens.
We move past six massive, gleaming, polished copper—well, things. They resemble the Tin Man’s oil can fromThe Wizard of Oz.
“What are those?” I ask Tom.
“Stills. They distill mash into bourbon.”
“What’s mash?”
“You’re about to see.” We arrive at a grated staircase. “Watch your step, Ms. Manchester—”
“Rosalia. Please, call me Rosalia,” I remind him.
As we make our way up, a cereal-like scent that reminds me of cooked corn or warm bread grows stronger with every step. When we reach the top, Tom gestures with his free hand to rows of circular tubs. “This is mash.”
The walkway has six massive cylindrical tubs on each side. Half are made of stainless steel; the others are wood. All but two are filled with yellow stuff. Some are thick like potatoes, others more like soup; all are at different stages of bubbling.
At the very end of the platform stands a man in a Blackstone polo talking to Sebastian. He isn’t wearing his suit jacket, and his sleeves are rolled up, exposing enticing forearms. Strong, veiny arms are my weakness. Add in how well his butt and thighs fill out his slacks, and I’m craving more than dinner.
Both men turn at our approach. Sebastian’s gaze locks on mine, and I catch the unmistakable heat that flares in his eyes. He clearly approves of the dress he surprised me with, and that look sends warmth pooling low in my belly.
He says something to the other man, who nods before leaving. When he passes us, the guy murmurs a greeting but keeps his gaze averted. Sebastian glances at the clipboard hanging next to a mash tub, makes a note, then walks over to me. “Sorry for the delay.” He kisses my cheek before turning to Tom. “We should be ready to head out to dinner in about fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll call the restaurant to let them know you’ll be a little late,” Tom tells Sebastian.
“Thank you.”
After Tom leaves, I say, “I’ve heard The Gilded Fork is strict about late arrivals. Will we lose our table?”
“It’ll be there whenever we arrive,” he replies with complete confidence. His gaze roams over me. “You are a fantasy come true in that dress.”
I can’t hold back my smile. “You’re just saying that because you picked it out,” I tease.
The day after we made plans for tonight’s dinner, Hanna arrived at Novel Idea with a garment bag, two boxes, and a note from Sebastian that nearly melted my heart. He’d heard the stress in my voice about what to wear and wanted to help, so he got me a complete outfit down to the shoes and lingerie.
And I love it. I feel so damn sexy with how the sheath style hugs all my curves like a second skin. Even better? The way Sebastian can't seem to look away. I twist to give him a view of the back that drops to the curve of my spine.
He moves closer, his fingertips tracing along my backbone. In the near distance, metal clangs against metal, followed by an indistinguishable shout. Sebastian drops his hand and offers me his arm. “It’s you who makes the dress stunning, not the other way around.” He clicks his tongue. “Still, I miscalculated…”
I look at him. “Oh? How so?”
“Dinner is no longer what I wantspreadbefore me.” The promise of pleasure in his eyes and voice sends a spark through me.
