Page 3 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
Ezra sighs. "Owen, we've been over this?—"
"Find someone else." I turn to leave, but Ezra's next words stop me cold.
"We discussed this. There is no one else. It's you or we pull our sponsorship entirely."
I know what that means. Ezra has spent the last ten years rebuilding his family's business. The distillery is just starting to gain national recognition. Backing out of a town event at the last minute would hurt their reputation, especially in a place as small as Eden Ridge, where everyone knows everyone's business.
I turn back slowly, my eyes finding Lettie's. She's watching me with a mixture of confusion and determination, her chin tilted up slightly. Something about that stubborn look in her eyemakes me want to push harder, see if I can break through her festive facade.
"I'm sure we can work something out," she says, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. "The distillery's participation is important to the festival's success."
"I don't care about the festival's success," I reply bluntly.
A flash of hurt crosses her face before she masks it with a professional smile. "Well, fortunately, you don't have to. You just need to represent Hunter Distillery, and I'll handle making sure the festival is successful."
There's steel beneath her cheerful tone. This woman isn't as soft as she looks.
For some reason, that realization makes the situation marginally less intolerable.
Ezra stands, clearly trying to salvage the meeting. "Owen, why don't you show Lettie around the distillery? She can get a feel for the operation, and you two can discuss how to best showcase Hunter Distillery at the festival."
It's not a suggestion. It's Ezra calling in ten years of friendship, of the night he stumbled into my bar in Silver Lakes, and we beat the shit out of each other before becoming brothers. It's him reminding me that when I showed up just over a month ago with nothing but my truck and my demons, he gave me a job and a place to stay without asking questions.
"Fine," I growl. "But I'm not dressing up as Santa."
A surprised laugh bursts from Lettie, the sound genuine and warm. "I think we can work with that limitation, Mr. McKenna."
"Owen," I correct automatically.
"Owen," she repeats, and something about the way my name sounds in her mouth makes my chest tighten.
I gesture toward the door. "Let's get this over with."
As I lead her out of the office, I can feel Ezra and Zoe exchanging glances behind us. I know what they're thinking.They've been trying to socialize me since I came back, like I'm some feral animal that needs to be reintroduced to human contact.
The production floor is noisy with the sound of machinery and workers, most of whom nod at me as we pass. I've earned their respect even in the short time I’ve been here, if not their friendship, and that's the way I prefer it. Distance is safer.
"So this is where the magic happens," Lettie says, her eyes wide as she takes in the copper stills and aging barrels.
"It's not magic," I reply. "It's chemistry and time."
She rolls her eyes. "You must be fun at parties."
"I don't do parties."
"Let me guess. You don't do Christmas, you don't do parties. So you do nothing fun, right Owen?"
The way she says it, like she's genuinely curious rather than judgmental, catches me off guard. I look down at her, at the way she's keeping pace beside me despite her shorter legs, at the determined set of her jaw.
"I make whiskey," I finally answer. "That's fun enough."
Another laugh escapes her, and I hate that I'm already cataloging the sound, storing it away. "Fair enough. But for the next few weeks, you're going to have to do a little more than that."
I stop walking, turning to face her fully. She's close enough that I can smell her perfume, something sweet and spicy that makes me think of cinnamon and vanilla. "Let's get something straight. I'm doing this because Ezra asked me to, not because I give a shit about your festival. I'll represent the distillery, but don't expect me to pretend I'm enjoying it."
Instead of being intimidated, she steps closer, tilting her head back to meet my eyes. "Let me get something straight, too. This festival matters to this town, it matters to my career, and now, whether you like it or not, it matters to HunterDistillery. So you can scowl all you want, but I expect your full cooperation."
We stand there for a long moment, locked in some kind of standoff. She doesn't back down, doesn't drop her gaze, and doesn't stop smiling, even though there's fire in her eyes now.
