Page 53 of Whirlwind

It was still there. That deep vibration between us, that heat. Pressing against each other, we both groaned. Electricity crackled through my chest, rooting me to the spot, to him. The urge to jump up on the counter and wrap my legs around him gripped me.

“I like kissing you, Violet,” he breathed against my swollen lips.

I shifted in his arms, my fingers grazing his neck. “I like kissing you, too. A lot. I think I’ll try that juice now. You’re right, I’ll be needing all the vitamins.”

Grinning, he handed me the small glass. I lifted it in salute and downed the cold green liquid. “Hmm. Not bad, I didn’t hate it.”

“You get used to it. The clarity and energy it brings are so worth it. You’ll crave it.”

I’m craving, all right.

As we sat at the island and ate, I asked Beck about his soundtrack gig here in Nashville, and he told me what a positive experience it had been, how he liked the other musicians he’d worked with. We drained the Chemex of its tasty brew. Never once was there a lull in our conversation. We cleaned up, putting away the leftovers. I loaded the dishwasher as he wiped down the island counter.

“Since we’re in Tennessee, I’d like to get a bottle of good bourbon for my mom and Finger like that one you shared with me at the Grand. Think you could you help me out there?”

“Great idea.You bet I could.” I closed the dishwasher door. “Their distillery is right here in Nashville. It’s a renovated warehouse in a rebuilt section of the city that’s really trendy now, antique stores, a couple of old bars.”

“Sounds great. I’ll call a car for us.”

The car service arrived, and I told the driver where to take us. Beck tugged a beanie low over his head, and slid on dark glasses. Every time he ventured out into public he had to take precautions, plan ahead. That couldn’t be easy, must be stressful. I put a hand over his hard thigh and squeezed. He took my hand in his and held onto it firmly.

At the distillery, we headed for the gift shop. Two couples stood at the end of the room under a sign “Tour Starts Here.”

Beck touched my arm. “Let’s take the tour.”

“Are you sure? I thought maybe you’d want to buy and run because…people.”

“It’s not crowded, and I’ve never done anything like this before. Could be interesting. We’d get to taste test the goods too, right?” He gestured at the tour information poster.

“Yes, we do.”

He got us tickets and we joined the group. Within minutes, the tour began. The tour guide was funny without being annoying as he told the story of the German family who’d emigrated to America in the nineteenth century and had started the whiskey distillery with their secret mash recipe.

We moved through the cavernous but small warehouse. The business had died out during Prohibition, but the original owners’ great, great grandsons had managed to resurrect the brand, the original license, and the original recipes, and had gained lots of attention in recent years. “What a story, huh?” I whispered.

Beck slid an arm around my waist as we stood in the midst of stacks and rows of big oak barrels. “They’re a real local legend. It’s awesome.”

I pressed against his side as the guide told us about high rye content. “Who knew whiskey was such an art form?”

“If you put your heart and soul into something, it’s art. Your art.”

My fingers hooked in a belt loop at Beck’s waist. “I agree.”

The tour ended with a tasting session at a small antique bar on the other side of the gift shop where our tour guide poured out five different oak barrel blends for each of us to try. He tilted his head and grinned as he poured for Beck. Maybe now, up close, he recognized him? One of the couples sitting a few stools down eyed us and quickly went back to their bourbons.

“Ooo, I’ve never tried all of them before.” I sipped on the Madeira blend, the Cognac cask. “I don’t know which I like best. They’re all so good. Oh my gosh…” I sipped on the shot of the sherry cask bourbon.

“This is amazing.” Beck drank the last of the sample of the single barrel. “Screw it, I’m getting all of the bourbons. And the two limited edition whiskeys.”

We thanked the tour guide and went into the gift shop. Beck placed an order to be shipped to his mom and Finger, as well as an order for his dad in L.A.

I flipped through a rack of souvenir T-shirts. A wall of warmth heated my side. Beck stood next to me and a giddy ripple went through my belly to match the warm sweetness inside me from the liquor. “Which bourbon would you like, Violet?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He brushed his lips with mine, and I tasted the sweet zing of the liquor on those incredible lips, and I let out a tiny moan. “I like those moans,” he whispered in my ear and a shiver raced up my neck. “I had fun here with you.” He took the black T-shirt from my hand. “I want to get you a souvenir.”

“I like souvenirs.”

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