Page 59 of A Little Twist

“Morning, boss.” The tease in her tone changes the whole vibe of the room.

My stomach unknots, and I lean closer to her ear. “I didn’t expect to like the sound of that so much.”

“Got any orders for me?” Her eyebrow arches, and she has no idea.

“For starters, have a fun,busyday and wear this little lady out again.”

My daughter’s at the bar singing as she eats her yogurt and strawberries. I hadn’t been paying much attention, since I’d been worrying about Cass’s appearance.

Now I realize she’s chanting over and over, “T-A-S-T-E-Y, tasty!”

“That’s not how you spelltasty.”

Cass laughs. “It is if you’re Fergalicious.”

Pinky holds up her jelly toast with two fingers. “So delicious!”

I’m not following, but Cass is enjoying her performance. Her smile is a huge relief, and I’ve got to get to work. I’ve got a nine o’clock meeting with an old friend in the business, and then I’ve got payback to plan.

“See you two at five.” My eyes slide over her body one last time.

Today she’s in beige linen pants and a cropped top that shows off her stomach. It reminds me too much of sliding my hands under her shirt and devouring her breasts. I want to touch her again, so I’d better get out of here before I pop an inappropriate semi.

“We’ll do something very active.” She lifts her cup, and my ring is on her finger.

I don’t expect my response to seeing her this way, in my kitchen wearing my ring. For a moment, it’s like I’m looking ahead in time to an idealized version of the future.

I wish I’d gotten a better night’s sleep. This is what happens when I don’t trust my instincts. They’ve served me pretty damn well up to this point, and they’re telling me this is the girl I’m going to marry.

* * *

“Damn, that is some good-ass whiskey.”Willie “Bender” Cartwright exhales a throaty laugh as he rocks back in his chair at the tasting bar. “You definitely have the gift.”

Satisfaction warms my chest, and I like to imagine Pop looking down on what I’ve done with the place. “You’re the expert.”

Even though he’s twenty years older than me, I’ve been close to Bender since I was a kid, since he would stop by and shoot the shit with my dad over bottles of beer on the back porch.

Fast forward fifteen years, and he’s my biggest fan and best promoter. A legend in the industry, Bender has called more unicorns than anyone can count. He’s the original influencer, and tastemakers listen to what he says.

Brands are made on his approval alone.

He was the first one to pronounce our single barrel the best since Pappy van Winkle, and he started the hunt for Stone Cold when I needed all the help I could get. Needless to say, his rough-around-the-edges presence is welcome at our campfire any time, and when he says he’s in town for a visit, I make room on my schedule.

He takes another sip, clearing his gravelly throat. “Yep. I think this is the best yet.”

“I felt pretty confident when I tasted it, but your word seals the deal.”

“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.” He chuckles, lighting a cigar. “Your pop was a genius and one of the few people who’d dump the whole batch in the ditch if he wasn’t satisfied. Couldn’t get him to give it to me.”

He laughs more, and it’s another reason I cherish Bender’s friendship. So few people are left who remember Pop, and I gravitate to stories that reveal a side of him I never saw. As my grandfather he was wisdom and nostalgia, but with his friends, he was mischievous and fun.

“I want him to be remembered.” I turn the bottle with his image on the label.

Bender exhales a thin stream of smoke. “He was proud of you as a kid, and he’d be proud of the man you’ve become.”

“I appreciate that.”

“It’s true.” He nods. “And how’s that little spitfire daughter of yours? Last time I saw her, she called me a grumpy old billygoat.”

---