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My therapist’s words dart through the swirl inside my head. They seemed so simple when I was on her couch, but now, in the moment, I’m finding it’s hard to get a grip on what I’m feeling.
“You’re early,” Milly says to him, setting down her mug on the porch railing. “Good thing I was up.”
Nate’s eyes flick down Milly’s figure as she trundles down the steps. His expression hardens.
“Got a busy day. Wanted to get this delivery out of the way.” Nate looks away, rounds his truck, and flips down the tailgate. “Didn’t trust anyone else to get it here safely.”
Another guy—his brother Silas, I can tell from the guy’s massive build—climbs out of the passenger door to help him at the back of the truck.
Milly just scoffs, crossing her arms. “If y’all didn’t make such good whiskey, I’d kick your asses back down the hill.”
I bite back a smile. My sister can be full of piss and vinegar, and I kind of adore her for it.
She definitely doesn’t need me here. Still, it makes me feel better to help out and be a part of the action, especially when that action includes ancient grudges.
Damn you, Shakespeare. Now I’m thinking about Bel, and the several Word Porn meetings we had about Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet.
Must. Focus.
“Whiskey talks,” Nate grunts, hauling a crate off the truck bed. “Where do y’all want this?”
Milly’s eyes are glued to him as he and Silas approach the house. “Wine closet in the kitchen. Beau will show you the way.”
We don’t normally keep inventory at Milly’s private residence, but this stock is too valuable to risk theft, accidental or otherwise, at the resort’s cellar underneath the restaurant. She promised her client she’d personally oversee the safety of his purchase.
So into her wine closet it goes, where it will be under lock and key until the wedding itself.
The Kingsley brothers follow me inside. I take note of their every move. Nate throws a few more looks to kill my way. Wish I could say I didn’t care, but I do.
On his way out, I stay on his heels. He narrows his eyes at me.
“What?” I spit out.
“What the hell do you think we’re gonna do in here? Trash the place?” He wipes his hands. “I got better things to do. Unlike you, apparently.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. He’s baiting me, I know he is, but that does nothing to stop the burn inside my skin.
We step out onto the front porch.
“How about a thank you?” Milly asks as he moves past her. “Your whiskey’s gonna be the talk of a very high-profile wedding.”
He pauses at the top of the steps. Head bowed, he glances back at her. For a split second, something flashes across his eyes. Sadness, maybe. Regret.
Whatever it is, he blinks and it’s gone, replaced by that stony look he’s perpetually wearing.
“How about you thank me? It’s my whiskey y’all needed to land that wedding. You’re lucky I had some to sell you.”
I’m hit by the distinct impression that Nate’s a bit like a Carolina version of Tom Hardy. Gruff. Growly. Bad tattoos all over the place.
Except that shit somehow makes Tom Hardy that much more likable.
Nate, though? Not so much.
I set down my mug on the porch railing.
“For fuck’s sake, Kingsley. Enough.”
His dark gaze flicks to me. “So much for your famous hospitality.”
“Nate,” Silas warns.
He heads for the steps. But before he does, Nate pauses and turns his head. “Asshole, just like your father.”
Something inside me cracks.
Before I even know what’s happening, I’m lunging for him, hand clutched in a fist, arm curled back. Anger like I’ve never known propels me forward. I grab the neck of his shirt. “You son of a—”
“Beau!” Milly’s voice cracks like a whip. “Jesus Christ, stop!”
At the very last minute, I’m able to halt my fist mere inches from Nate’s nose. I blink, the feel of his shirt in my hand coming to life and grounding me. His nostrils flare as he stares up at me. His eyes unafraid and angry.
Daring me to make good on my fist’s promise.
My heart is beating so loudly in my ears I don’t hear Milly approach until she’s wrapped a hand around my arm.
“Go,” I hiss to Nate, dropping my hand from his shirt.
Nate gives his shirt a tug. With Silas at his side, they make for his truck. But not before I hear Silas mumble, “Stupid fuck.”
Me? Or his clown of a brother?
I have no clue. Don’t give a shit.
Nate guns the engine, a roar that raises the hair on my arms, and his taillights disappear around the far bend in Milly’s driveway.
My hand is shaking when I run it across my mouth.
“Sorry,” I manage. “That was not okay. I’m so sorry, Milly. I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”
