Page 105 of Tennessee Trouble

“Almost as good as I am with my tongue.”

“I think you might just have to show me both and let me be the judge of that.”

Kicking the door closed behind him, Brandt walks into the hut, laying me down onto the bed gently.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yup.”

“And here I thought Tennessee Trouble was just the brand. Turns out it’s the girl too. And you know what?”

“What?” I ask, pulling him down to me. I kiss him, softly at first, then up the ante a moment later.

“I’m here for it.”

EPILOGUE

LINDEE

“Ohhhh, I like that.”

The surprised smile coming from the curvy, auburn-haired woman across the bar sends a wave of pride through me. Something tells me she’s hard to please in this area, and I seem to have passed with flying colors. Go me. “I like that a lot.”

She turns to the brunette next to her, holding it out for her to try. The woman—who I just learned to be Kenzie Wilder, wife of the Dustin Wild—takes it from her, lifting it to take a sip.

“That is good. I’ll take one of those!” Kenzie says.

“Coming right up!” I answer.

Turning back to the tap, I pull on the handle, reveling in the fresh smell of the cider pouring out. I don’t know that I will ever get over this feeling.

“If Sylvie likes it, that’s saying something,” Brandt comments, sliding up behind me. He places his hands on my hips, like he’s trying to hold me steady. In reality, I know that it’s just because he wants to hold on to me. He’s been doing it all night. Not that I’m complaining. “She’s the one we created the Shandy for. Because she doesn’t like beer.”

I slide the pint glass toward Kenzie, then turn as best I can in Brandt’s grasp, trying to face him. “You really created it because one customer doesn’t like beer?”

“To be fair,” Milo interjects. “That one customer is my baby sister’s best friend, so…”

If there is one thing I’ve learned this last year, it’s that both Brandt and Milo are wrapped around their sisters’ fingers. If those women want something, those boys jump. It’s endearing and sweet to see how dedicated they are to their families. Even more so now that I’m counted as part of that.

“Plus, it was a fun challenge. Turns out that getting the ratio right for such a simple drink took a couple of tries.”

“Only a couple?” I taunt.

Knowing Brandt, he fiddled with that drink for much longer than he should have. Much like he did with our cider. But, lucky combination number forty-two was the winner.

“Okay, more than a couple,” he mutters, tickling my sides.

Grabbing ahold of his shirt, I pull in him, stealing a kiss. There’s a few hoots and hollers from people who caught us, but I don’t care. I love this little life we’ve created way too much to let it get to me.

Brandt, on the other hand, relishes it and gives them more. Wrapping his arm around me, he plants one on me that makes me thankful that he’s holding on. It’s hot, powerful, and steals all my senses, almost making me forget where we are. If not for the peanut gallery, I’d be tempted to climb him like a tree and show him exactly what kind of trouble he’s asking for.

No, I take that back. I’m still tempted. If we were alone—instead of behind the bar at Pour Decisions—I’d actually do it.

We’ll have to save that for later.

“Hey now, no hanky-panky on the bar,” Brenna mockingly scolds, bellying up to the bar. Brewer, our seven-month-old chocolate lab, is hot on her heels, sitting down nicely next to her. “At least that was the rule this one established.”

Brandt holds up his hands in surrender. “We weren’t on the bar…”