Page 13 of Tennessee Trouble

“Let’s get you in front of the fire,” he whispers, voice low and gruff.

“There’s not a lot of room.”

“There’s enough.”

Lowering himself to the ground, Brewer gently deposits me on the round, braided rug I keep in front of the fireplace. It’s old, musty, and has seen better days, but right now it’s warm, the heat from the fire spreading into the room.

“Just enough room for two,” he says, settling in next to me. “Although, I was kinda hoping there was only room for one, and then you’d have to sit on my lap.”

“But then I couldn’t do this…”

I reach behind me, underneath the bed, for my extra secret stash. The stuff that isn’t exactly legal. Grabbing the mostly empty bottle, I hold it up, letting the light from the fire bounce off it.

“You keep a stash up here?”

I shrug. “I use this place to come think. It’s my own personal escape. And sometimes that means coming up with some things that might not pass FDA scrutiny.”

I uncap the bottle and take a sip, letting the sweetness of my very first batch of cherry limeade moonshine take over. Fuck, that’s good.

I hand it over to Brewer, who is looking at me like a child about to go down their first waterslide—wild with excitement, with a smidge of hesitation buried in the back of their mind. He doesn’t let that hesitation win though. He throws back the bottle, taking a good-sized swig.

The muscles of his throat contract as he swallows, making my mouth water. I want to kiss him there, bury myself in that distinct smell, and feel the scratch of his five o’clock shadow on my skin. I want to know if his lips now taste like the cherry limeade.

I want to know what he tastes like in general.

“Well, hell…that’s good. Damn good.”

“Glad you think so. It’s my own personal recipe.”

Brewer’s eyes go wide and I can tell he’s impressed. I do my best to take a little bow, owning up to a job well done.

“Seriously, you should bottle that and sell it.”

Ha…if you only knew, sir.

The urge to tell him rises in me. To spill everything. And I do mean everything.

To tell him that I’m Lindee Murray, quarter owner and master distiller at Tennessee Trouble. That the siblings I mentioned earlier, Mikayla, Rylan, and Kyra, aren’t just siblings—they’re my partners in crime in running the family company and continuing the legacy. That Wink & Shine is more than my pet project—it’s been my world for the last couple of years. And that I will do anything to get people to take it seriously.

But I can’t. We agreed.

“Workin’ on it.”

“Good.” He winks. “I mean it, this is incredible. I could kiss you for sharing it with me.”

“I like that idea.”

5

BRANDT

I don’t need to be told twice.

Leaning forward, I slide my hand behind her neck, pulling her into me. The crackle and pop of the fire fills the tense air as time seems to slow down, drawing out the moment. Her lips are a whisper away, calling to me like a moth to the flame, and I’m ready to feel the burn. To take us there.

Wherever the moonshine may lead.

I hold back though, stopping myself from plunging in like I want to. Like I’m dying to. Because I want this to be memorable. To be perfect. Everything that a first kiss should be.