Page 22 of Tennessee Trouble

He’s still holding on to me, pressing his forehead to mine and tickling my lips with his warm breath. If I had a way to freeze this moment and bottle this feeling, I would. Because this is the kind of fairy-tale moment every girl dreams of.

“I’m so happy the moonshine led me to you.”

And just like that, I’m ruined.

7

BRANDT

Time to do this.

Time to face the music. For a dance I didn’t do.

Okay, maybe I did. Sorta. I started it. By accident.

My comment was a joke—nothing more, nothing less. Something that Presley Callahan, Hayes’s social media manager, had started herself.

Staring at the entrance of the Tennessee Trouble distillery and headquarters, I remind myself that the sooner I go in there, the sooner this will be over. All I need to do is walk in there, present myself for this meeting with their new CEO, and smooth it all over.

As if that’s going to be easy.

At least our name doesn’t sound like a stripper’s act.

To be fair, the name Wink & Shine does sound like the kind of name that one could make dirty. A name that seems innocent on the surface, but once you know better, you can’t un-know.

Kinda like their moonshine, actually.

And the beautiful blonde I spent the night with. The one whose hazel eyes will star in my dreams for a long time.

Now that I’ve actually tried Wink & Shine, I get it. I get where the name came from and why it’s a great new product on the market. Not sure how much of that I’m going to be willing to admit to, but it makes me regret my comment. As in, actually regret it—not simply regret it because it landed Southern Brothers in some hot water and now I’m up here to do a tap dance to make our companies stop fighting.

Sucking in a deep breath, I force myself out of my truck and toward the front door, those hazel eyes still front and center in my mind. It’s midmorning on a Monday, but that doesn’t seem to have stopped a crowd of people from lining up in front of the distillery. I glance down at my phone, checking the time again, wondering if I might be late.

Nope, it’s nine fifty. My meeting with the CEO of Tennessee Trouble is at ten. If I remember correctly from their website, distillery tours and the tasting room don’t open until noon. Meaning these folks are lined up more than two hours in advance. Holy shit.

It’s good whiskey, but it’s not that good.

Also, I’m pretty sure the website said that you had to buy tickets in advance. Or maybe that was simply a suggestion. Looking at that line, though, it seems more like a requirement than a suggestion.

Reaching the front door of the lobby, I give the line once last glance, still amazed by the size of it. Most days I’m still in awe of what Milo and I have done with Southern Brothers—four beers sold across the country, official beer of Fire Lights honky-tonk in Nashville, Pour Decisions, our tap room in our hometown of Hickory Hills, and more—but there is no questioning that we are a much smaller operation than Tennessee Trouble. We’ve also been in business a fraction of the time.

I walk inside, the heat from a vent hitting me almost immediately, making the morning air slipping through the closing door feel even cooler. The brightly lit lobby is warm and welcoming, giving off a rustic log-cabin feel with dark wood floors and a lighter pine color to the walls. Everything is shiny, reflecting the overhead lights, helping to make the area look bigger than it is.

So this is Tennessee Trouble…

I glance around and can’t help up but notice the very prominently displayed placard on the wall.

I like my whiskey straight, but my friends can go either way.

Tennessee Trouble Whiskey is a welcoming environment and a safe space for everyone, at all times.

We pride ourselves on being a non-discriminatory workplace based on race, color, religion, sex, national origin, age, or well, anything actually. Unless you’re an asshole. We will discriminate against you for that.

Because y’all means all.

I laugh at the last bit—not the y’all meaning all, the part about the asshole—because I can’t help but agree. And I wonder if I can find a way to steal that for Pour Decisions. The colorful sign, both in language and design—the word friends in bold, block letters with a rainbow pattern designed throughout—stands out in the otherwise muted lobby, which is likely by design.

“Welcome to Tennessee Trouble,” a posh, older sounding voice greets.