Page 30 of Tennessee Trouble

Bright sunlight blinds me as I stumble out onto the concrete in front of the distillery, like I’m some kind of drunk being thrown out of a bar. Truth be told, my head is still spinning so fast after that meeting, part of me does feel drunk. Another feels like it was blindsided by a semi-truck.

Luna is a Murray…

Holy shit.

A loud whoop slices through the air, stealing my attention for a second. A group of overly enthusiastic guys saunter toward the front door, ready to get their whiskey on. Or maybe their moonshine. No, they’re definitely whiskey guys—something about them tells me that this group leans toward the classics, and still views moonshine as an outlaw’s booze. Unlike the amazing woman I spent the weekend with. She got it.

Of course she got it. She’s a Murray. She is Tennessee Trouble. The master distiller no less. No wonder she knew so much about all of it—she lives and breathes Ol’ Reverend. Better yet, she took it and created something new. Something different. She’s the genius behind it all.

She’s even more impressive than I realized.

I need to get out of here.

Where to, I’ve got no idea. Zero. Zilch. That meeting did not go as planned. My apology was…well, it was shit. I was too distracted by the fact that she was sitting right there. Giving her shark of a sister the chance to walk all over me. Which means I can’t head back to Hickory Hills just yet. I have to try again. Things need to be smoothed over before I leave. If I head home with the threat of legal action still hanging in the air, I’m a dead man.

But I’m also in a town I don’t know. With my duffle bag in the bed of my truck, since I only booked the one night at the Smoky Spruce Lodge. Stupid me for thinking that I’d be able to waltz in there and make everything okay with a smile and an envelope. Maybe I should have brought Presley.

Or even better, Margeaux Finnegan-Hayes, wife of Gus Hayes, the executive vice president of our parent company. She’s a fast-thinking, smooth-talking lawyer. She would have known what to say.

Slamming the truck door shut, I reach for my phone, pulling up my best friend’s name.

Houston, we have a problem

Milo

No problems. You went up there to solve problems, not cause them

Well, about that. Know the girl I told you about?

From this weekend? The pretty blonde who miraculously knew all about brewing?

That’s the one

She’s a Murray

Those last three words land like a lead balloon, making my inside feel like a bomb went off all over again.

Milo

As in, the owners of Tennessee Trouble

Yup…

For a second I consider elaborating. But what else is there to say?

My phone buzzes and I look down, expecting to see a reply from Milo. Instead, it’s Brenna’s face on my screen. Of course she would call right now.

“Hey, Bren.”

“You could at least have the decency to use our group chat so that I don’t have to read over his shoulder,” she replies, not bothering to greet me back.

“Some things are not for little sister ears,” I clap back. “What are you doing at the brewery anyway? It’s the middle of the day. Don’t you have a business to run?”

It’s a legitimate question. Pour Decisions, our taphouse, is only open evenings, Wednesday through Friday, and Saturday starting at lunchtime. While Milo might pop over there from the brewhouse during one of the days we’re closed, it’s not where we spend most of our time. And I know for a fact Brenna hates how the brewhouse smells.

More than all that, Brenna now owns Hickory Hills Drug, our local pharmacy. She has her own business to worry about.

“We’re finishing up lunch.”