Page 31 of Tennessee Trouble

Looking down at my watch, I catch the time, realizing that it is about that time. I was inside the distillery longer than I realized.

“So, what happened?” Milo asks.

I let out a long, heavy sigh, trying to find the right words. “Meeting didn’t go exactly as planned.”

“You had a plan?”

I scoff, but the man has a point. I had a wing and a prayer, and a general idea of what I would say. That combination doesn’t exactly equal a plan.

“Ish…” I pause, waiting for another jab. “But I went in there, ready to apologize, offer up doing a joint promo, all the things Presley coached me on. And then she walked in.”

“She being the super-hot blonde? The one who made you taste colors, it was so good?” Brenna cracks.

Good Lord…

“Do you read all his texts?” I shoot back, unable to fathom what my baby sister just repeated to me. Talk about things I’d never say in front of her. “Again, some things aren’t for little sister ears. It’s guy talk.”

Guy talk that doesn’t happen as much now that my best friend is married to my sister. He and I were never ones to get graphic, but that didn’t mean we didn’t share with each other when we hooked up with someone. So yes, when we talked last night I mentioned meeting Luna and the incredible time we had together. And maybe even made the tasting colors comment.

Which I now deeply regret. On so many levels.

“Whatever,” Brenna brushes my comments off. “So, now what?”

“What do you mean now what? Luna is actually Lindee Murray, master distiller for Tennessee Trouble Whiskey and Distilling.”

“Master distiller? Ohhhh, the plot thickens…”

“No, Brenna,” I correct, as Milo laughs in the background. “The plot does not thicken.”

I huff out another exasperated sigh. I’m not a worrier by nature—I’m just not. I don’t see the point in it. What’s meant to be will happen, and frankly, shit has a way of working itself out. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being freaked out at the moment.

This is a lot to take in.

Lindee Murray, master distiller, is the smart, funny, and damn near perfect woman I spent the weekend with. Her sister—and probably the rest of her siblings—hates me. Hell, she thinks I seduced her to try and sway her opinion. If I’d known who she was, I would have steered clear.

Damn, am I thankful I didn’t know…

“So…what exactly happened at the meeting. What was said?” Milo asks.

I give him the rundown, quickly and professionally, in business partner mode. Mikayla’s threats, my offer for a joint promo, her ask to co-sponsor the tour, all of it. Including Lindee’s accusation. By the end, my heart hurts, leaving me to wonder if I just fucked up everything.

“Would it be the end of the world to share the sponsorship of the tour?” he asks when I finish rambling. “I know you thought Fire Lights is a hard pass, but the tour is different. It’d be just this once, and Dustin already cuts us a deal for the presenting rights, so it’s not like we’re losing a bunch by adding their name.”

He’s not wrong. As ridiculous as the whole thing is, it’s feasible enough. And wouldn’t be anything out of our pocket. Other than giving in. I’m not sure that’s the message we want to send though. Southern Brothers cannot be walked all over.

“Bren, give us a minute?” Milo says softly, like he’s turned away from the phone.

Brenna doesn’t respond, at least not verbally, but I can hear shuffling and what sounds like a kiss. Another long stretch of silence after some muffled talking, and Milo comes back.

“Okay, dude, it’s just us. So tell me, what are you really more upset about? The fact that the sister is wound tighter than an old clock and now you are stuck up there for a couple more days until you find a way to win her over? Or that your dream girl is real, but kinda-but-not-really a competitor and is hurt that you are who you are?”

Damn, Milo with the hard-hitting questions. Questions I’m not sure how to answer. Because both doesn’t fully cover it. Actually, if I’m honest with myself, both doesn’t cover it at all. It’s entirely the wrong answer.

“Lindee,” I answer, my heart turning it inside out as I do.

The look on her face as she asked me if I knew—if that was the whole reason for this past weekend—will haunt me. Forget seeing her bright eyes full of desire and mischief when I close mine. Nope. Not anymore. Now I’m going to see all that hurt and pain.

“Figured.”