Page 68 of Tennessee Trouble

“This is Declan Murry, our Chief Financial Officer and numbers wizard.”

“Hey, nice to officially meet you.” Declan shakes Brandt’s hand. “And before you ask, no, I’m not related. There’s no A in my last name. It’s just a coincidence.”

“One that made every teacher in our high school have to switch up their nice little alphabetical seating chart to separate these two so they didn’t goof off in class,” I say, helping bring Brandt into the fold. “And then this is Davis, Kyra’s husband and our local investment guru.”

“Hey,” Davis says, the guys greeting each other the same way as the others.

“So…” Kyra smiles mischievously, flipping her red curls over her shoulder. “Y’all here together?”

Thanks for that, Kyra.

I loop my arm back through Brandt’s and smile up at him. Right about now I should be feeling a mix of emotions, but there is only one. Happiness. Especially when he smiles back at me, waggling his eyebrows like he’s ready to shout all about us from the rooftops.

“We are,” I answer. “We’ve spent some time together while Brandt’s been in town, and I thought it might be nice to show him how a real brand throws a party.”

Brandt scoff laughs, shaking his head. “I deserve that…” he mutters, smile never wavering.

“Sweet,” Rylan replies.

Kyra gives me a look—one that is full of both pride and mischief. She’s known for almost a week that I was bringing Brandt with me. Hell, she squealed so loud when I told her I’m still surprised that she didn’t break glass. On top of the excitement though, she knows how nervous I’ve been to soft launch this…whatever it is. Relationship? Can we call it that? It no longer feels like a fling, but that doesn’t make it a relationship.

“Okay, are y’all ready?” Mikayla asks, returning out of nowhere. She’s tugging on satin elbow-length gloves that match her midnight-blue dress perfectly, not paying attention to anything else. To anyone else it might come off as selfish, but I know her. She’s nervous.

When our parents turned Tennessee Trouble over to the four of us, we knew it was a big responsibility. We’ve been preparing for this our whole lives. None of us more than Mikayla though. This distillery is her life. She loves it more than anyone I know—me included. Keeping our traditions alive and well is the kind of thing that keeps her up at night.

Traditions like our grand entrance into Spring Fling.

It started as a joke at the first Spring Fling in the 1980s, when our father suggested that he and my mother enter the event doing the Hokey Pokey. The way he tells the story, the idea came to him in the moment, and he laughed through the entire suggestion. Until Howard Brennan, the president of the Ol’ Troublemakers that year, very seriously responded with “the chicken dance would be more appropriate for springtime.”

And thus, my parents entered the party doing the chicken dance. And have every year since, until last year when my siblings and I officially took on carrying the torch. Or, well, wing flapping if you will.

“Time to get this show on the⁠—”

Mikayla stops dead in her tracks, frozen hand still tugging at one of her gloves. Her eyes go wide as the color drains from her face, and I don’t even have to guess what is going through her mind.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

Right on time…

“Nice to see you again as well, Ms. Murray,” Brandt drawls without skipping a beat, turning up the charm.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the rest of my family watching—waiting—to see how Mikayla reacts. Not that it will change their opinions. But it will without a doubt set a tone for the evening. Tension between the four of us is not the vibe we’re after. Ever.

“Brandt is my date for the evening,” I tell her, doubling down. Because why the hell not? I’m owning this.

She may be the oldest of the family and the CEO of the company, but she’s not the boss of me. Even at work. We own equal shares of the company, so she doesn’t get to overrule my vote. If there is ever an even split in opinion, Declan is our tiebreaker. And she most certainly doesn’t get to tell me how to manage my personal life.

Not that that’s ever stopped her from trying.

“D-d-date?” she chokes, gaze flying back and forth between Brandt and me. “Wh…I mean…wh…”

Apparently I’ve rendered her speechless. That’s a first. One that feels damn good.

I stand a little taller, puffing out my chest, a newfound pride rushing through my veins. Next to me, Brandt straightens up as well, holding out his elbow to me. I take it, the emcee’s voice coming through the wall announcing our entrance and cueing the music. Leaving no time for an argument.

“C’mon, Mickey, they’re playing our song,” Declan quips, throwing an arm around her and directing her toward the door.

“Declan, I swear to God himself…”