Page 70 of Tennessee Trouble

I know there is no changing her, but that doesn’t stop me from sometimes wishing that I could have a normal older sister. One who wants to sit and giggle with me, passing on wise words of wisdom when it comes to life and boys. Instead, mine holds the belief that bossing me around and telling me how to live my life is the way it should be done.

“Rylan might be on to something with the cockasaurus though,” I add.

“Oh, we’re buying her the complete set for her birthday.”

We burst into giggles, the kind that only sisters can, as we walk off the dance floor and to the bar. Right about now, I’d kill for an Ol’ Fashioned Preacher, but it’s not on the menu. As chief distiller, I know the recipe and have all the required ingredients at home, but there is something special about when it’s made here at the distillery by one of our bartenders. Not tonight though. So I settle for a Tennessee Trouble on the rocks, ordering another one neat for Brandt.

“There you are!”

Slowly I turn around, pasting on my best customer service smile. Beaming back at me are Jerome and Brenda Cochran. Of all the people I don’t want to see, they are right at the top of my list.

“Jerome, Brenda, how wonderful to see y’all,” I greet, faking it like the best of them. “Having fun?”

Brenda huffs out an annoyed sigh. “The centerpieces are all wrong. I wanted baby pink carnations, not pink. And there’s way too much greenery. I’m paying for flowers, not filler. And the mini quiches are now broccoli and cheddar instead of mushroom and Swiss. Allegedly there was some problem with the mushrooms, but I think they just want to charge me the same price for a lesser product. Which is absurd. I mean, how are we supposed to throw a proper event with inferior substitutes? We have a standard to uphold…”

Sorry I asked…

I nod along, not giving two figs if the bacon-wrapped dates are stuffed with goat cheese instead of plain. No, that’s not true—I like the goat cheese. I definitely don’t care about the mini quiches, or the carnations, or the appropriate color combination of Jordan almonds.

A warm weight appears against my lower back, and I ease into it, knowing instantly that it’s Brandt. Without thinking, I hand him his drink, silently thanking him with my eyes for coming to my rescue. Dealing with the Cochrans might be a little easier with him by my side.

They don’t seem to notice his presence though, continuing to ramble and monopolize this “conversation.”

“My real question though,” Jerome presses, continuing to ignore Brandt. “Now that you’re done with your little side project, you’re going to turn your focus back where it belongs, right?”

My side project? What on earth is he…oh. He means Wink & Shine.

“Wink & Shine isn’t a side project,” I say, trying to keep my cool. It’s not easy, especially given the sneer on Jerome’s face as I reply. I can already tell he has a very strong opinion on it—one I’m not going to like.

“I understand you might not think so, but the focus should be the whiskey. A feminine moonshine isn’t what your ancestors would have wanted.”

My blood boils. How dare you stand here and tell me what Gil and Fergus would have wanted. It’s not like he knew them personally. Fuck, his family didn’t even live in Trouble when the brothers created their products.

“I like to think my great-grandfather and uncle would be pleased that one of their descendants is as creative as they were when it comes to the creation of spirits,” I answer through my fake smile.

Brandt flexes his hand against my back, letting me know he’s here, and that he supports me. But he’s letting me fight my own battle, a move I greatly appreciate.

“Perhaps,” Brenda says. “But the true heart of Tennessee Trouble is the whiskey.”

“And we don’t want to jeopardize the integrity of the product by…confusing ourselves. Too diverse of a profile and you’re no longer a specialty item.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Jerome, you’re a car salesman. Why don’t you stick with what you know?!

I suck in a breath, getting ready to level him with a witty comeback. One that is going to miraculously come to me since right now the only thing I can think to say is fuck off.

Brandt beats me to the punch.

“If I may, I think Wink & Shine is brilliant. It really taps into an underserved market. There are a lot of women who aren’t into the frou-frou cocktails or wine that is usually marketed toward them. Wink & Shine gives them the chance to have something of their own. Or, be the stepping stone—the gateway drug if you will—for someone who wants to try ’shine but never has because it’s intimidating.”

Jerome and Brenda simply stare at Brandt. The both of them blink hard, in sync with one another, as if they can’t believe that he spoke. Or dared disagree with them. Brandt doesn’t seem to care though, tugging me into his side, taking a sip of his drink, and continuing.

“Tennessee Trouble should be proud of adding the product to their offerings. Y’all should be even more proud that you have someone as brilliant as Lindee at the helm of your distilling operations. Who knows what she’ll come up with next? And I have no doubt that whatever it is, it will still honor the original products wholly and completely.”

Holy shit…

I look up at him, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. Brandt really thinks that? He really believes that my product is that good?

My tummy flips, doing somersaults and cartwheels like it’s performing the gold medal floor exercise. I close my eyes for a second, trying to give my mind a moment to catch up, suddenly feeling swimmy-headed. Like I drank the whole whiskey bottle by myself. If I thought I was in trouble before—falling hard for this man—then this moment solidified that I’m in deep. There’s no going back now. I’m in this ass over teakettle.