Page 74 of Tennessee Trouble

“That only makes me want to tell you, you know.” Her words are muffled against my tee, the light vibration of her voice reverberating off my breastplate.

“Tell you what…” I draw back, looking down at her. “Save it. Tell me once you’ve won the SLOSH for your amazing new cocktail.”

“Oh, the one I still haven’t come up with?” she sasses, playfully pushing me away. “And CocktailCon is in like two weeks—pretty sure entries for the Society of Liquor, Overproofs, Spirits, and Hops awards are closed.”

“They close on Saturday.”

The look that she gives me could stop traffic. Eyebrows raised, lips quirked to one side, and an accusing stare, all mixed together with her hair still mussed up from my hands.

“What, are you a judge or something?”

“No, but I know a couple.”

I also have a drink entered…

Which, I should mention. I should tell her that we’d be competing against each other. Now isn’t the moment though. Telling her now would only discourage her from finishing. That’s the last thing I want.

“Because of course you do…” She turns back to the lab table, staring at the beaker full of whiskey. Letting out a heavy sigh, she mutters, mostly to herself. “This whole process is making me want a drink…”

I sidle up next to her, pulling two stools up behind us so we can sit. Maybe getting off our feet will help get the creative juices flowing.

“What is it that you really want out of this cocktail?”

“I want it to stand out. Something that people will remember and…crave. You can get a Moscow Mule pretty much anywhere—some are better than others, but plenty of people have done a spin on them.” She lets out a heavy breath, one she seemed to be holding on to, afraid it might get in the way of what she wanted to say. “A drink that people flock to, hitting up whatever place or event because they want something they can’t get elsewhere.”

I nod, taking in her every word, understanding that feeling—that desire—well. Deep down in my soul.

I tried to do the same thing. My attempt was just for fun, where hers has a whole different weight to it, but it’s still an internal fire I recognize.

“Unforgettable.”

Lindee’s eyes brighten, specks of gold glimmering like the sun. “Yes, exactly.”

The air around us stills, the moment taking on a new feel. One of importance. There’s a weight to it—not heavy, but still distinct—as if the universe was taking the time to imprint it into our memories. Perfectly fine by me. Because this moment—this woman—is about as perfect as they come.

Placing a hand on my thigh, Lindee leans in, stopping just short of my face. “Maybe I don’t want just the drink to be unforgettable.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

I slide my hand to the nape of her neck, pulling her in the rest of the way and kissing her. Softly, sweetly, like we have all the time in the world. Even though we don’t. That’s not the message I want to send though. I want her to know how much I want her. How much she means to me. How much she has turned my world upside down.

“Hey, Lind!”

Fuuuck…

We separate, giving each other matching looks of exasperation. Because of course Rory needs her right now.

“Lind,” Rory says again, sticking his head into the office. “Interloper…”

He nods at me, greeting me with the new moniker. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever been called, and he says it with enough respect in his voice that I know he means well. From the little we’ve chatted, I get the impression that if Rory didn’t like you, he’d simply ignore you. So I’ll take the nickname, even if it isn’t entirely flattering.

“What’s up?” Lindee replies, as if he didn’t interrupt anything.

“Just wanted to let you know Moose called out. Got a bad case of the scoots.”

Ewww…

“Well, that’s more information than I needed.” Lindee scrunches her face in disgust, trying to shaking off the visual. Can’t blame her there; I’m trying to do the same thing.