Page 9 of Tennessee Trouble

Well, secret might be an overstatement. It’s not like we’ve been married for fifty years and I need to come clean about how I’m really an assassin and have been living under an assumed name. Nothing like that. Hell, she and I have known each other for less than an hour and we aren’t even calling each other our real names.

Still, I need to tell her.

“No.” Her shoulders sag, as if she were a balloon deflating. “I would love to tell you that everything here today is as good as our hometown pride, but it’s not. Hell, this isn’t even our festival. We would never create something as stupid sounding as Leprechauns and Liquor. That has Midnight Mavericks written all over it.”

Midnight Mavericks. I almost forgot they were here. With finding Luna and listening to her talk about the real stuff, it was easy to put those guys out of my mind.

“Tell me how you really feel,” I say with a laugh.

“That would be unprofessional.”

I scoff. Who cares about professional at a time like this? Then again, maybe I should be worried about that. Not worrying about it got me sent here. Although, there is a part of me that feels like I’m being rewarded for such behavior with the pretty girl who has landed in my lap.

“Fine, I’ll say if you won’t.” I clear my throat and look her directly in the eye. “That’s not real ’shine. That’s mass-produced, watered-down nonsense. They’re sellouts. They’re not in this for the art of it. They’re in it for the tourists who show up to Pigeon Forge every summer and want to pretend. They’re in it for the money, having the big store right there on the main drag and all of that. And you can taste it. You can taste the sellout in their product.”

Luna’s breath hitches, her whole chest rising and falling, drawing my attention to it. It takes everything in me not to stare. Not to rest my eyes on her breasts.

“I could kiss you,” she mutters.

“Not off the table.”

A pink tinge appears on her cheeks. Pressing her lips together, she looks away, unable to meet my eyes. Just as quickly, she snaps back, gaze meeting mine, looking like she’s about to spill a secret of her own. Her hazel eyes light up, sparkling in the late afternoon sun, and the corner of that oh-so-kissable mouth lifts to meet them.

“How do you feel about cherries?”

“Love them.”

“Perfect.”

Grabbing my hand again, she takes a giant step to her left, parking us right next to the Tennessee Trouble tent. Quickly looking around to make sure no one is watching, she reaches behind the table, producing an unlabeled jar. I want to know how she knew they were there, but I’m afraid it’ll spoil what we have. The freedom of the anonymity. Today, questions are better left unasked.

Hand firmly on the top of the jar, Luna struggles for a moment, arm straining as she twists, the lid on tight. Resting it on the table for leverage, she puts all her weight into it, but nothing.

“Here, let me.”

I take it from her, my hand brushing against hers. Lightning strikes at the contact and I damn near drop the jar. I know she feels it too, the soft hitch of her breath filling my ears even over the sound of the crowd bustling around us.

Breathe…

Managing to get the jar open, I hand it back, making sure to touch her again, not wanting to waste the opportunity. She does the same, running her fingers along mine, letting the moment linger.

“Whiskey soaked cherries,” she says, her voice breathy. “These are infused with Tennessee Trouble and then aged in a whiskey barrel for thirty days.”

Luna pulls one out of the jar, passing it to me. This is my chance. I could take it from her with my hand, like a gentleman. Like my mama raised me to be. Or…I could go for it.

Lowering my head, I open my mouth, sticking my tongue out just enough to grab the cherry from her, stem and all. Luna gasps, eyes going wide, my move catching her off guard. The flavor of the cherry mixed with the whiskey explodes on my tongue, in the best way possible, and I’m in heaven. I swallow the fruit, quickly tying up the stem and producing the pretty little loop on my lips.

“Oh, fuck…” Luna mutters, hands quickly clasping over her mouth. Yeah, she didn’t mean to say that out loud. Mission accomplished. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Totally fine,” I tell her, closing the gap between us. There’s less than an inch of space between us now, and it’s still too much. But I barely know her and we’re in public, so it’s going to have to stay this way. “I’m just glad you were impressed.”

“Very.”

“Because I have to tell you, your whiskey cherries are damn good. And actually better than my cherry pie ’shine.”

“Your…what?” Luna shakes her head. Stepping back, she gives me a confused look. “You said you brew beer.”

“I do,” I admit. Here goes… “I own a brewery. But my first love, what got me into brewing, is moonshine. My best friend and I had our first taste in high school, of Ol’ Reverend, and that was that. We snuck out to the woods and built our own secret still. Been doing it ever since. I still dabble in it on the side for fun.”