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“I’m drunk already.” I hiccup and bring a hand to my mouth.

“Weston Whiskey’ll do that to you.” Cole gives me a heart-stuttering hat tilt, and I resist the urge to fly off my stool and kiss him until our lungs give out.

“Lord, remember two years ago?” Hassie’s lips pull to the side at the memory. “Our bottling session ended with nudity and fireworks.”

“Go easy on that.” Warren elbows her side, and she tosses him a scowl.

“I’m invincible when it comes to liquor.”

Wells snorts. “I think Mr. Johanneson’s shop class begs to differ.”

“What about the labels?” I look down at the collection of naked bottles. It seems like we’re doing this backward, but what do I know?

“Blame Ez.” River smirks at his brother. “A procrastinator until the very end.”

“A perfectionist.” Ezra states the obvious, pride in his tone.

“It still needs a name, honey,” Wyoma says, picking up a bottle to stare into the dark liquid like it’s a Magic 8 Ball.

“Hell, I don’t know what to call it.” Ezra’s brow furrows, an abashed expression overtaking his usually serious face.

“Son, you better get a giddy-up on that.” Vaughn’s admonishment makes Wyoma chuckle and pour Ezra another shot.

“Slap that damn label on last minute,” Ezra grumbles.

“I still have to design it.” River rolls his eyes. “Cuttin’ it damn close, Ez.”

With only a month until the launch party, it’s all hands on deck. The only person taking it in stride is me. I love the hustle of the distillery life. Planning parties, mixing drinks, overseeing the day-to-day operations, chatting up the locals and the guests. I could see myself doing this. What if I actually did?

“Yeah, and you’ll be the only one in here, putting labels on a thousand bottles of whiskey all by yourself the day before the launch.” Cole crosses the floor to us, his hand skimming my shoulder as his chest braces my back.

“You all are assholes,” Ezra grumbles, but I hear the smile in his voice.

“Hell, it’s how we always do it.” Wells takes up for Ezra. “Last minute, drumroll, nails bitten off, and all. It’s the stress that makes our whiskey the best.”

A laugh goes up. Ezra ducks his head as Hassie tosses a cork at it.

“Cole should name it.” Heads swivel to look at Warren.

“What?” Cole sounds suspicious.

“The whiskey. After something you love.” There’s an edge to Warren’s voice, a big brother push. A silent conversation happening between them.

I keep my gaze on the whiskey bottle, not trusting myself to look at Cole’s face. Not trusting my own emotions. He’s a man I feel in my bones, my soul, my heart.

“Makes sense,” Wells says, interrupting the awkward silence. “You’re back, aren’t you? To stay?”

Cole swallows. He’s at a loss for words for a moment, then manages, “I am.”

“Then name it after something you love.”

Thankfully, Hassie’s there to relieve the tension. “Bulls don’t count, Cole.”

Everyone laughs.

“Soon, we’ll have one more new whiskey birthed into the world.” Vaughn stares reverently at a bottle. No doubt remembering his brother.

“Whiskey daddies.” Hassie laughs.