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Delilah slips off the picnic table. Her voice a soft, sad scold. “You’re not that big and scary, Cole Weston. If you want to run me off, just ask. I’ve been on my own before, I can do it again.”

Fuck. Her words sting.

I remember what she said about packing her bags. Something in her tone hints that independence wasn’t a choice, it was about survival.

Is this what she’s doing here? Surviving?

As Delilah heads across the parking lot, I stand and cross my arms, watching her departing figure from beneath the brim of my hat.

Ezra settles back beside me. “You want her to go, don’t you?”

“She should.” When I’m sure she’s made it back onto Main Street, I glance at my brother. “She’s hiding something. If it’s trouble, Ez…”

He releases a sigh. “I don’t want her to go.”

My head jerks back.

“You like her?” Jealousy slices deep. Fuck if the thought kills me. For one single second, I want to punch my brother.

“No. Evangeline loves her.” Ezra looks pained. “She’s the first woman she’s been around since…” He swallows. “Since Shannon. I think it’s good for her. She’s good for her. She’s good for the distillery.” His face hardens. “She stays. For as long as she wants.”

I drag a hand down my jaw. Fuck.

14 Delilah

The smoky caramel aroma of whiskey permeates my senses. I wipe down the bar top, refill the cherries in the condiment holder. It’s Friday, the June sunshine is bright, and the tasting room is filled with both tourists and locals.

I like bartending. The shift moves fast, and the tips, while not quite as good as they were at the club, are all I need for this small-town life. I’ve stayed busy planning the launch party. Taken up a needlepoint class on Tuesday nights at the local library to kill time when I’m not working. The Weston brothers are friendly.

Well, most of them.

I cast an eye at Cole storming past the window, his handsome face shadowed with irritation.

Jesus, he’s in a mood. Has been for the last week.

Cole’s barely given me more than a grunt since the ice cream parlor. Distance kept, no doubt, after hearing what I used to do for work. Typically, I’d shake it off. But this time, I can’t.

I don’t care what people think of me, but I hate that I care about what Cole thinks of me.

My brain whispers all the bad things in my ear. I’m a dumb stripper that no man wants around for longer than a lap dance. Especially not Cole Weston. Because I’ve never truly been wanted. Never permanently belonged anywhere. A fact Tempest is making perfectly clear.

By the time I make my way over to a table of guests from California, I feel shaky and unsteady. But I slap a happy smile on my face. Another tip from Melly. Smile even when there is a man you want to murder.

“Any refills?”

They order whiskey flights, and I head back to the bar.

As I key the order in the POS, I feel eyes on me.

I glance over my shoulder. A cold jolt flashes through my spine.

A man in cargo pants and a crew cut stares.

Swallowing, I turn my face away, and when I look up again, he’s gone. I watch the bells swing above the door.

I’m reaching for a bottle of Weston Whiskey Classic Single Malt when, from beneath the bar, my phone pings.

I bite my lip, guiltily. I shouldn’t check my phone during work, but it’s been ages without a word from Melly, and I’m desperate to hear from her.