AllFreeNovel
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A band is playing a bluegrass song I recognize, the sound of the fiddle blowing in the breeze when we walk toward the open barn door.
“It’s like a speakeasy. The best moonshine in the state is brewed right here.”
“You mean Ain’t—?”
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and dragging me along with him before I can finish my sentence.
The barn is already packed with people once we get inside. There is a live band playing, a big oak bar to the right, and an open kitchen to the left. Long tables filled with food line the back wall, and some people are standing around eating and talking while others dance in front of the stage.
A few people see Navarone and say hello; others shake his hand. What the hell?
We take the last two open seats. Immediately, a guy wearing some 1930s-inspired look asks us what we want to drink. Rone answers for us and orders tacos to go with our drinks.
I guess everyone is here for the moonshine, judging by all the jars standing on the tables around us. “How do you know about this place?”
He flashes me a tentative smile. “I’ve come here every day since we came back to town.”
Looking around, I can’t blame him. This place is perfect. “Nothing ever changes, does it?” I say to myself.
His smile falters. “I guess it doesn’t.” He turns his gaze to the band playing onstage.
Remembering what Gunner said my stomach drops. Shit, I need to at least try. “Don’t be an asshole,” I whisper to myself, laying my hand on his.
“What did you say?” he asks, sitting back, his pirate smile lighting up his face.
“I’m glad you asked me to come.”
He gives me a small grin, pinching my hand. “Me too, babe.”
The hipster guy brings over two jars, one filled with strawberries and crushed ice, the other with what must be sparkling water.
I register that Navarone hasn’t had a drink since we’ve been in each other’s company. Why haven’t I noticed it before, and why am I holding back? He didn’t drink back at Sterling’s house and he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the studio these last weeks. He always used to throw them back when he was writing a song. All the years we were touring, he was either drunk or hungover.
“Is this Ain’t My Fault?” I ask before taking a sip, and I can’t help but moan. I recognize the taste; it’s my favorite brand.
He grins. “Yeah, the best in the state, if I do say so myself,” he says, sounding proud.
“Is this your—”
Someone taps him on his shoulder. “Do you have a minute?” the guy asks. He has a hard face and cold eyes; he’s somewhere in his early forties, handsome with a little bit of grey at his temples. He looks like an extra from Peaky Blinders. A badass version of Tom Hardy.
“You okay with that?” Navarone asks, waking me from my daydream. Yep, Peaky Blinders it is.
“Sure,” I say, smiling up at the other man.
He holds out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Nathan. Nice to meet you,” he says, a thick drawl shining through his voice. Man, he is handsome, and still holding onto my hand. He is wearing a white button-down shirt, black braces, and tight jeans tucked into his boots.
Navarone clears his throat and Nathan lets go of my hand with a shy smile on his lips.
“Be right back, Al,” Navarone says, following Nathan through a set of double doors.
The place is packed to the max. I see bottles with ‘Ain’t My Fault’ in black swirly letters printed on the side standing on a shelf at the bar.
“Excuse me?” I ask one of the girls walking around with a tray filled with martini glasses.
“Yes, sugar?” she asks.
“Can you tell me the name of this place?”
