Autumn Night Whiskey (Tequila Rose Book 2)

by Willow Winters

  “I’m good if you are,” she counters and I find my hands twisting around the steering wheel again.

  We’ve got hours left of her picking away, interrogating me in the guise of asking innocent questions. My gaze shifts to the clock as she turns down the volume on the radio until I can’t hear the alternative station anymore. Hours.

  “How are you on money?”

  That question catches me off guard and as I glance at my mother, I know it’s serious because she’s not looking at me. Her eyes are focused on the cars ahead of us on the highway. “You’ve never asked me that before.”

  “You’ve never moved and dumped all of your savings into a bar before.”

  “Fair point.” My acknowledgment is barely heard over the hum of the AC, let alone my screaming thoughts.

  “So?”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Mom.”

  “Of course I do, I’m your mother.” She offers me a pat on the thigh as I drive, and I catch a glimpse of her and note a warm smile along with a happiness in her blue eyes as she adds, “It’s in my job description.”

  Easing back into the driver’s seat, a sense of comfort takes over. Partially from the fact that I now have a conversation to eat up time, one that protects Magnolia and Bridget from my mother’s prying eye.

  “I have a backup plan if the bar struggles at first.”

  “Does it involve cashing out the trust from your grandfather?”

  My mother’s a banker. She’s as logical as they come. Not a wanderer or a romantic. She’s a numbers and logic kind of woman.

  “No. I haven’t touched that.” I nearly tell her I’m saving it for when I have children but then Bridget’s cherubic little face flashes in front of my eyes.

  “Well, so what then? Spit it out.”

  The turn signal ticks as I slip into the left lane for an upcoming off-ramp and gather my thoughts. I have it all written down and I went over it a thousand times already, but still, I know she’s going to ask questions I may not have the answer to.

  “Liquidating stocks would be first.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” My mother’s disapproval comes complete with a frown.

  “I sunk all my cash into the bar, so I don’t have much choice. I’ve got a small place down here, Mom. I’m not spending much, but if it comes down to it, I’ll need more cash to keep it afloat.”

  “And Griffin?” she questions.

  “Same with him.” In my periphery, I watch her nod and then I add, “We’re in this together.”

  “I know you are,” she says and her voice is amiable. “That’s why I’m nervous. It’s not just a lot of money. It’s also business with a friend. And you don’t do—”

  “You don’t do business with family or friends. I know. But this is our dream, Mom.”

  A smirk kicks up my lips when I can practically see her biting her tongue.

  “I love you, I love both of you,” she says, emphasizing the word both, “and I don’t want anything to get in the way of your friendship. Especially not money.”

  The conversation turns easy. She’s worried, but she doesn’t have to be. Her fingers play with the cuffs of her oversized cream sweater, her nerves showing.

  “It’s not just a bar, Mom.” All of the late-night talks with Griffin back when he was in college and I was backpacking across the country come back to me. I’d send him pictures and ideas, and he’d meet me halfway with more ideas of his own. “We already talked about what would happen if things went south and even though I know he’d hate it and I would too, we signed an agreement.”

  “And what’s that agreement?”

  “If profits dip below a certain point, we shut down the bar and rent it out to focus on the retail side with the beer. It makes sense. The easiest ROI even though the ceiling is lower. It’s sustainable and renting out the bar would keep those costs flush until we can sell it.” Just the thought of doing that makes my blood run cold. The idea of giving our dream to someone else if we can’t make it work makes me restless and uneasy.

  “You know restaurants and bars are hard, but—” my mother starts.

  “But liquor stores survive everywhere,” I say, completing her sentence for her, then glance at her with a knowing smile. She’s told me that a thousand times. Even though she’s questioning my game plan now, she’s never failed to support me. “Yes, I know. And Griffin knows too.”

  A moment passes of quiet contemplation and it’s only then that I realize she turned off the radio at some point. My mind drifts to the bar, and to making a family down there. To Magnolia and Bridget. “I’m not planning on failing, though.”

  My mother seems caught off guard by the determination in my voice, judging by the way she stares at me. She comments just above a murmur, “No one ever does.”

  While I’m taking in a deep breath, prepared to respond, my mother says, “You know I believe in you two. In all aspects, and you’ve always been business savvy … I just worry is all.”

  “Well, when you see it, you’ll stop worrying.”

  “I thought it wasn’t ready.”

  “There’s still some plumbing to do and I could use some opinions on décor,” I say, offering her the option to help as a peace treaty to stop talking about the “what ifs” if things don’t work out. I’m not naïve and I have plans for every outcome. I won’t settle for failure, though. And I damn sure don’t like talking about any possibility other than living the dream I worked too damn hard for to let slip through my fingers. Doing it there at that bar specifically. That town. Because it’s where Magnolia is.

  “How’s Griffin?” I glance at the clock before replying … hours remaining. More picking. More investigating. I should have turned on the damn radio.

  “He’s good.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?” she questions and I know this is her way of prying into my own love life. Shit.

  “I think he might.” I offer up gossip about my best friend in lieu of having to tell my mother about Magnolia while I’m trapped in this truck with her for another five hours. We used to do long road trips when I was younger. My grandfather would drive, with my mother in the passenger seat and me in the back. We went to Yosemite and other national parks, baseball stadiums and Niagara Falls.

  Gramps loved to travel and my mother inherited the trait. I used to think I loved it too until my grandfather passed away. That’s when I realized I just loved the stories. I loved listening to his stories on the way to make new ones.

  In the middle of her telling me to spill the details about Griffin’s supposed girlfriend, I hit a pothole and my gaze shifts to the rearview as I watch the boxes shift under the rope that’s got them all tied down in the bed of the truck.

  Hissing in a curse rather than saying it in front of my mother, I keep my eye on the rearview for a moment longer. Everything in the back all steadies and I don’t think anything shifted too much.

  “You tied it all down, didn’t you?”

  I don’t bother answering. It’s not long until her mind drifts to Gramps as well.

  “Your grandfather talked about the sailing competitions down here once.”

  “I know. It’s one of the reasons we picked this place. Did he compete?”

  “No … he wanted to, though. You know him,” she says, her tone picking up and getting lighter, “he wanted to do everything under the sun. The only thing that kept him back was my mother.”

  “I think he would’ve liked it down here,” I tell my mom but in my head all I can see is Magnolia. I know he would have loved her. She’s soft and sweet, but it’s her laugh and the way it shines in her eyes that roped me in. She’s innocent in a way that’s addictive.

  “I’m sure he would have, but couldn’t you have chosen somewhere closer?” my mother fusses and I can feel her stare on me.

  I dare to counter, suggesting, “You could always move.”

  “I just might,” she says like it’s a threat, and a smirk lifts my lips. “What
I really want to know is … do you think this place could be your forever?”

  “My forever?” I don’t know why I repeat the last bit. I know exactly what she means even as she gabs on about planting roots and buying a home to invest in.

  I don’t think about a damn bit of what she’s saying when I answer her. All I think about are Magnolia and Bridget.

  “Yeah, Mom. I think this could be my forever.”

  Magnolia

  When your heart’s a mess, everything else in life is too. “One day you’re going to fall in love. That boy better not break your heart.”

  Lying on the large sectional with Bridget, my statement isn’t heard by a soul. I tuck the throw up to her chin and listen to her soft protest in her sleep as I sit up, leaving her there, snoozing away like she has so many times on Autumn’s sofa.

  The drone of a Disney movie can still be heard out here in the living room from her den, but Bridget is a good sleeper and I doubt she’ll stir when I pick her up to take her home in a few hours.

  A peek in the den reveals one kid still awake, wide eyed and obsessed, mouthing every line. All the others are asleep or nodding off.

  “She’s down for the count?” Sharon asks, her second glass of red in one hand while she offers me a glass of sangria with the other.

  I gladly accept and nod before taking a small sip. “Yup.”

  I won’t be fooled by Autumn’s sangria. I once thought there’d be less alcohol in it than the wine. It was a night to remember and led to great memories, but a hangover from hell. One glass will do just fine tonight.

  “Cheers to Wine Down Wednesday,” Sharon says in a singsong voice, her glass clinking against mine.

  “It’s Friday.”

  “I don’t care,” Sharon responds in the same tone, her smile staying in place and forcing me to crack a wide smile as well.

  “Firepit is going and the monitors are already set up.” I follow her lead and head to the back patio, where the other women are circled around the just started firepit. The small flames have barely caught and Renee takes it upon herself to poke the hunks of wood, shifting them and working her magic.

  My mind is busy wondering if Brody likes firepits when I catch Autumn checking the baby monitor. Her little Cameron is only a few months old. I imagine the cup of coffee is for her, just so she can stay awake.

  The breeze is just right, a small chill in the air that makes it the perfect throw blanket weather.

  “Anyone need a refill?” Sharon questions and while the other women answer, I stare at the fire.

  I had my first kiss by a firepit. Asher, way back in tenth grade, threw a party. His dad is real laid back. The kind of laid back where we all knew there would be older kids drinking and a cup or two would find its way over to us. If he happened to see, he’d make sure none of us were driving or getting so drunk we’d be sick. That was the extent of his monitoring. Looking back on it now, I wonder what the heck he was thinking letting teens drink in the airplane hangar, but truthfully, I’m pretty sure his dad started drinking at the same age he started working, which was right around fourteen according to him.

  My father would have never allowed such a thing. Truth be told, I was scared to even take a sip from my red Solo cup. If he found out, he’d be livid. Robert was with me, though. We were all seated around the firepit. His hand landed on my knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth against my ripped jeans and I leaned into him. He was so warm, warmer than the fire even. My heart raced and when I kissed him it was like everyone else had disappeared. I’ll never forget that kiss.

  Of course the second it was over, someone shouted that we were making out and my cheeks turned bright red. Robert threw something at him. I forget who it was but I remember laughing. I remember feeling loved.

  “And then she said, ‘You know the one good thing about being pregnant is that you get to avoid a lot of sex,’ and my jaw just hung open.” Autumn’s statement snaps my attention back to the present.

  “Oh my God, your aunt said that.” Renee’s expression of mortified shock is echoed on all our faces.

  “RIP her sex life.” Sharon somehow appears right on time with the perfect comment and a glass of red for Renee.

  “I know!” Autumn’s eyes are wide with emphasis while flipping back her cropped hair. She just got it cut and dyed blond last week. She may have just had a baby, but she’s looking like a bombshell. The slouchy drape of her shirt certainly adds to that, even if she is only in burgundy flannel PJs.

  The baby monitor lights up and steals the show before I can ask who they’re talking about.

  Tucking my left leg under my bottom, I get comfy on the wicker love seat. Renee has the other half of it, while Autumn and Sharon occupy two of the three seats that form a semicircle around the other side of the stone firepit.

  “Who’s the other chair for?” I ask Renee when Autumn shows Sharon the monitor with proof Cameron is sound asleep.

  “Brianna just got home.”

  It takes me a second to realize Autumn’s talking about her younger sister. Just as I’m about to comment I didn’t know she was back from college, Autumn addresses her via the monitor. “Do you need me, Bri?”

  I can barely hear her response, but whatever it is, Autumn doesn’t move from her seat. From what I gather it was something to the effect of: take a chill pill and let me hold my nephew.

  “So …” Autumn lengthens and draws out the short, single word until I peek up at her from behind the rim of my glass midsip. She orders, “Update.”

  “About what?”

  The group’s collective sigh is far too extreme for the situation.

  “You’ve got to have some goods to share.”

  Renee stays mum but I don’t have to peek at her to know she’s eating this up.

  “Well, in short,” I say then pause for effect, “I’m an absolute mess.”

  “So same old, same old,” Sharon says, holding up her glass in cheers and I let out a good laugh.

  “For real, though,” I say then hesitate and lean over to a matching wicker basket full of throws to grab one to hide under. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing or how things got to be such a mess.”

  Sharon initiates the interrogation, asking, “So … which one are you dating?”

  “I don’t think she’s actually dating them … are you dating them?” Autumn half answers for me, then backtracks.

  “Well, let her answer and we’ll know,” Sharon mock scolds Autumn and then all eyes are on me.

  I have not had nearly enough to drink to get into all this.

  “You have been seeing Robert, right?” Sharon’s eyes are narrowed like she’s trying to remember. “Like recently? Or no?”

  Renee knows everything, on a weekly, daily, and even sometimes hourly basis. But Autumn and Sharon have their shit together and a million things constantly going on. Occasionally they ask if I’ve seen Robert and sometimes I give them the details, and sometimes I just shrug. I suppose the main deciding factor is how much I’ve had to drink and how I’m feeling at that very moment.

  “We’ve been off and on for a while.”

  “Right, but what about the sex?” Sharon isn’t beating around the bush and judging by Autumn’s expression, she’s surprised she’s being so blunt.

  I’m not. She’s a few cups deep, mellow and ready for gossip. To give it and to get it both. If one thing is true about her, Sharon is honest and shameless.

  “Also off and on, but like … more on than off, up until Brody.”

  “’Cause you’re having sex with Brody?” Sharon guesses and Autumn purses her lips before she smacks Sharon with a teal paisley outdoor pillow. It just barely misses Sharon’s glass.

  “Not the drink,” Sharon jokes and raises it above her head. Renee lets out a small laugh.

  “Let her tell you what she wants to tell you,” Autumn mutters and then focuses on me when she adds, “You don’t have to tell Miss Nosy a damn thing if you don’t want to.”

&
nbsp; “I feel like I should, though,” I confess as a bundle of nerves slowly tangles in the pit of my stomach. My fingers find the hem of the chenille throw blanket and I tell them, “I’ve slept with Brody. I’ve slept with Robert in the last month … and I don’t know if I’m dating or if it’s casual.” My throat gets tight and a little dry, so I take a sip. The girls are quiet so there’s only the crack and snap of the firepit to break up the tension. With a deep breath out, I add, “I think I’m seeing both of them. Robert in a more serious way than before, because he’s wanting more when he hasn’t before. And Brody in a … I don’t even know what way.” I have to set my glass down on the side table in order to pull my hair back. “It’s getting a little hot over here,” I comment as I fan myself and Sharon laughs.

  “I’ll say. Look at you, girl.” Sharon’s pride is evident and her smile somehow broadens when I look back at her. “The best of both worlds,” she says as if it’s not a pickle I’m in. Like it could just go on forever like this. Oh my Lord, there is no way it can go on like this for much longer.

  “For the longest time, you were the one not getting any. And now you’re probably getting more than any of us.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Autumn says and playfully smacks Sharon with the pillow once again, although this time it lacks force.

  “Hot damn,” Renee pipes up, aiding in changing the direction of the conversation. “So everyone’s getting some.”

  “Wait, what?” I have to take in what she’s said twice. “You and Griffin?”

  “No.” Renee’s quick to backpedal, saying, “No, I mean you guys. I’m not with Griffin.”

  “What’s going on there?” Sharon asks, leaning in and now the object of focus has become Renee.

  “There’s nothing there,” Renee responds calmly, stealing some of my throw blanket for herself. “And we were talking about Magnolia.”

  Traitor! I can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Throw me to the wolves, why don’t ya?”