Contents
Want to be friends?
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
A Preview of Bourbon Nights
A Preview of Bourbon Love Notes
FREE Bonus Book
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ALSO BY SHARI J. RYAN
Copyright © 2020 by Shari J. Ryan
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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
* * *
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Cover Photographer: R+M Photography
Cover Model: Clint Wright
To anyone with regrets.
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Prologue
It all started fifteen years ago or something like that, but I’m not the type to keep track of dates, years, or how much time has passed since a guy made me breathless in the dark. But that night, I had to run away and couldn’t allow myself to wonder what might have been. I could never look back.
I held firm to my self-made promise.
He left our small town for bigger things, but I heard he had come back, and I had counted my blessings each day I hadn’t run into him.
My luck had run out when my sister, Melody, fell into the arms of this guy’s brother, Brett. Our siblings are now working together, running my dad’s bourbon shop. I figured if I didn’t ask about him, I could go on believing he was a caveman hiding from society.
Then, last week, my false sense of hope was crushed.
I was trying to do a good deed and help my sister and her new lover, who needed to tend to a scheduling conflict at the shop. Something came over me, and I volunteered to help Brett by bringing his daughter, Parker, to a bake sale she had plans to take part in at her school. It was only for two hours. Plus, there would be cookies.
I didn’t see trouble coming, but when it did, it was like a train wreck.
Over the gray linoleum floor and beneath the fluorescent lights of the school’s foyer, I watched a gaggle of women swoon over a grizzly-bearded PTA dad while I set up a table full of cookies. The other tables had been set up and ready, so as usual, I must have been late at being on time.
Once the bake sale started, we sold a lot of cookies, and I believe I ate as many as we sold, but who is counting? After the first half-hour, the fundraiser turned into a socializing event. That’s when my boredom kicked in. Thank God for phones with endless strings of social drama to read.
“You’re new around here,” a voice bellows from in front of the table. I glance up, finding the grizzly-bearded dad, no longer surrounded by his bosom-posse. Instead, he was studying me as if I was a mystery he needed to solve.
“Yeah, just helping Brett Pearson tonight,” I told him, dropping my gaze back to my phone to highlight my disinterest. Sorry, bud, you’ve got a beard, so that’s a hard no for me.
“A volunteer?” he continued.
“Sure,” I told him with a shrug.
“I’m glad Brett found someone to help him out tonight. Yeah, he said he was bummed he couldn’t make it.” The guy knew Brett. Small town problems.
I looked to the chair beside me in search of Brett’s daughter, discovering Parker had disappeared.
It was a wonderful “oh shit” moment.
“Yeah, he—uh—wanted to be here,” I told the guy, trying to sound distracted as I searched the area for Parker.
“Do you have a kid in this school too, or did Brett just hire you to babysit?” The guy wouldn’t quit. Question after question when I was doing my best to hide the fact that I lost Brett’s daughter.
“Uh yeah, my kid is here—somewhere,” I lied, thinking it would shut him up. “She’s old enough to do her own thing, so I offered to help with Parker.”
“Oh, nice. Which kid is yours?” Again, with the small-town problem. I was backing myself into a corner while tugging at the tablecloth, hoping my little friend might be playing hide-and-seek.
She wasn’t there either.
“Uh,” I stumbled. I needed a common name to get him out of my hair. “Amy.” I avoided eye-contact since I’m a firm believer in eyes are a tell-all when lying.
“Amy, huh?” the guy continued.
“Yup, fifth grade—tough year,” I said as I rolled up to my toes to scan the area above the taller heads.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the guy grit his teeth and smile awkwardly before leaning in toward me. “This school only goes up to fourth grade,” he whispered.
The color might have drained from my face. “Oh, crap. What am I saying? I meant fourth grade. I’m already thinking ahead to next year. Amy is all excited for middle school.”
The grizzly-beard’s lips pressed together as if he was lost in thought. “They don’t start middle school until seventh grade. I’m sure you know there’s an intermediate school.”
All I could think was: when the hell did this happen? I attended school in the same damn town.
“That’s what I meant,” I told him, obviously losing the battle.
“What’s your name again?” he asked.
I gave him a look to let him know my name was none of his business, but I was in a school, and I was aware of the rules and security must be a little different now. “I’m Journey Milan.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Journey Milan.”
“Yup, that’s me.” I was almost positive there was no Amy Milan enrolled at the school, but I could be divorced. I am divorced. It wasn’t too far off from the truth.
“I once knew a Journey. It’s not a common name.”
I shrugged, wondering why I felt concerned that he might have known me at some point in my life. “Maybe, the name is more common than you think.”
“Did you ever have red hair?” Shit. He knew me. Did we graduate together or something?
In response, I ran my fingers through my hair. “No, I’m a brunette. So, I guess there is more than one person named Journey.”
“Is Milan your maiden name or married name?”
“Married name.”
“What’s your maiden name, Journey?”
“Why does it matter?” I asked.
“Why do you seem nervous?” he pressed.
Other than preferring to be incognito, I didn’t recognize the guy and preferred to know who I was talking to before spilling private inf
ormation.
“Because I need to watch Parker, and she has disappeared,” I told him. I began making my way through the crowd of chatting parents, trying to spot a cute little girl wearing a magenta tutu. The color was bright enough to stand out, but I didn’t see a child with a tutu or pigtail buns. I walked down the hall toward the bathroom signs, hoping to find her there. I didn’t get far without hearing footsteps follow from behind.
“Did you seriously lose Parker?” Grizzly-beard asked. I don’t think it’s something I’d be joking about.
“She was with me one second and gone the next. I didn’t think she’d run off during the bake sale.”
The man groaned. “Maybe if you weren’t so concerned with your phone or sneaking cookies, you would have seen where she went.”
I spun around to face the guy. “Are you kidding me right now?”
He smirks. “Maybe.”
“This isn’t funny. I need to find her,” I told him.
“Okay, well, it’s a little funny because Parker is at my table with my daughter since you sold out of cookies. I heard you ate them all, but no judgment,” he coughed out the last few words. “Anyway, that’s how I discovered Parker has some random ‘mom’ sitting with her. So, I came to see who you are.”
“And who are you to be so concerned?” I retaliated.
The guy folded his muscle-clad arms over his chest as if he were trying to pull off the appearance of the Brawny paper-towel dude. The fleece shirt he was wearing wasn’t helping. “I’m Brody Pearson, Parker’s uncle.”
Brody Pearson. The Brody Pearson, who assisted me in the process of disrupting my life, as well as others. I knew he looked familiar. That beard, though—so deceiving.
That was the best “oh shit” moment of the night, in the worst way.
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t realize you would be here.” Why the hell didn’t Brett tell his brother to bring Parker to the bake sale? Dammit. I was aware his brother—Brody had a daughter. I should have assumed he’d be here. The thought didn’t cross my mind.
“I’m head of the PTA, so yeah, I’m here.” Brody Pearson, head of the PTA. It sounded like a joke.
“Head of the PTA?” I laughed. “You?”
Brody glanced from side to side as if I was joking. I was, but my laughter was at his expense.
“Is there a problem with me being a part of the PTA?”
“Nope,” I said, popping my p. “I better collect Parker from your table.”
“She’s fine,” he told me. “Are you always this friendly?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t really have a kid that goes to this school, do you?”
I touched my finger to my lips. “I just—I don’t think I owe you any more answers.”
“I’m sure Brett will give me all the answers I need,” he said, threatening my incognito-ness. “I’ll just give him a call.”
Brody turned away, heading back to the line of linen-covered tables. “Uh, wait, don’t call him. He’s in an important meeting. That’s why I’m here, helping.”
As if he didn’t hear me, Brody continued walking, searching through his phone. “The things I have to do around here,” he muttered.
“Seriously, what is your problem?” I asked him.
He twisted his head and peered over his shoulder. “You’re the one who lost my niece, remember?”
“I didn’t lose her. She walked away.”
“She walks away a lot. Were you aware?” he quizzed me.
“No, I did not know, but it might have been helpful information.”
“Probably,” Brody said, continuing his pace down the line of tables. He stopped abruptly in front of a table where I found Parker and, who I assumed to be Brody’s daughter, sitting.
“Parker, why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I asked her.
“I did,” she said, keeping her eyes locked on the stack of napkins she was straightening.
“Well, I didn’t hear you.”
“Dude, call me back when you’re free,” Brody spoke into his phone.
I tug at Brody’s arm. “You’re going to rat me out? Do you have nothing better to do?”
“My dad likes to be in charge at all times,” Brody’s daughter said, smirking at me.
“Clearly.” I rolled my eyes because it happened as naturally as breathing. “Parker, we should get back to our table and start cleaning up.”
Parker stands up and presses her shoulders back. “Okay.”
“Hey, Park,” Brody addressed her. “Does Miss Journey have a daughter in this school?”
Parker gave me an off-putting expression. “You have a daughter?” she asked. “Why didn’t she come with us tonight?”
I took Parker’s hand and guided her away from the table, hoping Brody wouldn’t follow. “Is your uncle always such a pain in the butt?”
“Mmm, pretty much,” Parker confirmed with a giggle.
For the following thirty minutes I agreed to be there, I stayed safe from Brody’s watchful eyes as I noticed a line of moms searching for a reason to chat him up off in the corner. Thankfully, I could get Parker and me out of the school without another encounter with the grizzly-beard.
The parking lot was lit up well, and parents were shuttling their kids into cars. We parked farther away, so we were still walking by the time some cars began pulling out of the lot. “Why did we park so far away?” Parker asked.
“I don’t like to park close to other cars.”
“Why?” she continued.
The truth—there were so many reasons. Dings on doors, awkward conversations, and so on. “I don’t really know,” I told her.
“My uncle Brody does the same thing. It’s because he’s in love with his truck and doesn’t want anyone to park too close.”
“Is that his truck down by my Jeep?” I asked, getting ready to rush Parker’s little legs to move faster to avoid Brody.
“Yup, it is,” she said, twisting around to peek over her shoulder. “See, he’s right behind us.”
I wasn’t about to turn around and make eye-contact with Brody.
“So, if you’re a mom of another child in this school, why are you taking Parker somewhere and not your so-called daughter? Where is she?” There it was: the question that would force me to stop and explain why it seemed like I was kidnapping his niece.
“My daughter went home with a friend, and I offered to bring Parker home,” I shouted back without turning around.
“You don’t have a daughter,” Parker muttered through pressed lips.
“Shh,” I hushed her.
“But, why did you lie?” she continued.
I am not a socialite, and I wasn’t in the mood for a quick rendezvous, and that was before I recognized I was dealing with Brody Pearson.
“Okay, stop,” Brody demanded. “Brett didn’t tell me anyone else was bringing her home. I need to know who you are before my niece gets into your car.”
Parker looked up at me with doe-eyes as if telling me to do the right thing. I had to understand his concern, a little. I stopped walking and turned around, crossing my arms over my chest, activating my defense mode. “I told you who I am. I’m Journey Milan.”
“How do you know my brother, Brett?”
I stared at him for a long minute, wondering if he believed I wasn’t the Journey he used to know … because he definitely knew me. My hair was, in fact, red back in the day, and now it’s dark. Plus, I had aged a little more than a decade.
“I thought your last name was Quinn?” Parker said.
I was outed by a seven-year-old.
“It was,” I told her. “It’s a long adult story.”
“Oh,” Parker said, scratching the side of her face with confusion.
“Journey Quinn,” Brody sighed and smirked with pride. “I know that name well. But hey, no judgment on the new last name and no wedding band. I’m not one to talk.”
“Speaking of which, where is your daughter?” I tried to change the sub
ject.
“Oh, I knew I forgot something,” he said, spinning around dramatically. “She was in the truck about two minutes before you turned around. You’re very perceptive. Maybe I should bring Parker home.”
“Brody, Brody, Brody. Boy, do I remember you well,” I told him, trying my best to challenge his little mind game. “Always in trouble. Never at family events for reasons no one seems to know. But I’m aware.”
“What are you talking about?”
Our families grew up together. Our dads had been doing business since before the time either of us was born. We would see each other a few times throughout each year. Still, since Brody is a few years older, he was often missing from social events because he had a “game” or “practice” to attend. However, I knew the truth because Brett mentioned his behavioral issues when we were younger. Brody was a troublemaker, and his parents must have been afraid to bring him to social events. “Never mind,” I told him, wanting to end the conversation, yet again.
“Is this because I wasn’t at your dad’s funeral?”
My eyes widened at his blunt question. “Wow, way to be forward there.”
Brody held up his hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I—I couldn’t be at the funeral because I had to drive Hannah to Connecticut, so her wonderful mother could take her for the long weekend.”
“I didn’t expect to see you at my father’s funeral, so no worries there,” I told him. I was irritated that we had to discuss the matter at all.
Bourbon on the Rocks (The Barrel House Series Book 2) Page 1