“Yup.”
“Well, thank you for forgiving me enough to invite me over tonight.”
“I didn’t invite you over. My mother did.”
“Same thing.”
“Not the same thing,” I argue.
“Do you really hate me because I took your coffee?”
“Yup.”
“How can I make it up to you?”
I glance over my shoulder at him while wiping down the kitchen counter. With a shrug, I tell him, “I don’t know. Why are you so concerned with making anything up to me?”
Brody snags the dish towel from my hand. “You know what I read once …”
“You know how to read?”
He tilts his head to the side and smirks. “I will let that one slide. Anyway, I read once that it takes four minutes.”
I’m staring into his eyes, wondering what the hell he’s about to say and where he’s taking this conversation. Four minutes. To get into someone’s pants? To convince someone they’re charming when they’re going to steal your coffee after. To make someone forget their wrongdoings. Impossible.
“Four minutes for what?” I bite.
Brody’s eyes narrow, but widen as if he’s studying me, seeking the answer to his question. His stare is making me uncomfortable, but not so much that I decide to walk away. I’d rather continue staring with the hope that he becomes more uncomfortable.
I swear two minutes must pass before I think of my next question. “Are you trying to have a staring contest? I think we’re a little old for this game, Brody.”
“Isn’t that what this is? A game.”
“There is no game. You have no game, in fact.”
“Ouch,” he says, without blinking.
“You’re right. I don’t, which is why I thought you might find it funny that I stole your coffee. I know now, I was wrong.”
My eyes are the ones narrowing now. “A five-year-old would know it’s wrong.”
“I disagree,” he says with a sigh.
“Of course you do.” I rip the dishrag back from his hand dangling by his side. “What do you want, Brody?”
“Yup, it’s true,” he says.
“What?” I hold my hands up, confused.
“Never mind.”
“Okay, great. Um, so why don’t we go join the others in the dining room.”
By the time we walk in, almost everyone is seated around the table, leaving three seats open. I snag the one across the table even though it’s directly across from where Brody chooses his seat. His daughter, Hannah, is staring at me with curiosity and I don’t know why.
“Hi Hannah, it’s nice to see you again,” I tell her, offering a smile so I don’t group her in with Brody’s antics.
“Hi,” she says, breaking her stare.
“How was school today?”
Hannah shrugs. “Lame. I had a multiplication test, and it was timed. I don’t like to be rushed.”
“Ew, that is lame. How did you do?”
“I think I did all right.”
It’s the first real conversation I’ve had with Hannah, but I’ve heard bits and pieces about a tween attitude that Brody and the rest of the family are having a hard time with. She looks a lot like Brody with her dark hair and golden-brown eyes that attract the light from the chandelier, giving her an angelic appearance. She appears to have manners as she places her napkin on her lap and folds her hands on top of the table. She seems to be on the smaller side for being ten, but it makes her adorable.
“Why are you staring at me?” Hannah asks. I didn’t realize I was looking at her for so long, but now I feel bad for making her uncomfortable.
“Oh, I was looking at the painting behind you,” I lie.
She twists in her seat and finds the abstract Monet painting we’ve had hanging on the wall since I was born.
“It’s just a bunch of dots,” she says.
“It becomes clearer and quite beautiful if you stare at it long enough,” I tell her.
Brody clears his throat. “Journey’s right,” he says.
His comment triggers my question of why he was staring at me awkwardly in the kitchen. I glance at him and squint, silently telling him I know what he’s doing. With a subtle shake of my head, I also tell him to stop.
“So, you and Journey ran into each other?” Melody asks Brody as if she doesn’t already know about the two public encounters we have had; the first at the school and the second at The Barrel House.
“Sure did,” Brody says, giving her a questioning look. Melody was there the second time at The Barrel House when I was doing the photoshoot, so even if she didn’t know about the first time, she sounds like an idiot right now.
“Where?” Melody continues, adding to the stupidity.
“Melody, can we not do this please?” I speak up.
Melody glares in my direction and raises a brow as if she isn’t through causing unnecessary issues.
“Everything looks wonderful. Thank you again for having us over tonight,” Elizabeth, Brody’s mom, says.
“Yes, this is very thoughtful of you,” Bill, his dad, follows.
“Thoughtful,” Brody scoffs and mouths the words, “Is that even possible?”
I kick him beneath the table because he deserves it for so many reasons at the moment, but I must have kicked him a little too hard because his knee thumps the table and everything clatters against each other, causing a few looks of surprise. Oops.
“So, what’s the big news, Journey?” Melody asks.
“It can wait until after dinner,” I tell her.
By the mumbles of aggravation, I can tell no one will let more time pass without knowing what I have to say.
“Don’t keep everyone in suspense while they eat,” Melody counters.
I toss my napkin onto the table and press my chair out to stand up. “Okay.” I suppose I might have somewhat of an appetite if I get this off my chest first. I take a minute to gather my thoughts, staring through the Monet painting in search of the words I need to begin. “So, I haven’t been avoiding the conversation about The Barrel House for the last six months. I have spent countless hours thinking and weighing my options. As easy as I thought the decision would be, it has been very challenging. The thought of giving up a part of my dad’s life pains me to no end. However, bourbon does not run through my blood like it did for him, and I would do an injustice to the shop and my dad by keeping my share of the business.”
There is an abundance of silence within the containing walls of the dining room. Everyone is waiting to hear what I’m going to say next and I’m sure they think I’m dragging this out for dramatic reasons, but every word I speak is another step away from Dad’s shop.
“Why didn’t you talk to me?” Melody asks.
I know she’s upset that I didn’t make this decision with her, and I can understand why. “This was a decision I needed to make on my own, and you can be persuasive sometimes.” Surprisingly, Melody’s expression doesn’t change much. She must have been expecting this decision, which shouldn’t be shocking after the first few times we spoke about owning the shop. I told her before I didn’t think I could be within Dad’s shadows every day and still maintain a sense of peace. Never mind giving up my photography career. Maybe she thought the time I took to consider my options would turn out differently than she hoped. “Anyway, Melody and I each own fifty percent of the business. However, my proposal is to sell one percent more to Melody to protect our family’s name. After, I would like to offer you, Mr. Pearson, the remaining forty-nine percent of the business—if you are interested, of course.”
My lungs feel as though they are flat when the last word spills from my mouth. I have had these thoughts bottled up for so long and while I feel relieved, I also feel like I’m drifting away from some pain I’ve been holding onto. I don’t know if it’s okay to do so.
Melody doesn’t appear upset, which is good. I wanted to make this okay for her too.
“I think your idea is brill
iant,” Bill says. “I told your father long ago, if the opportunity to merge our businesses ever came up, I would do so in a heartbeat. While it won’t be a technical merge, our businesses can work together to create higher profits—we will keep the Quinn name running strong.”
Hearing Bill’s explanation renews my initial reasons for finding a way to keep the business in our family, but also keep it from dying without a passion it has grown along with.
“Yes, my dad mentioned the possibility to me. The two businesses working together would grow The Barrel House into something bigger, and this means more of my dad’s bourbon will be manufactured and enjoyed. Realizing this made me see why it was important to follow through with my initial thought to sell my share.”
Everyone looks fairly happy with my decision and it’s a relief to know Bill is interested in this plan. If this turned out differently, there were other options that didn’t feel as promising. This is what I was hoping for.
“Well, your father and I always hoped someday our families would come together, and here we are,” Bill continues.
“Families?” I question, spotting Brody out of the corner of my eye. He’s smiling and he shouldn’t be. This has nothing to do with him.
“I meant our businesses,” Bill laughs.
Brody offers a piece of payback with a light kick to my knee under the table. He smirks and mouths the words, “Together, forever.”
I shake my head and respond, mouthing the word, “No.”
8
If tonight couldn’t be any more awkward, everyone is deep in conversation or taking a long romantic walk through the woods—real-world stories of my sister and the love of her life. To each their own, but I’m sitting at the dining room table, alone with Brody. Brett and Brody’s daughters are even occupying themselves.
“So,” Brody says, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms behind his neck.
“You think by staring into my eyes for four minutes, you can make me like you?”
“Huh?” I love that he plays dumb, so well.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, unlock the display to the article I am reading, and slide the device across the table. “How to make her fall for you in four minutes. All you have to do is stare into her eyes,” I recite the first line.
“Why would you think that’s what I was doing?”
His cheeks are blushing red. “I heard what you said about the Monet painting. Something like ... the longer you stare at it, the more clearly you see it, and the more beautiful it becomes. I mixed that with your weird Cyclopes stare in the kitchen and remembered reading something along those lines in an article.”
“Damn, have you always been this smart?”
I release the sound of laughter, minus the look of amusement. “No. Definitely not.”
“Well, you went to a good college and now you have a nice career. So, you couldn’t have been lacking too much intelligence.”
“I didn’t go to college,” I tell him.
“You said—and I heard.”
“You just didn’t un-hear.” I know our parents talk and mingle more than the four kids. It’s the only reason we’ve known bits and pieces of information about each other over the years, but I know Mom and Dad didn’t brag about me opting out of college one month before the start of my freshman year.
“You left the area, though.”
“I did.”
“Okay, I’m obviously missing some major details of your life here, but the only thing I know for sure is, I never saw you again after the night you went chasing after your boyfriend on New Year’s Eve. I tried to find you, even went through our dad’s, but your dad didn’t return my dad’s calls, and I didn’t know what to make of it. So, I figured you were avoiding me at all costs.”
“You really don’t know what happened that night?” I ask him.
“After our time in the closet? No.”
I chew on my bottom lip, trying to keep my mind where it is rather than allowing it to skate back in time. “I chased after Adam, my ex, feeling terrible for what he saw us doing just two weeks after breaking up from a two-year relationship. I finally caught up to him on Trail Creek Road. I was just in time to see his car skid on a patch of ice and flip over into the gorge.”
Brody’s hand cups across his mouth and his eyes widen with shock. “Wait, that was—”
“Yup.” I inhale through my nose to recompose myself. “So, this might give you a small hint of my interest level of falling for someone within four minutes. I was only eighteen. I’m sure I didn’t know what love was, but that night still haunts me. The thought of being in a real relationship in my thirties, following the path of love, marriage, and everything else, scares me to death. Plus, I just watched my mother lose the love of her life. No one is safe from pain.” There’s the reason I don’t smile.
I feel winded after saying more than I ever intended to tell Brody, but it appears as though he is listening and digesting my words. He swallows hard and his eyes fill with a light film of tears. “Jesus. I—just need a second.” He stands from his chair and rushes to the bathroom, closing himself inside.
This is why I don’t have friends.
I’m a monster.
A few minutes later, Brody steps out of the bathroom and ambles past the dining room toward the kitchen. “Can Hannah stay with you tonight?” I hear him ask his mom.
“Of course,” Elizabeth answers.
“Yes!” Hannah responds.
I guess there’s no place like grandma’s. Why is Brody offloading Hannah though?
“Can I have a hug?” I hear Brody asking Hannah.
“Fine,” she groans.
“I love you.”
“That’s it?” she continues.
“You complete me, Hannah Banana.”
“No, Dad. That’s not what I meant!” she scolds him.
“Sweet dreams and I will see you before school,” Brody tells her. I hear the smack of a wet kiss followed by the slap of a hand against skin.
“Gross,” Hannah moans.
Brody walks back, passing the dining room, where I’m sitting and continues for the front door. Not even a damn goodbye.
“Oh yeah,” I hear him say as he opens the front door. I twist around in my chair, wondering what he’s doing. He returns to the dining room and grabs my hand. “Come with me.”
“No. What are you doing?”
“Let’s go, Journey.”
“I don’t want to go with you.”
“Tough,” he says. “Get up. Get your coat. Let’s go.”
“What is wrong with you? Do you understand what “no” means?” Obviously, he doesn’t, based on the fact that he showed up at my apartment the other night for a date that I declined.
“No,” he says. “Well, not when it’s important and matters.”
He disappears into the foyer before returning just as fast, this time holding my coat. “Here’s one arm,” he says, holding the coat open. He lifts my left arm and shoves it into the sleeve, then repeats for the right arm. My coat is now awkwardly resting over my shoulders and scrunched up at the elbows.
“I’m still not going with you.”
“Fine. I’ll go with you.”
“Do you think I’m just going to give in when you repeat your command forty times?”
“Works with Hannah,” he says, shrugging.
“I’m not your daughter or a little girl.”
“No, but you need some tough love right now. Get up before I pick you up myself.”
“No,” I tell him again. His demands don’t faze me.
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he says, with a huff of annoyance. I hardly know what’s happening when I’m being tossed upside down and then over his shoulder. “I already asked your mom if I could kidnap you and she said yes. Imagine that.”
“No, you didn’t,” I tell him, slapping my hands against his back.
“Bye kids!” Mom shouts after us. “Have a nice night.”
“It’
s so nice to see them all getting along so well,” Elizabeth says before Brody walks us out the front door.
“Put me down, Brody,” I shout.
“Almost there.”
“This is wrong. You can’t just take me against my will.”
Brody finally places me down on my feet next to the passenger side of his truck. “You’re right.”
“Thank you,” I snap.
“This calls for desperate measures,” he tells me.
“No, no it doesn’t.” Against my free will, once more, he lifts me up, but this time, my back is against his truck and his lips are working against mine. He’s breathing heavily and I can’t breathe at all. Everything within my body becomes weak and I can’t move or fight him off.
I don’t want to fight him off.
His kiss. It’s the kiss.
A soft moan from his throat vibrates into my mouth and the sound causes the center of my body to ache. His body is pinning me to the truck and his hands are tangled in my hair. My heart is beating so hard and fast, I’m positive he can feel it through both of our coats.
He pulls away, just a few inches. “You can’t kiss me like you did last week and then walk away like you didn’t destroy me for a second time. I won’t let it happen again.” Destroy him?
“Is this your form of tough love?”
“No, Journey. This has nothing to do with tough love, but it has everything to do with the spark you set off in me last week. I’m not getting any younger, and I’m not walking away from a feeling—a feeling like I’ve never had before. You can think I’m an idiot all you want, but I know something good when I see it.”
“I’m not good, Brody. I’m screwed up, and I don’t think I can bring someone else into this mess of a life.”
“Tough shit. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why aren’t you listening to me? I’ve said no in every way possible.”
“Yeah,” he says with an exasperated chuckle. “But those damn eyes of yours have said: ‘please, help me’ after every one of those lying ‘noes.’”
It was as if I didn’t say every single thing I could say to make him put me down and walk away, his mouth is crashing into mine again. I close my eyes and rest my head against his door, allowing him to kiss me the way a girl should always be kissed. Why does he have to be such a good kisser? I’m weak. So weak.
Bourbon on the Rocks (The Barrel House Series Book 2) Page 8