His left eyebrow lifted, and she realized she’d not been the only one surprised at her pleasant words. She and TJ had a default mode: awkward. It was a combination of her giving him constant verbal jabs, and him being annoyed with her. She couldn’t help herself, he was so damn stuffy and self-righteous. TJ Laughlin had been judging her since middle school, and so she’d made it her personal mission to remind him that she was her own woman and she didn’t give a shit what he thought. How’s that going for you, slick?
“This is a big night for you too, Jen,” he said, this time surprising her. “You’re an important part of this company.”
Hmm. She wasn’t sure where to go with this conversation as she stepped off the elevator. He followed behind her, shutting the metal gate with a loud click. The two of them didn’t usually have such pleasant and benign interactions, so he was probably expecting her to reply with a snappy comeback. A test maybe. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right. She’d already complimented his outfit for goodness’ sake.
With a smile, she said, “Thank you, TJ. That really means a lot.”
His eyes narrowed the slightest bit, but she just turned and headed toward the far end of the event space—her domain.
The massive wooden bar where Jen slung fancy cocktails held up the east end of the room and sat perpendicular to the giant fireplace centered on the north side. This event space on the second floor of the Stag was gorgeous. Wooden floors and beams, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the square, and a massive and intricate handmade antler chandelier. Complimenting that was a giant stag head over the huge fireplace. There was no denying the three male owners had been instrumental in styling the space, and somehow they’d managed to pull off rustic and elegant at the same time. Big and spacious, yet cozy and intimate. And that was the reason it was such a popular wedding venue and had made the guys a lot of unexpected money, considering they’d never planned on being in the event business when they’d first bought the building. But it had worked out, giving them much-needed additional revenue while their main liquor offerings aged in barrels in the giant storage building across the alley.
Up until recently, they’d only been selling their unaged spirits, which had been very well received over the past five years. They had a lot of customers chomping at the bit to get a taste of what would come out of these barrels tonight.
Jen immediately got to work behind the bar, taking stock of what was there, making note of what she’d need to go get from storage. Tonight would be fun. They’d created several new cocktail recipes to highlight the signature products, and she couldn’t wait to serve them.
While this was called an uncasking party—and they would ceremoniously open a reserved barrel—they’d officially opened the rest of them two weeks ago in order to be ready for distribution next week. It had been crazy hectic at the Stag, planning this evening, bottling, tasting, finalizing orders, on top of the work for their wedding clients. The guys had worked their asses off over the summer, and that didn’t even include the personal drama that they’d all been dealing with. Everyone deserved to enjoy themselves this evening. Even stuffy old TJ, Jen thought, as she caught sight of him from the corner of her eye. Something she tended to do from time to time. Or constantly.
She watched as he arranged bottles of Stag Signature Bourbon on the display near the fireplace that had been set up the day before. It all looked nice, various old crates stacked on top of one another. Someone—probably Charlotte, Dean’s new girlfriend, who was very creative—had inserted some mason jars of dried wheat and rye and some ears of corn to represent the varieties of alcohol they produced. However, the way TJ was just shoving in the bottles was completely ruining the aesthetic.
Jen shook her head and walked over. “I hope you don’t decorate your own house.”
He glanced over at her and then back at the display. “What’s wrong with it?”
Reminding herself that she was giving him a reprieve tonight, she changed her tune and gave him a tight smile. “You’ve given it a good try, but I think it would look better if you lined them up just so.” She rearranged the last four bottles he’d set up in a nice row, staggering a few in front. “See how much better that looks?”
He lifted an eyebrow and let out a manly sound of agreement. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “That does look better.”
“See, having me here isn’t as bad as you think it is.” She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her hand, shocking her. Their eyes met as she jerked back.
“Why do you always do that?” he asked, still holding on to her hand.
“Do what?” She swallowed.
“You know what, Jen.” His voice was low and controlled, but she could hear the frustration in it, as if her pleasant attitude had confused him and he was just waiting for a moment to return them to their normal. “You like to imply that I don’t want you here. It’s bullshit. You know I want you here.”
Okay. That was not their normal. “Maybe I have low self-esteem,” she joked, feeling a little overwhelmed. And his fingers were still burning into her skin.
He glared at her. “Please.”
She smiled in reply, trying to make light of the conversation, and not be offended by his sarcastic tone. Just then she heard heavy footsteps coming up the back staircase followed by a concerned feminine voice echoing. He let go of her hand at the sound and they both turned toward the back stairwell door.
“Everything will be fine.” The voice was Charlotte’s. Jen recognized it immediately. “She knows what she’s doing. Let’s just enjoy this evening.”
Dean entered the room first, his face full of fury, and Charlotte bringing up the rear with a smile on her face as soon as she spotted them. Odd. Was everyone participating in Opposite Day around here? Dean was usually super laid back. Took a lot to ruffle his feathers, although Jen had accomplished it a time or two just because she couldn’t resist a direct challenge.
“Has to be about Alexis,” TJ muttered, referring to Dean’s younger sister.
Jen nodded her agreement as they both watched Dean stride purposefully toward them across the big room. He and Charlotte held cardboard boxes of what appeared to be table centerpieces. When Charlotte set her box down on the closest table, Jen could see the worry in her eyes. She tried lightening the mood.
“Hey, lovebirds. These are pretty,” she said, picking up one of the centerpieces. It was similar to the decorations on the crates TJ had been arranging, a large glass bottle full of wheat and silk sunflowers. Very Kansas.
“They’re left over from Alex’s wedding.” Dean said, his words clipped with anger or frustration. Maybe both.
Jen bit her bottom lip, regretting her words and not knowing what to say in response. Dean’s younger sister was in the army. She’d been deployed for several years, and over the past few months Charlotte and Dean had been planning a wedding for her. They’d chosen everything: the cake, the DJ, even the meal. Had things gone as planned, Alex and Nate had only to show up during their short leaves and get hitched. Except things hadn’t worked out quite that way. The wedding was supposed to have taken place last Friday, but about a month before, Nate had been killed in a helicopter accident on deployment in the Middle East.
Setting the glass jar on the table, Jen smiled. “Well, they are lovely. How nice that they can still be enjoyed.”
Dean didn’t respond, just began unloading his box, but Charlotte piped up. “I agree. And Alex was relieved that they could still get used. This was the perfect event.”
Nate’s death had shaken them all at the Stag, even those that had never met the man, like Jen. But obviously Dean had been devastated. He’d practically raised Alex, and as soon as he’d heard the news, he’d flown to Georgia—where Nate was from—to meet his sister and her fiancé’s remains. They’d buried him there with his family, and Alex had spent the past four weeks grieving, understandably so. Jen knew that Dean had been struggling to see his sister go through so much pain, but the one bright side of
the past few months was that he and Charlotte had finally come together through the process. Finally, because Jen had been a spectator to the two of them dancing around their obsession with each other for a while.
Jen smiled at Charlotte, who reciprocated, but the other woman’s expression was still forced. TJ hadn’t taken his eyes off Dean, no doubt trying to assess what he should say to his friend.
Charlotte placed a gentle hand on Dean’s arm. “I’m going to run back out to the car and get all my gear. I’ll be back.”
Dean nodded silently. Charlotte turned to Jen. “Could I ask you for a hand?”
“Oh, sure. Of course.” Jen jumped at the chance to flee the awkwardness in the room, but more important, she wanted to get the scoop. The two women headed down the back staircase, through the area that held the supplies and the access to the distilling room, and out to the back alley.
“What is going on with him?” Jen asked as they made their way to Dean’s SUV. Charlotte sighed before she opened the door to the back seat.
“Alex just informed us this afternoon that she is going ahead with her deployment to Italy.”
Jen considered that for a moment. “Okay, that does suck. But hadn’t that been the original plan?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, as if relieved someone finally saw reason. “It was the original plan for her and Nate after the wedding. It was part of the reason we’d been planning their wedding, their short time at home before leaving. She’d reenlisted and requested to go there so they could be together. But for some reason Dean had assumed Alex wouldn’t still go alone.”
Charlotte leaned into the backseat and then handed Jen a black bag of camera gear. Charlotte was a photographer—the catalyst for her and Dean meeting since she shot so many weddings at the Stag. Jen admired Charlotte immensely for owning her incredibly successful business, and also for just being one of the funniest, kindest women Jen had ever known, and it had occurred to her more than once that she might even get along well with Charlotte outside of work.
“So, he’s upset that she’s leaving or that she’s leaving alone?”
“Both, I think.” Charlotte reached for one camera body, then a second, before shutting the back door with her butt. “He’s scared. It’s always worried him that Alex is in the military, but he’s afraid for her to go back as a grieving widow of sorts.”
“Maybe it’s what she needs. To return to normalcy. Get away. I mean, Italy sounds like a pretty awesome place to heal. And the military is what she does. I’m sure she can handle it.”
“That’s exactly what she said, and I agree with her. He’s just being an overprotective big brother. He’ll get over it, he just has a bad habit of thinking he knows what’s best. I’m trying my hardest to break him of it,” Charlotte said with a sigh.
“Good luck with that,” Jen replied, hefting a bag farther onto her shoulder.
Charlotte laughed quietly, and then her brows furrowed. “I just hate that it happened today of all days. This was supposed to be a good day for him.”
Jen followed Charlotte back into the building. “Yeah, not great timing. When does she leave?”
Charlotte glanced at Jen. “Monday.”
“Yikes. So soon. Is she coming tonight?”
“That had been the plan and I hope she still does,” Charlotte said, her voice going quiet as they headed into the building. “He was kind of a dick back at their place when she told him. Made her cry. I know that’s the biggest reason he’s pissed right now. He’s mad at himself as much as he’s upset about her leaving.”
“Another thing you need to break him of,” Jen said. “You’re reminding me why I avoid relationships.”
Charlotte stopped on the third step up to the second floor and turned, her expression pensive. “It’s true. It’s work. But … it’s worth it. You know?”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Jen’s lips quirked. The fact that she liked Charlotte so much was really saying something because Jen didn’t usually have a lot of friends. Especially female friends. Acquaintances, party buddies, sure. But true secret-telling kinds of friends? She couldn’t even recall the last one. How many times had her mother reminded her that most women were spiteful and couldn’t be trusted? And yet, for some crazy reason, Jen could see herself trusting Charlotte.
The only thing making her hesitate was guilt. Once upon a time when she’d first started working at the Stag, she and Dean had hooked up. One time. They’d been drinking one night after a late and very stressful wedding and each saw the other as an available warm body. It had been stupid and meaningless, and while she didn’t necessarily do regrets, Jen had never had any desire to repeat it. She was certain that Dean felt the same way.
The incident had really been of no consequence, until now. She wanted this friendship with Charlotte to develop, but the closer they became, the more Jen felt the need to come clean. But then that would quickly end the relationship, wouldn’t it? It was a moral dilemma that Jen usually didn’t suffer from, but in this scenario, she would be perceived as the woman who couldn’t be trusted, and the thought made her feel like shit.
“One more thing before we go up,” Charlotte said, her brow furrowing. Her sudden change in demeanor had Jen’s arms feeling weak. Or maybe that was the heavy-as-hell camera bag she had in her arms.
“Yeah?”
“I wanted to tell you before she showed up. TJ has a date coming. Some woman he’s been going out with for a few weeks.”
The stairs suddenly felt as if they’d turned to a metal slide under Jen’s feet, and her body went warm and tingly. Not the good kind. And not because of the heavy bag. No, this was the warm prickly feel of her body screaming Danger! Abort the situation.
She managed to play it cool. “Well, good for him. I didn’t know he was seeing anyone.”
So much for trust, but right now Jen couldn’t stomach the sympathetic look on Charlotte’s face. What the hell tipped her off to make her think Jen cared if TJ had a date or not?
And also, how had Jen not known TJ was seeing someone? Oh yeah, because she and TJ didn’t communicate well. The last person he would discuss his relationship status with was her. The person who always made fun of him for having no love life and for being a prude. Ironic.
“Charlotte, seriously, I don’t know why you’re concerned.” And this is why you don’t have friends.
The other woman shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t really, but Dean’s kind of convinced you guys like each other. Don’t tell him I told you that. I’m only sharing because, in case he was right, from one woman to another, I didn’t want you to be blindsided tonight.”
Jen sucked in a breath. Okay, that was nice. “I appreciate that, Charlotte. I really do. But no, it’s fine. I’m happy for him. And I can promise you, there is no way TJ likes me. I live to piss him off.”
“Are you sure? I mean, we’re totally friends, Jen. I won’t tell anyone if you do like him,” Charlotte whispered before turning and making her way up the rest of the stairs.
“And by ‘anyone’ I assume you mean anyone who isn’t Dean?” Jen said to Charlotte’s back. She hoped the other woman could discern the amusement in her voice.
Thankfully, Charlotte smiled over her shoulder. “Well … only if it came up.”
“Which it would.”
They stopped at the top of the stairs before entering the main room. There were other voices now. Probably the caterers, so they wouldn’t be heard.
“But seriously. If you need anything tonight, let me know. Okay?” Charlotte said before walking into the main room. Jen blew out a breath and followed. Damn. She hadn’t lied to Charlotte. Not completely. Dean was wrong if he thought TJ had any interest in her, and she’d never given him any reason to think she had feelings for him.
But if that was true, then why did the thought of seeing TJ with another woman suddenly make her sick to her stomach?
Three
TJ was sweating.
Surely two hours into a party was appropr
iate for the host to get a little more comfortable. After leading Brooke—his date—to the edge of the room, he peeled off his jacket and tossed it onto the back of a chair. He liked the jacket his mother had gotten him—and had felt obligated to wear it—but it was like wearing a portable sauna. It was late July for god’s sake, and although they had the air-conditioning cranked, this was a hundred-year-old brick building. They were on the second floor, and there were easily two hundred people mingling in the room. Some things modern technology could not compete with.
“I like this shirt,” Brooke said. She slipped her fingers under the front placket, her nails sliding against the skin of his stomach. “You look so handsome tonight.”
“Thank you,” he said, rubbing her arm lightly. He glanced down at all five and half feet of her and forced a smile. He was a hair above six foot one, so standing side by side—even with her in tall-as-hell heels—he felt like a giant. It was a bit annoying for some reason.
“How long do we have to stay? I’m kind of in the mood to get you alone.” She grinned up at him, suggestion in her eyes, but TJ was not feeling it tonight.
“Sorry. This is kind of a big night. Plus I need to stay and help clean up.”
“I know it’s a big night. But that calls for a celebration.” Brooke smiled up at him.
“Uh-huh. And that’s what we’re doing here,” he said, suddenly peeved by her indifference to the situation. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay, though.” Did that sound like a request for her to leave? Would it bother him if it did? Because he could almost use a break.
“I can wait for you,” she said smiling.
“Thanks,” he patted her arm again, noting that she hadn’t offered to help clean up with him. Just ‘wait.’ It wasn’t her job, of course. But still.
They hadn’t discussed if she was coming home with him, or he with her, but he already had a feeling he’d be too tired to give her what she was looking for. God, he was pathetic. With a sigh, he let his gaze linger on the bar once more. Something he really should quit doing, but he was a glutton for punishment. Always had been when it came to the woman they employed to pour their drinks and temporarily run their front desk. He was pissed to see she was still talking to the same guy that she had been talking to for fifteen minutes now. Not that he was counting.
Maybe This Time--A Whiskey and Weddings Novel Page 3