A Love Letter to Whiskey

by Kandi Steiner

  Jamie’s hair is longer, just the way I like it, and he wears an easy grin as we drive. Barrel-aged Whiskey looks even better in the bright morning light, the amber notes in his eyes shining. He’s talking about the surf report and where to eat lunch, but a ray of sun hits the wedding band on his left hand as he shifts positions on the steering wheel, and suddenly my mind is far away.

  He did finally get married, just a few months after his thirtieth birthday.

  I swallow, chest aching a bit as I think about the lucky woman who will get to live out the rest of her life as his wife. She and I don’t really get along, but I’m sure that’s no surprise to you.

  She doesn’t deserve Jamie, though I guess no one ever will in my eyes. Honestly, I think his wife is selfish. I think she’s a little lost, a little broken, and a little too fond of making mistakes. Sometimes it hurts when I see them together, but I don’t let myself focus on the bad, because the truth is she makes him happy. It may not make sense to me, but it doesn’t have to — because he loves her.

  And that’s enough for me.

  I kick my sandals off, propping my feet on the warm dashboard in Jamie’s Jeep just as a familiar melody comes over the speakers. The Piano Guys always take me back to the first time I sat beside Jamie, and it must do the same for him because he stops talking, hand reaching for my thigh. He gives it a gentle squeeze and every cell in my body buzzes to life at the touch.

  I lay my head back against the seat and tilt my head to look up at him — my Jamie, my Whiskey. He’s looking at me in the way he always has, the way I hope he always will, and I wonder if he’ll ever be able to touch me without me feeling that same familiar, aching burn.

  But that’s the thing about whiskey, isn’t it?

  It’s strong, to the very last drop.

  I face the windshield again just as we park, the waves rolling in ahead of us, sunshine blazing hot on our shoulders. I inhale the salty breeze, letting go of the breath slowly, breathing in the moment. Sometimes I feel like we have to rush, but then I remember that time isn’t our enemy the way I always thought. Turns out, time is our friend — the friend we never listened to, but we’re learning how to more and more every day. The friend who might have always known a little more about us than we did.

  You see, I may not always like his wife, and she may be far from perfect…

  But I’m so happy she’s me.

  I am so happy to be releasing this book on the same day as one of my best friends – Staci Hart. We’re celebrating a #SteinHarts release and TRUST ME, you want to read her book next! It’s called Tonic and it’s a romantic comedy with a hot bearded alpha, tattoos, reality television, and some of the steamiest scenes you’ll ever read. Grab it NEXT on Amazon – free with Kindle Unlimited!

  KEEP READING FOR THE ENTIRE FIRST CHAPTER OF TONIC!

  A book is never truly written by just one person, and I had the A-team on this project. I have so many people to thank, but first (mostly to save you from having to read this novella), I want to address you — the reader. Man… that was a rough one, wasn’t it? I know I put you through a lot of emotions with A Love Letter to Whiskey — some that you probably loved, and some that you probably wanted to kill me for. I just want you to know that I love you, and I am so thankful that you let me take you on this journey — even if it wasn’t the easiest. Please, don’t ever stop reading. And don’t ever stop taking a chance on Indie. OH, and come find me on the internet, because I love to hang out with my readers. You can start by joining the Kandiland group on Facebook.

  To my husband, Ryan Steiner, thank you once again for being my rock through this. Every book seems to test me more and more emotionally, and you’re always there to bring me back to the real world with a calming touch and sincere smile. Thank you for believing in me and chasing your dreams right alongside me while I chase mine. I love you.

  Hey Staci Hart — WE DID IT! Can you believe it? We actually wrote books together… at the same time… and survived! And, it was the best experience ever. I don’t want to remember what it was like to do this without you, and I hope I never have to again. I love you more than whiskey sours. #SteinHarts #BestieRelease

  This book would have been an absolute train wreck without the help of Sasha Whittington and Monique Boone. Thank you for not only being two of my best friends, but also being the most kick ass beta readers ever. I know it was hard, reading in chunks, letting me leave you at the WORST possible places, but it was worth it in the end. You helped me see what I couldn’t, and for that I’m grateful. I love you both!

  Becca Hensley Mysoor, GOD I love you. Thank you for always being there to send me encouraging hearts and gifs and just for spreading light into the world. My life is brighter with you in it. I love you.

  Thank you, Brittainy C. Cherry, for loving my words and me, too. Writing with you is such a privilege and an honor. You are quite possibly the most beautiful soul to ever exist. Thank God we found each other.

  I can’t forget about my Buddy Brew coffee buddy — Kathryn Andrews. You are just… the absolute SWEETEST person. Thank you for making me laugh, celebrating my successes, and helping me through the rough days. I love writing with you, and I hope we can make this a ritual that lasts much longer than just one book.

  Karla Sorensen and Ilsa Madden-Mills, thank you for propping me up like two bad ass, gold-plated crutches. Writing this book was HARD, and each of you helped me in your own ways along the road. I appreciate you more than I can say in words.

  Momma, I always write the sweetest acknowledgement for you. This time, I want to thank you for teaching me how to drink like a champ. Those whiskey references came in handy, after all. ;)

  To Beau Taplin, thank you for inspiring me with your words and for letting me quote my all-time favorite poem in this story. It set the tone, and I’m thankful to have your blessing.

  Oh, Kellee Fabre. You have been here since the very beginning and Lord help me if you ever decide you’re over my shit. LOL! Thank you for threatening me EXTRA hard this time around. Your (scary) but loving messages make my life.

  To the rest of the beta team: Monique Buntin, Ashlei Davison, Jess Vogel, Maegan Abel, Kristen Novo, Tina Lynne, Patricia Leibowitz (QUEEN MINTNESS), Sara Butler, and Sahar Bagheri. WHEW. I wasn’t kidding when I said I had the A-Team on this one. You guys seriously KILLED this beta read. You brought the best feedback and for that I’m thankful. You ALSO brought a lot of emotions, with voice messages, texts, phone calls, and snotty-faced photos. Thanks for tapping into this world with me and loving it as much as I do. I’m so thankful for every single one of you.

  To Elaine York, my incredible editor and formatter. I may breathe life into my stories, but you breathe freshness and beauty, and I am so thankful I found you. Your encouraging editor notes made my heart flutter. Please don’t ever leave me!

  Half of you probably wouldn’t have purchased this book without the beautiful photography from Lauren Perry of Perrywinkle Photography. I am simply amazed by your talent and your soul, Lauren, and I hope we can work together for many years to come.

  Erin Spencer, where do I even start with you? Thank you for promoting me like your life depends on it. And, thank you for your voice messages while you read ALLTW. I’ve never gasped out loud in the grocery store before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. ;) Our friendship is one of my very faves. I love you!

  To my “Writing Little” Cassie Graham, thank you for checking in on me while I wrote ALLTW and always having nothing but sweet things to say about my writing. We’ve been together since the very beginning, too, and I know we’ll last until the very end.

  Angie Doyle McKeon, my BUMBLE BEE! I cannot tell you how happy I am to see a message from you in my inbox, whether it’s book related or not. Thank you for coming into my life and please say you’ll stay forever. I adore you!

  Shout out to Jessica McBee for chasing your dreams so hard you made me want to get up and chase mine. You inspire me as much as I do you, my dear, and I l
ove your soul. Thanks for being a friend.

  A huge thank you goes to the team at Give Me Books for taking me on for promo. You guys teaming up with Southern Belle Book Blog was like riding a magical unicorn down a rainbow road.

  To the two groups that keep me going — Tribe and Kandiland. I am… just completely flabbergasted that I have somehow surrounded myself with the most uplifting women (and man — lookin’ at you, Chase!) in the entire world. You push me when I feel like quitting, hold me when I can’t catch my breath, and pop champagne when it’s time to celebrate. Thank you for always being there.

  And, as always, thank you, God, for blessing me with a writer’s heart and a dreamer’s soul. I pray He will always keep me humble, thankful, and kind.

  And now, read the ENTIRE FIRST CHAPTER of Tonic, by Staci Hart.

  CUP OF TEA

  JOEL

  “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  Shep glanced over at me, his sidelong smile mocking from behind his dark beard. “I thought you were through being salty?”

  I glared at him. My shirt was too tight — the tie around my collar may as well have been a noose as we stood in our tattoo parlor that night, waiting for some hotshot producers to meet with us. The steaming heat building inside my stiff clothes ratcheted up my irritation degree by degree.

  “I’ll be through being salty when this show is over.”

  “Well, our agent said we could get signed on for years, if we’re lucky.”

  A laugh shot out of me. “Right. Lucky. How are we supposed to work with cameras in our faces and people telling us where to stand and what to say?”

  “It’s reality TV. Telling us what to say would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

  I gave him a look. “You really think they’re not going to give us some kind of objective or script or something?”

  He shrugged, not seeming to mind. But that was my brother. A younger version of me without a care in the world. Not that I minded bearing the brunt of the responsibility. In exchange, he could remain carefree, though in times like these, I wished he’d had an iota of self-preservation.

  “Listen,” he said, his voice a little softer, his smile a little less mocking. “I know you’re not happy about all this, but it’s going to be good for business, not bad. They’re not going to follow you around at all hours, you know? There are rules, man.”

  The look I’d been giving him hadn’t quit. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “It’s better than the show going to Hal, isn’t it?”

  The muscles in my face tensed at the sound of his name. Hal, owner of the second biggest parlor on the West Side — the first being mine. Hal, the current husband of my ex-wife. Hal, the burr in my ass that I could never get rid of.

  I shifted, rolling my shoulders to square them as I shifted my gaze to the door. “Fuck Hal.”

  “Exactly,” he said, his tone pleased. He had me. It was how he’d roped me into the situation in the first place.

  When we’d been approached to do a show about our shop, Tonic, by a big network that mostly ran reality TV, I’d immediately said no. There was no question — not a single molecule in my body was on board with putting any part of my business or self out there for the masses to binge on Netflix. But Shep was so on board, he could have driven the train.

  In fact, he did end up driving the train. He spearheaded an effort to convince me, starting with his girlfriend Regina, our piercer. She’d then gotten her two roommates, Veronica and Penny, on board, and they’d spread the excitement through the shop. They didn’t see it as selling out — they all thought it would make them famous, set their careers up for life. I supposed it would, but at what cost? That was my question.

  To my credit, I’d held my ground with only one person on my side — Patrick. He was as interested in exposing his personal life as he was exposing himself to chlamydia. And as outnumbered as I was, I wasn’t going to budge. Shep needed my permission to do it, and I wasn’t going to give it. End of story.

  Until we caught wind that Hal’s shop had been approached too. The last thing I wanted in the entire world, other than being on a reality show, was for Hal to be on one.

  My attention snapped to the door when the ding of the bell chimed, and two pencil skirts walked into the shop. One of the women walked forward, probably near my age, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a friendly smile, though I knew better than to trust it. Laney Preston, I assumed, the creator of the show. She was beautiful, the kind of woman who was way out of my station, rich, powerful. But I could have gotten her into bed with a few words — she was the sort of woman who would only want me for a night or two, never more, which was exactly how I preferred it. I’d had my fill of relationships with Liz.

  But it wasn’t Laney who I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

  The woman at her side was tall and blond, with skin like a porcelain dish brimming with cream. Wide-set, big eyes with icy irises assessed me coolly, dark lashes long. Her nose was pert, just a button, though her lips were wide, just like her eyes. She looked like a doll, a cold, beautiful doll that belonged on a shelf where no man should touch her.

  For some reason, all I could think about was whether or not her skin was cool to the touch like I imagined it would be, like a statue made of marble.

  I tore my eyes away when Laney spoke.

  “Joel Anderson?” she asked, her lips still smiling.

  I offered my hand. “Ms. Preston?”

  “Call me Laney.” She took it and gave it a firm shake. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  “You too,” I lied. I’d been putting the meeting off for weeks.

  She smiled like she knew before looking over the shop. “I’m sorry we haven’t been by personally before now. This space is beautiful. You’ve done a great job with it — it’s going to film brilliantly. Is there somewhere we can sit?”

  I nodded and gestured to our waiting area and the antique Victorian couches and chairs that stood there.

  Laney chose the blood-red velvet couch, and the china doll sat next to her with an unreadable expression on her face, though her big eyes scanned the room like she was taking stock of her surroundings. She reached into an attaché and pulled out a folder, placing it in her boss’ hand.

  “I’d like you to meet our executive producer and the show runner, Annika Belousov, my right hand. We’ll all be working closely, hopefully in more comfortable clothes than we’re meeting in tonight.”

  Shep chuckled. My eyes were on Annika, who smiled, if you could call it that. Really, it was just a twitch of one corner of her lips by a millimeter, chased by a spark in her eyes as they met mine. Something about it sent my pulse racing, and a flush bloomed on her cheeks. She was as affected by me as I was by her.

  It was then that I realized that her mirth was equal parts attraction and judgment. I got the impression that she thought little of us, yet her eyes scanned my arms, which were covered in tattoos, in a way I wouldn’t call completely unimpressed. I wondered if she had a single mark on her perfect skin and imagined taking my needle to it, making a mark I could leave there forever.

  The thought sent a rush of heat through me. Her hair was pulled into a strict bun, her skirt tight around her hips and waspish waist, everything about her severe and beautiful. I wondered what it would look like when she smiled, when she was free and happy, if she ever was. There was something more to her, but I couldn’t figure out what. And I wanted to know.

  I then decided two things.

  One: My new mission in life was to make her laugh.

  Two: I’d crack her open if it was the last thing I did.

  Laney opened the folder and set it on the table, leaning over her crossed knees to sort through the papers.

  “We wanted to go over some of our plans for modifying the space for the show, as well as discuss the layout for the episodes. Annika?”

  Annika sat even straighter, if that were possible, making eye contact with me. “If you have a look over this, you’
ll find the details of the construction proposal. Cameras will be added to several points in the store, as well as some ancillary lighting. We may need to rearrange the booths to …” She kept talking, but I wasn’t really listening anymore.

  Her voice was low and a little raspy, the contrast to her perfect, pristine outward impression catching me off guard. I expected a cold voice to match the rest of her, but it wasn’t — it was burning embers and crackling wood.

  I swallowed the thought of that voice whispering my name, and then I smiled, leaned back in my chair, folded my arms across my chest, and pretended I didn’t have a single worry in the world.

  She stopped mid-sentence, and the temperature dropped as she threw down the iron curtain, any trace of warmth she had disappearing in a snap. “Is something amusing, Mr. Anderson?”

  I shrugged. “Not particularly.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Once you sign these papers, we’ll have permission to come in here and modify your store. You should take it seriously.”

  Laney gave her a look, but Annika didn’t falter.

  “I don’t take much seriously, if I can help it.”

  I got the sense that if we weren’t in a business meeting, she would have rolled her eyes. Her back was ramrod straight as she directed her eyes to one of the sheets on the table and went on with her presentation. I watched her fingers, long and white as she pointed to diagrams and told us about the changes. Shep watched me, amused.

  I smirked at him.

  Annika went on, going over everything with a detached tone to her voice, though I could hear the tightness in the undercurrent of her words. She pushed the papers toward us when she was finished and leaned back, turning to Laney, never chancing a look at me.

  The knowledge that she was avoiding eye contact was like spurs in my side. I kept my gaze on her, willing her to look at me so I could burn a hole through her.

  Something about her made me feel reckless, more reckless than usual. I’d never really had trouble convincing women to spend a little time with me, but climbing over the wall of ice she’d thrown between us was a challenge I was game for. I could press her out of curiosity with one of two outcomes. She’d leave the show and take the whole thing with her, or she wouldn’t. And if she didn’t, maybe there was a chance that I could get catch a better glimpse of whatever I’d seen in her.