by Lila Monroe
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Aaaaand he’s back!” Martha gave a whoop of approval, and clutched at a string of imaginary pearls, pretending to swoon.
I just couldn’t stop staring.
We were back at the estate library, and Hunter had just emerged from the shower looking like his old hot self, which was to say, a Greek god that had been hitting the gym lately. His wet hair was tousled and tumbled over his ears, practically begging me to run my fingers through it. His smooth, freshly shaved cheeks demanded the same. His golden eyes glinted with fire.
His skin was still slightly wet, and his clothing clung in all the right places.
He smirked, leaning back against the bookcase. “Ladies. Contain yourselves.”
I blushed, started shuffling papers on the desk. “Stop parading around like a cologne ad model and join us, then. Martha and I have practically already figured your business plan out for you, so this is your last chance to make a real contribution.”
Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Besides brewing it?” he snarked, still smirking.
I smirked right back at him. “Details, details.”
“So, if you two are done flirting—” Martha started.
We both jerked back from each other, only just realizing that our hands had been nearly touching.
Funny how that kept happening.
Martha went on, barely pausing to roll her eyes at us: “Here’s the deal. There’s that big liquor expo in two weeks, you know, the one in Martinville? All the brands introduce their new products, give out samples, do deals, all that chummy shit.”
“Yes, I know about the big liquor expo in Martinville,” Hunter said mildly. “I have actually spent a little bit of time in the liquor industry.”
Martha gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “Yeah, but the real question is, were you paying any attention all the time you were in it? ‘Cause if you were then we wouldn’t have to tell you that this is the perfect place to debut your new drink.”
Alarm flashed over Hunter’s face. “Wait a minute,” he protested, holding up his hands. “I’m still in prototype. There’s no way I’ll have a product ready. I don’t even have a factory set up! The investment we’d need for just a small batch run, it’s huge, and we don’t even know if—”
I patted his hand reassuringly. “Hunter, no one’s saying that you need to found an entire new liquor empire in a week. We don’t even need a factory. We just need a sample: some liquor for tasting and a mock-up of the packaging to show the industry you’re back in the game. We don’t even have to start from scratch—since Chuck passed on the original deal I had with Knox Liquors, I can rework all the visuals from the first campaign I developed.”
“And you know those visuals will knock them right over the head,” Martha put in. “They’re gonna be so wowed they won’t be able to see straight.”
Hunter smiled, but his brow was still furrowed. “Well, if you’re sure that will work…?”
“I am sure,” I said firmly. “Obviously, we’ll need to hammer out all the details before we go signing up for a booth or anything. The first thing I’d like to do is take a look at the place you’ve been brewing. That’ll help me see what I need to tweak in the visuals or the copy.”
Hunter grinned, energized again now that there was a prospect of showing off his hobby with no outside judgment. “No time like the present!”
He offered me his hand, and I took it.
As I left, I saw Martha roll her eyes and pull another paperback full of scantily-clad men out from under the cushion of the armchair.
Hunter had been brewing the beer not in any of the main distilleries, but in an old shed just off the path leading into the woods. Red paint peeled off the wooden walls, and the copper pipes hissed and gurgled as they delivered ingredients into the bourbon casks, each specially chosen for the particularly fine qualities of their years.
It was all so old-timey and Prohibition I half-expected a jug band to start playing while revenuers kicked in the door and a flapper peeled away in a tin Lizzie, all the hooch safely hidden in the getaway car.
“There are a few different kinds,” Hunter said modestly as he led me through the space. “We separate them by the types of grain, obviously, and then by the different recipes.”
“Like…different amounts of hops?” I asked.
“That, of course,” Hunter said. “But beer is so much more than hops. I’ve been fermenting different fruits and herbs here too, distilling their essence to use in flavoring different brews.” He shrugged, scuffing his feet a bit. “I haven’t exactly had many taste-testers besides myself, but I think the aniseed and dandelion are probably the most successful. And the black pepper is surprisingly good too.”
I made some notes on my tablet. “Can I taste some of these?”
Hunter looked delighted. “Of course!”
He hurried over to the back and brought out a crate; the bottles were labeled with Hunter’s scrawl on plain masking tape, which made me jot down another note—obviously that wouldn’t do for the actual packaging, but there was still something there we could use, something in that do-it-yourself aesthetic that would definitely appeal both to the older, proudly self-reliant crowd, and the younger, less self-reliant (and insecure about it) millennials.
Hunter brought the cold glass bottle to my lips, and I closed my eyes to better appreciate the flavor.
“Mmmmm.” Hints of caramel, a touch of cinnamon, and was that…nutmeg? I licked my lips. “Tastes like autumn.”
“Next,” Hunter said softly. There was a clink as he set down the bottle, and another as he picked the second one up. Then that cool glass was against my warm mouth again, and I shivered as I felt his breath ghost against the back of my neck. I could practically feel the heat radiating off his body behind me. A drop of condensation slipped down the neck of the bottle, rolling down the fevered skin of my neck.
Oh, right, the beer. I took a gulp, hoping the cool liquid would calm my disordered thoughts. No such luck—but it was delicious, strongly hoppy this time, notes of lime and orange and vanilla, with a peppery finish. “Damn, that’s good. It’s like spring!”
“I’m glad you like it,” Hunter murmured. His arm encircled my waist—no, he was just reaching for another bottle, no, that was his other hand, this one was definitely resting on my waist, lightly, just above my hipbone.
I didn’t dare open my eyes, for fear I would find I was only dreaming.
“Another?” Hunter invited.
“Yes please.” My voice was a whisper, hoarse with desire I hoped he couldn’t hear.
And there it came, his gentle hands guiding it to my mouth, the smooth glass with its beads of moisture kissing my skin, and that ambrosia sliding slowly down my throat: brown sugar and anise and a hint of…chocolate.
“Ooooooh,” I moaned in appreciation. I licked my lips.
And heard a sharp intake of breath from Hunter. “You like that?” he whispered.
“So much,” I replied, feeling the heat in my body gather itself tight and low.
Even with my eyes closed I was vividly aware of how close he was standing to me; I could smell him, hear each breath he took. His hand on my waist seemed to grip a fraction tighter, wrinkling the fabric of my dress—the hand holding the bottle seemed to tremble slightly, I could feel his breath ruffling my hair as he bent closer, those warm lips only inches from—
My eyes burst open and I almost leapt away from him. We didn’t have time for sexual tension! That was what had gotten us into trouble in the first place. My mind fluttered rapidly over possible topics of redirection.
It was difficult. It mostly wanted to think of Hunter shirtless.
Maybe pantsless too.
Yeah….definitely pantsless.
Focus, Ally!
“Well, I could just sit here sipping these all day, but I’m not really qualified to help choose the official flavors,” I said, trying to sound practical and not at all like my panties were on fire. “How
about we set up a tasting event to help pick the best?”
Hunter grinned, giving no indication that he was aware of my inner struggle to not bang him on the floor of his janky distillery shed. “That’s perfect! I could invite—”
He started pacing and rattling off names, only a few of which I recognized, but which were probably all off some insider’s list of Who’s-Who in the liquor industry. His face glowed with delight, with the joy of setting a plan in motion.
I just gazed at him, happy to see that energy lighting him up again. That power, that passion. All the things that made him Hunter Knox, the man I—
“What are you smiling about?” he asked, stopping and turning to look at me, a puzzled expression on his face.
“What, starting a brand-new company isn’t enough?” I asked with a little laugh.
I shrugged and looked down at the floor, scuffing my feet in what I didn’t realize ‘til after I’d done it was an unconscious imitation of his own movements.
“I’m just…really happy for you.” I looked back up at him, wanting to make him understand. “Do you see? This is what they can’t take away.” My voice grew impassioned. “Chuck and all his cronies think that Knox is just a name on a label, but it’s your passion driving the company, and that’s why it’s failing without you at the helm. So let them keep the name. You have everything you need right here.”
Hunter enfolded me in a hug that warmed me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, his strong arms crushing me against his broad chest. I basked in the sensation of being held by him. I wished it would never end.
But then he let go, and his face looked worried again. That furrow was back, wrinkling that perfect brow.
“I’ve been thinking about selling my shares in the company,” he admitted. “The way Chuck’s running the business, I don’t want any of my finances tied up in it, not to mention my public image. But I can still exercise some control with those shares, and I’m worried that if I give that up…”
“He’ll put out even more terrible ads?” I said. “Don’t worry, I don’t think that’s physically possible.”
“If only it were just terrible ads,” Hunter said dryly. “I’m more worried about what Chuck will do to try to recoup the losses he’s incurring. Some of our employees have been Knox Liquor workers for generations—some towns owe their entire existence to our factories—but that won’t mean anything to Chuck. He’ll slash the budget with a machete and outsource everything as fast as he possibly can if he thinks it’ll buy him more time to get out with a golden parachute.”
That definitely sounded in character for Chuck. “So selling your shares is out of the question, then?”
He sighed. “Probably. What I’d really like is to be able to hire all the old employees away and give them job security. Before I ran away to the fishing cabin, that was practically every message Martha was taking for me—will there be job cuts? Will salaries stay the same? What about the employee benefits package? Everyone’s nervous about losing their work now. If this beer thing really takes off, then maybe…” He sighed. “I don’t know, Ally. This was just a hobby ‘til half a second ago. Can we really pull this off? There’s so much on the line.”
I grabbed his shoulder, forced him to look me in the eye. “Hey. You can do this. Chuck doesn’t know shit. This is going to be absolutely amazing.”
A smile ghosted over his features. “And how do you know that, Miss Bartlett?”
I smiled back, wider. “Because I know you, Mr. Knox.”
Our eyes met, and I saw my desire reflected in the deep dark pupils of his. I barely had time to draw in a sharp gasp before he surged forward and kissed me, his warm mouth avid against mine, hungry as he nibbled my lower lip. His strong hands pressed me firmly into his chest in an embrace I couldn’t have escaped even if I’d wanted to. I moaned against his hot mouth, opening mine wider to take his tongue in deeper, my hands grasping roughly at the fine fabric of his shirt—
And then his phone rang. We both froze.
This was getting to be a habit with us.
Hunter swore, and I giggled. “You should probably get that.”
“Probably,” he admitted softly, his fingers tracing figure eights on the sliver of bare skin at the nape of my neck. He gave me a slow, rueful smile, and then released me and took his phone from his pocket. The fingers of his left hand traced along my lips as he answered the call, only slightly out of breath. “Yeah, Martha, we’re heading back now. Pizza should be fine, get the anchovies. Yes, I know that’s gross, but Ally likes it.” He winked at me. “Okay, yes, but keep the pineapple on one side only.”
All I could do was smile up at him, my head spinning from the kiss and from the feel of his fingers stroking my lips. So warm. So gentle.
Damn, but I was hopelessly in love.
Hunter hung up the phone and closed it with a snap, taking my hand. “Shall we head back? Sounds like Martha’s putting the order through right now.”
“Sure,” I said, biting back all the things I wanted to ask: Does this mean you forgive me? Does this mean we’re back together? Does this mean anything at all?
I knew what that kiss had meant to me. But what had it meant to him? And how long until I could find out for sure?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Try this one, it’s got this nutmeggy taste—”
“Now, this is a quality brew!”
“—my personal favorite’s the—”
“—can’t believe this is what Hunter’s been hiding in that shed out there!”
I jotted down some notes from my unobtrusive position nearby, sipping from my own bottle of the blend we were tentatively branding ‘the Genevieve’ after Hunter’s great-grandmother. It was refreshing and cool with a lavender aftertaste, and in my opinion, perfect.
Though approximately seven percent of the attending partygoers disagreed, with opinions ranging from “too fancy” to “too plebian” to “I can’t even tell what I’m drinking.” Hence the discreet note-taking, to try to see if any themes emerged or if the nitpicking was negligible.
The scent of barbecue wafted across the lawn, mixing with that of the beer and the fresh-cut grass and the sunscreen of our three dozen guests. It was the perfect scent of summer, and I inhaled it almost as greedily as my drink. A lovely green-and-golden smell that made me believe that this happiness just might last forever.
I caught a glimpse of Hunter. He was laughing and chatting and looking more relaxed and at ease than I had seen him in a long time as he greeted people and directed them towards the tasting table. On the other side of the lawn, Paige handed out barbecue ribs to an ever-growing line of hungry customers—who then headed back to the tasting table for a little something to quench their thirst.
My hunger must have shown on my face, because as soon as Paige spotted me, she handed off her apron and tongs to Martha before loading up a plate and bringing it on over.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I told her, before my chowing down in an exceedingly unladylike manner meant that talking was no longer a possibility. The meat was flavorful and indescribably tender, practically falling off the bone, and drenched in a sweet and fiery barbecue sauce. As I licked the last of it off my lips, I caught Hunter’s eye. His gaze tracked the path of my tongue, and my heart stopped for a second, heat rising in me as if we were the only two people there.
We weren’t, though, and Paige definitely noticed. “Damn, girl. I know you two are talking again, but are you two…”—she hesitated—“you know, a thing again?”
I sighed, setting my plate down and taking another swig of beer to buy time before I replied. “I don’t know. Not really. I mean, we did kiss—”
Paige made a noise like someone had sat on a parrot.
“No, but then we got interrupted,” I said quickly. “So it was romantic, but maybe also sort of not? Like, maybe it was just a thing, like, we were just both excited or something? And, er…I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it. Still.”
Paige rolled her eyes. “Well, what’s stopping you? I hope you’re not just hanging on until one of you develops telepathy, because that could be a long wait.”
“We only just recently got back to being civil,” I said with a sigh. “I’m not sure I’m willing to risk that. He’s been so charming and great, and I…I don’t know. I want to hold onto that a little longer before I try for anything more.”
“Well, I hope he’s worth all this second-guessing.”
“Paige—” I started reprovingly.
“Sorry!” she said with a laugh. “Your big sister worries, that’s all. Didn’t you know that’s in the contract too?” Then her laugh died down and a slight frown creased her brow. “I’m glad to see you looking so happy, Ally, and I don’t want to rain on your parade, but…well, you put a lot of time and effort into this. What do your bosses in DC think about you jetting around on their time? And isn’t Chuck technically your client now?”
I looked down, drew a line with my toe in the dirt. “Well…”
“Ally…” Paige said in a ‘you’re-not-getting-away-with-anything’ tone.
“I’ve been faking a family emergency,” I confessed in a rush. “I have to get back to the office the second this shindig is over or they’ll suspect something’s up.”
Paige shook her head disapprovingly. “Ally, you know that’s not going to work forever. They’ll figure it out eventually.”
“It doesn’t have to work forever,” I said. A pleading note crept into my voice, as if I were once again the little girl who wanted her big sister to assure her that Santa Claus was real. “It just has to work for a little while.”
Paige probably would have said more, but then an oh so familiar and shrill voice called out through the idyll.
“Ally!”
A real family emergency: my mom had shown up.
I took a deep breath as my parents crossed the lawn towards me at a rapid clip. My mother was wearing a dress that looked like she was still taking fashion tips from Jackie O., and it appeared that my father had been bullied into his best pinstriped suit too. They were both perspiring under the hot sun, but grinning.