Contents
Title
Thank You
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 16.2
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Preview of Shattered Stars
FREE Bonus Book
About the Author
To Find Shari
ALSO BY SHARI J. RYAN
To my little sister, for sparking this idea.
Love you, Lori!
Copyright © 2019-2020 by Shari J. Ryan
* * *
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.
Edited By: Samantha Shawhan - Edit for Content
ISBN: 9781656650153
Thank You
Bourbon Love Notes is a raw, emotional romance. As a writer, I tend to pull from my life experiences to create honest feelings. Though, I have not lived through a similar situation as my characters, I was dealing with an unfortunate situation that had me pondering the importance of those I love and how precious life can be.
Writing is my therapy and this book is a result of facing fears, praying for hope when there was little to be had, and staring at a ceiling night after night, wondering what life would bring the next day.
I had other plans for this story, but my heart took over and led me in a new direction.
Everyone deserves a happily ever after, and though it appears in different forms, one is always possible.
Prologue
TEN YEARS AGO
"Just go talk to him," Journey says, pushing me in his direction.
"He's like two years older than me. There's no way he would be interested in me of all people. Plus, I heard he's about to leave for boot camp or something."
Journey grabs me by the shoulders and stares me straight in the eyes. "You have had a crush on him for like three years and haven't said a word to him. I say it's now or never," my sister continues badgering me. "Plus, if he's leaving for boot camp, what's the worst that can happen?"
"What's the purpose, is a better question?" I chide.
"What if he feels the same way? You could keep in touch, you know?" Journey presses.
I narrow my eyes at Journey, wondering why she's pushing this subject so hard. "Why do you suddenly care if I talk to him?"
Journey rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Honestly, Melody, I don't want to hear you complaining about the fact that you couldn't find the courage to talk to him. Every time we have seen him over the years, I have had to listen to you whine about the fact that you didn’t talk to him, and mutter, ‘It was my only chance,’ blah, blah, blah. So, save us both the grief and go say hi. It's literally one syllable. It takes less effort than breathing. Do it."
I close my eyes and shake my head, feeling the pressure build in my chest. "You're my big sister. You're supposed to be a good influence." Journey is nineteen and anything but a good influence, but still.
"Fine. You want me to be a good influence … I'll be a good influence." Journey takes me by the elbow, and drags me behind the counter in The Barrel House. People are filling every corner of the shop for the holiday party, but no one is behind this counter except us. Journey yanks me down to the ground and snags a bottle from behind a crate of gift boxes. She unscrews the cap and hands it over. "Swig."
"No," I snap at her. "I'm seventeen. I shouldn't be drinking."
"Oh, please. Who will know?"
"The legal drinking age is twenty-one, Journey."
Journey continues to hold the bottle in front of my face. "You can either live your life in fear of rules, or you can live a little, and see how far your luck will take you. A few sips won't do anything, but give you some liquid courage."
I don't know why Journey has gotten through to me tonight, because this isn't the first time she's tried to drag me down with her misbehaving ways, but she's right about being out of chances. It's now or maybe never.
With my heart in my throat, I snag the bottle from her hand and take a big swig—too big. This tastes like rotten cold medicine. I have a mouthful and somehow need to force it down my throat. My eyes are wide as I stare at my giggling sister. “Swallow it," she asserts.
I choke it down, feeling the burn travel all the way down to the pit of my stomach. "This stuff tastes awful," I respond, sounding raspy.
"It's an acquired taste," Journey schools me. "One more gulp, and you'll be golden."
As much as the taste made me feel sick, my mouth feels numb enough to give it one more try. This time, the taste didn't bother me as much, but the burn feels more intense.
Journey takes the bottle from my hands, takes a couple swigs, and fastens the cap back onto the bottle. "What's the point of being daughters to the owner of a bourbon shop if we can’t sample the product sometimes?"
"It's illegal," I grunt.
"Only if someone finds out," she says. "Now, go talk to Brett." Journey pops up, peering over the counter as if she's on a secret mission. "He's right there, heading into the back room. Now is your chance."
Journey pulls me up to my feet and shoves me toward the door, leading to the back room. I take in a deep breath and walk, pulling my shoulders back, holding my chin high, and remind myself I have nothing to lose.
I have nothing to lose.
I have nothing to lose.
I have nothing to lose.
As if my feet are floating through the air, I end up right in front of Brett Pearson, the son of Dad's business associate. "Hey," he says.
"Hi," is all I manage to say. It’s all I’ve come up with to say. According to Journey, my statement should come out easier than a breath, but now I don't know what to say next. He's kind of staring at me. I assume he’s wondering if I have a purpose for following him back here.
"It's so stuffy out there. I need fresh air. Although, maybe not as fresh as the negative degree kind of air outside," he says, chuckling.
Say something, I scold myself. "Yeah,” is what I come up with.
Brett is leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He looks so good tonight with his dress shirt and tie. His dark hair has a curl to it, and it's shaggy, falling into his eyes, but frames his face at the same time. His smile, though—it’s what makes me melt. I've known Brett most of my life, but we only see each other here and there at get-togethers. However, it wasn't until a few years ago that I noticed how attractive he is and how charming his personality has become.
"I—" I clear my throat so my words form with sound.
"You okay?" he asks, drawing his gaze away from his phone.
"Um—yeah—I know we’ve spoken little over the past couple of years, but I—" We used to talk more, but only until
I started feeling nervous around him.
Brett raises a brow and curls his lips to one side. "You what?"
It's now or never. "I might have a teeny tiny little crush on you, which is totally lame and stupid to say out loud, but I heard you're leaving for boot camp soon, and I figured maybe I should say something." I didn't consider saying any of this. Journey told me I should. I'm regretting this decision, because he's staring at me with wonder, and I don't know if that's good or bad.
"That's very sweet," he says.
Sweet? My life is over. He knows I'm younger and probably thinks this is a stupid school-girl crush, but three years is a long time to consider my feelings a school-girl crush … I think.
I hiccup because what other forms of embarrassment could I add to the moment. "Sorry, I had a little—"
"Did you sneak a little bourbon?" he says, biting down on his smile.
I pinch my fingers together. "A little; a couple sips."
Brett places his hand on his chest, and his mouth falls open as if he's shocked. "I thought you were the well behaved one of Mr. Quinn's daughters," he snickers.
"I am!" I feel like I need to defend myself. I wouldn’t have taken a sip if Journey had not pressured me.
"Well," he says, looking down between his feet. "I can't say I haven't noticed your beauty these last couple of years. It's weird after growing up around each other, then seeing you in a different light."
"It's the red hair," I blurt out. "It got redder as I got older, and now, I stand out like a sore thumb."
Brett releases a small laugh. "That's not what I meant."
"Oh." My heart is beating so hard, I can feel it through every inch of my body, and it's making me lightheaded.
"It's true, though, I'm leaving in a few months for boot camp," he says.
It's my turn to stare down at my shoes. I tangle my fingers together and squeeze my hands to release some tension. Not even a second passes before I gasp in response to the sensation of Brett's soft finger slipping beneath my chin as he encourages me to gaze up at him. "If I wasn't leaving—" He leans down, and the side of his nose brushes against the side of mine. Then he pauses, allowing me to feel his breath tickle the curves of my mouth. Is this really happening? My heart stops racing, and my lungs feel weak. I close my eyes as his lips touch mine, ever so lightly. His hand sweeps against my cheek, and his fingers slide beneath my ear. Our mouths linger in the same spot for what feels like the longest, most amazing minute of my life.
Until another hiccup ruins everything.
I jerk away and slap my hands over my mouth, mortified.
Brett grins and shakes his head as if he's amused. "Don't gulp the bourbon next time," he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. "Thank you for a memorable night, Melody."
That's it. Brett walks past me and returns to the party. I'm left standing here in the middle of the storage space behind the shop, touching my fingertips to my lips as heat spreads through my chest.
He kissed me. I have dreamt of a first kiss like that. All those movies I've seen, wondering if real life could hold a flame to the fictional world. It's all real.
And I ruined it.
1
Current Day
This is my dream. This was my dream.
I close my eyes, trying to remember why this was my dream, or what was so desirable about a life like this.
A white picket fence surrounded by cucumber colored grass, and a scattering of lemon-yellow daffodils to encircle a big oak tree. In the spring, we would have tulips—the colors of tangerine and Washington apple. Inside the house, there would be a loving husband and a child or two. A simple, yet perfect life.
How cliché?
A glass plate slips off the pile of dishes in the sink, and a splash of soap bubbles splatters all over my violet silk blouse. I try to keep my focus out the window, but the view becomes foggy as hot water pings off the back end of a frying pan, causing a metallic harmony of zings.
I adjust the dishes to stop the water catastrophe and continue loading the dishwasher. "Is everything okay in there, babe?"
My gaze floats toward the ceiling, and I take in a breath before responding. "Just wonderful.” I should have said something different because now he will peel himself from the couch, away from the game he’s been waiting to watch all day, and will come in here to perform his assignment of playing the part as my boyfriend.
Thirty seconds pass before Ace’s hands squeeze around my shoulders. "Did you have a bad—Oh yeah, baby! Go, go, go!" His hands are gone, and his neck is craned around the wall to catch the game-play on the TV.
I secure the dishwasher and take a sponge to the casserole pan. I saved the worst for last. At least the fog has cleared from the window, allowing me to sneak a peek at Suzette and Tim as they stroll by the window, hand in hand. Every night after dinner, they walk down the sidewalk, following their adorable two-year-old, Mia, in her Little Tyke’s red car. The three of them are in a fit of laughter, probably from taking the joy out of watching a monarch butterfly weave between the three of them. I thought life was supposed to get more challenging when you have children, but it doesn’t appear to be the case from inside the window. The life outside this window seems far more desirable.
"What were you saying, babe?" Ace asks, placing a kiss on my cheek.
"I wasn’t saying anything. You didn’t finish asking me whatever you were trying to say."
"Oh," he says. "Uh, did you pay the water bill today?" Ace steps beside me and drums his hands against the countertop, bouncing to whatever song is in his head.
"Of course," I respond. It’s not like I have anything else going on. Ace thinks since I work from home, I must take four naps a day in between the moments I stop to smell every single flower in our front yard.
"Did you get the mail?"
I shake my head. "No, I didn’t have a second."
"The mailbox is at the end of the driveway, babe," he says with laughter filled with the sound of annoyance.
"Yet, you pulled into the driveway and saw the red flag down, but couldn’t bother to grab the mail, right?"
Those words will lead to our nightly banter about who works harder and who works more. We didn’t always bicker and fight, but throughout this last year, I lost the strength to brush my feelings aside. "Melody, I worked all day," he says as if my comment was insulting his job.
"As did I, Ace."
There’s the snicker I was waiting for. "Okay," Ace continues.
My attention is pulled back out the window where Gianna and Paulo stroll by for their nightly couple’s jog. I didn’t even know people could smile while running, but they do. They are just that happy. The sight of them redirects my attention to my ring finger—my empty ring finger.
"What are we doing, Ace?"
I grip the granite rim of the sink, watching my knuckles whiten. "Fine, I’ll get the mail since you have been so damn busy painting your nails today, or whatever it is you want to call your job." A screenwriting editor, but who’s keeping track.
Ace stomps out of the kitchen, channeling the type of testosterone I might expect from the twelve-year-old boy I assume he once was. The clang of the screen door reverberates through the house, and I watch out the window as Ace makes his way to the mailbox. He retrieves the pile of envelopes and sorts through them. Once he’s gone through the pile, he purses his lips to release a long breath, probably hoping he can calm down before he returns inside.
He places one letter on top of the stack, keeping his gaze fixed on the one envelope, but I can’t understand what could be so fascinating about a sealed letter. His stomps become weak, ambling steps as he returns inside. I debate asking if everything is all right because if I do, it would mean I’m giving into this stupid argument. But if I don’t ask, I’m acting like a twelve-year-old child too.
"Babe, you got something weird in the mail."
"What is it? A bill?"
Ace walks back into the kitchen, still staring down at the envelope. He
places the stack of mail down on the teak kitchen table, except for the one letter he reaches over to me. "It’s made out to you, but turn the envelope over."
I do as he suggests, finding the words: ‘Please do not open until I’m gone’ written with red pen alongside the seal.
It’s my dad’s writing, which makes my stomach gnarl. In a frenzy, I spin around until I spot my phone on the kitchen island. My hand is shaking when I search through my short list of Favorite Contacts for Dad’s number.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring. He almost always answers after the first ring.
Ring.
"How is my beautiful daughter?" Dad finally answers.
"Dad?"
"What’s the matter, sweetie? Is everything okay? You sound startled."
"Why did you send me a letter with the words, ‘Please do not open until I’m gone’ written on the back?" I have never received a letter from either of my parents. We have phones. There is no purpose for a letter.
"A letter?" Dad questions. "What letter?"
"It’s your handwriting.” I’m feeling more concerned as the time passes. I hear him shuffling around and the sound of papers slapping together.
"What in the world ..."
"What is it?" I ask.
"Your mother must have thought it was a piece of mail that needed to go out. Please don’t open the letter. I wasn’t ready to send the—"
Bourbon Love Notes Page 1