"I didn’t know you spoke to Brody or talked to him at all in the last fifteen years,” I add my two-cents. I see Brody every other day when he picks Parker up for school, but otherwise, he hasn’t been around.
"Yeah, I ran into him a few weeks ago, randomly. I figured if I was inviting the family, it would be rude to exclude him, right?"
I toss the tomatoes into the salad bowl and dry my hands on the dishtowel draped over the sink’s faucet. "Well, I can’t answer this because I don’t know why you’re hosting a dinner party with Brett’s family," I remind her.
"Well, whatever," she says, grabbing the salad bowl and walking it into the dining room.
"You need to toss the salad, so the tomatoes aren’t all on top," Mom shouts after her.
Mom refuses to look at me, and I hate these types of surprises. Just say whatever it is you need to say and quit making it dramatic, I’d like to tell Journey.
The entire family arrives within a minute or two of each other, most of them walking into the house at the same time with a greeting of hugs and smiles as they remove their boots and coats.
"What a nice surprise," Elizabeth tells Mom. "Journey doesn’t usually plan the dinner parties. I’m eager to know the occasion." Everyone knows this is out of character for her.
"Well, come on in, the table is ready," Mom says, waving them in.
"Brody, it’s nice to see you!” Mom says, reaching up on her toes to give him a hug.
“Likewise, but I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it to the funeral. I had to meet Hannah’s mother in Connecticut. She only goes to stay there when it’s a long weekend since we live six hours apart. Her decision, not mine," Brody says, oversharing.
"Dad, stop," Hannah says, sighing as she walks past her dad.
“How are you doing, Hannah?” Mom asks, holding her arms open for a hug.
“I’m well, thank you,” she says, giving Mom a frail hug.
"What nice manners you have," Mom praises her.
Hannah turns around and sticks her tongue out at Brody. I’ve seen their banter—the arguments about Hannah adjusting her attitude and being respectful to other adults. She’s a tween, though, and I sometimes I think he’s wasting his energy trying to shape her into a prim and proper girl, but I can’t blame him for trying. I think Brett may have it a little easier with Parker, since she is quiet and not as outspoken. However, I’m sure that can change over the next few years.
Brett finds me behind the crowd and wraps his arm around my shoulders, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, beautiful," he whispers into my ear.
I wrap my arm around his waist and squeeze since I can’t reach his ear to respond.
Parker makes her way through the small crowd and runs her hands down her sunshine yellow tutu I bought for her last week. It was the only color she didn’t have because she couldn’t find one anywhere, but I snagged one online. "You look like a ray of sunlight," I say, cupping my hand over my eyes as if she is too bright to look at.
"Except for these bad boys," Parker says with a giggle.
She’s pointing at her feet, and I look down to see her motorcycle-style boots laced up over her black leggings.
"Very chic," I tell her. "Nice taste."
Brett scrunches his face. "I don’t know where this kid gets her taste in style from," he says, ruffling Parker’s hair.
"I didn’t get it from anywhere. It’s my style," she argues.
"That, it is," he agrees.
We all find our way to the dining room, where there’s an awkward ring around the table as everyone decides where they should sit. Brett, Parker, and I claim one end, then Mom, Elizabeth, and Bill claim the other end, which leaves Journey, Brody, and Hannah in the middle.
Since they’re the last three to take a seat, everyone is watching them, and I wonder if they are wondering why Brody and Journey are snarling at each other like angry dogs. Maybe it’s a slight exaggeration, but there’s something in her eyes, saying she doesn’t like him for whatever reason. This brings me back to my original point of why she invited them over here tonight. "So you and Journey ran into each other?" I ask Brody, smiling, sinfully.
"Sure did," Brody says, clearing his throat.
"Where?" I press.
"Melody, can we not do this, please?" Journey snaps at me.
Wow. Okay.
"Everything looks wonderful," Elizabeth says, putting a stop to whatever story they would have graced us with. "Thank you again for having us over tonight."
"Yes, this is very thoughtful of you," Bill says to Journey.
"Thoughtful," Brody mutters through a snicker.
A knee hits underneath the table, creating a loud thump and all the glasses jiggle. Everyone is looking to see who might have bumped the table, but Journey is the only one who isn’t making a reactive face. Therefore, I can only imagine Journey just kicked Brody since the look on his face shows a hint of shock. What is going on?
"So, what’s the big news, Journey?" I ask.
"It can wait until after dinner," she says.
A low rumble of aggravation travels down the table. "Don’t keep everyone in suspense while they eat," I tell her.
Journey places her hands down onto the table and pushes her chair out to stand up. She leaves the dining room and returns a minute later with a folder in her hand but doesn’t sit back down.
"Okay," she begins. "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."
I don’t feel surprised by what she’s saying, but I’m a little taken aback by the way she’s speaking. It’s as if she’s been briefed by an attorney and told what to say. Maybe she has, but I don’t know why she wouldn’t have talked to me about it too.
"Why didn’t you talk to me?" I ask her.
"This was a decision I needed to make on my own, and you can be persuasive sometimes," Journey says. I might disagree with the statement because I don’t recall a time when I have persuaded Journey to do something she didn’t want to do, but maybe this situation felt different to her. "Anyway, Melody and I both 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.”
She definitely spoke to an attorney, or maybe it was in her letter from Dad.
Bill brings his hands together and rests his chin on top of his fists. He looks elated and honored as if this was unexpected even though Dad had this conversation with him before he passed away. I guess Dad didn’t know what Journey would end up doing with her share.
"I think your idea is brilliant," 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."
The business chit chat and the lingo are still above my head, and I’m guessing it might be for Journey too. Though, she seems to know enough to be making proper decisions with her share. "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 quite pleased. I’m not disappointed in anything I’ve heard, but I’m trying to keep up with how it will all play out while co-functioning with Bill’s barrel business.
"Well, your father and I always hoped someday our families would come together
, and here we are," Bill continues.
Dad wanted our families to merge? Or the businesses?
"Families?" Journey questions.
"I meant our businesses," Bill laughs off our statement. Brett and I give each other a wondering look too. "Anyway, I guess this comes down to one important question."
"What’s that?" Mom asks.
"Brett, will you continue running The Barrel House with Melody while Brody and I keep a handle on things with the manufacturing side of the barrels?"
Brett clears his throat and releases a shallow cough into his fist. "I—is it okay if I think on this for a minute?"
I think Brett’s question takes us all by surprise. He’s been running circles around me at The Barrel House for months. I can’t imagine what he could hesitate about.
"Sure," Journey says with a raised brow.
"Why don’t you go chat about it with your girlfriend?” The way Journey says the word girlfriend warns everyone, she’s not up for the same dramatic drawn-out conclusion to this evening as she was to the beginning.
"I think we should eat first," Brett tells her.
"Yes, let’s eat before the food gets cold," Elizabeth agrees.
I think everyone was afraid to speak during the half-hour we took to eat. Other than a little town gossip and chatter about more snow in April, there is tension in the air. I haven’t said much to Brett either since I’m curious to hear what’s going through his head about this proposition.
Once I’m through helping with the dirty dishes, Brett takes me by the hand. "Why don’t we take Benji for a quick walk before dessert?”
I agree without much of a response but follow him into the foyer where he grabs both of our coats and Benji’s leash. "We’ll be back in a few minutes," Brett shouts into the family room where Mom is talking to Elizabeth.
"Take your time," Elizabeth says.
"Can you keep an eye on Parker?"
"I don’t need an eye kept on me, Dad. I’m going to help Grandma and Mrs. Quinn prepare the dessert in a minute," she says, poking her head around the corner, her ponytail flopping around as she speaks with excitement.
"Okay then, be good," Brett says, pointing at her with a wink.
"Don’t let them skimp on the chocolate chips," I whisper to Parker. "They’re in the bottom drawer beneath the pantry."
Parker tries to wink and shoots me a thumbs-up. "I got this."
I follow Brett out of the house with Benji tugging him down the driveway. It isn’t until we’re halfway down the street before he begins to talk. "What if things don’t work out with us?" he asks.
Things have been so great between us, and the thought hadn’t entered my mind, though, maybe it should be a factor to consider. It has only been five months since we put a label on our relationship.
"Do you have doubts?" I ask him.
"About the business or us?" he continues.
"I’m not sure I want to know the answer," I respond, feeling a pit grow in the bottom of my stomach.
"I don’t think this conversation is coming out the way I’m intending. Let me start again," he says, taking in a deep breath. "Let’s say everything with us continues to be perfect, and we live happily ever after." I like the sound of that more than what he was asking a minute ago. "Maybe we get married and have this wonderful life together, but then something happens, and you fall out of love with me and can’t stand me, don’t want to look at me, or be in the same room as me?"
I laugh because I think he’s joking. "That’s silly to think that."
"I watched this happen with Brody and Hannah’s mom. Now they can’t even share their daughter properly, never mind a business coming into play."
"You don’t think we will work out?" I ask him, trying to understand what he’s saying.
"On the contrary, I see us growing old together, but we both know life can change in an instant. What would happen to us if we were no longer together and both running your family business?"
I see what he’s saying. I understand the intelligent thought process behind his words.
"I see," I tell him.
"Well, I’ll have to pull the extra one percent card and get rid of you somehow.” I offer a small smile to tease him, but at the same time, make him see—if I own more than fifty percent, I have the upper hand to make decisions on behalf of the business.
"So, you’d kick me out and find someone to buy us out?" Brett asks.
"Yup.” My grin should be telling enough for him to know I’m mostly joking.
"That’s cold, Mel," he says.
I stop walking and throw my hands up. "You just made me answer a terrible question, and now you’re calling me cold?"
Brett continues walking with Benji, entering the small path at the end of the street, which leads to the park. "Hello?" I call after him.
"I’m processing," he says.
"You’re being lame," I tell him. "Would you rather I say I’ll give up my share and walk away from my Dad’s business?" Still no answer as he continues walking ahead. "Because it won’t happen."
We reach the gazebo in the center of the park, and Brett ties Benji’s leash to a narrow column before turning to face me. He’s grinning.
"What? I don’t understand what you’re getting at," I snap at him. "Why are you smiling?"
"You’re adorable when you get heated," he says, his eyes squinting into crescents as he bites down on his bottom lip.
I cross my arms and press my hip out to the side because I’m mildly irritated with his mind-game. "What do you want me to say, Brett?"
Brett’s gaze falters to the wooden planks beneath our feet as if he’s conjuring the words to respond. He drops his hands into his back pockets and refocuses on my face. "I love you. I’ve fallen very much in love with you," he says.
I find myself lost, staring into his glistening moonlit eyes. My body shivers in response, and my mouth becomes dry. "You want me to say, ‘I love you. I’ve fallen in love with you’ too?"
Brett’s lips to perk up in one corner. "No, you don’t have to say that, but I’m telling you how I feel."
My head tilts to the side, and I smile up at him. "I know I don’t have to say it, but I do love you too, and I lost count of the days between the time I fell in love with you and today.”
Brett takes a few steps closer, reaching for my hand. "I didn’t want to accept a business proposal before telling you I would choose you and your happiness over half of your family business. I want to know you want me to continue running the shop with you because if you don’t, I will walk away from the business to make you happy and keep you in my life."
"I wouldn’t be running any part of the shop if it hadn’t been for you. I can’t imagine being there without you," I tell him. "Maybe the rest of our lives will happily fall into place, and maybe they won’t. But for now, let’s assume they will and gamble with the odds."
Brett’s cold hands cup my cheeks as he stares down into my eyes for a long drawn out second, smiling at me with contentment. "I really really love you," he says, lowering his lips to mine.
28
A Year Later
I didn’t think we’d ever have another party in The Barrel House after Dad passed, but Brett thought it might be nice to continue his tradition. Usually, Dad would hold the party during the holidays, but the time of year is still raw, so he mentioned waiting a few months. Then we could recreate a Harold Quinn style bourbon party.
I’m excited to host the party. I think it will be a wonderful turnout, and Dad would be proud. I put a little extra effort into my hair and makeup, and I’m wearing something a little more elegant than I have in the past to these parties. Dad always dressed formally during a party. He said it was a form of respect for the business and it made him feel prideful. I needed to do the same today.
I found a perfect black cocktail dress. I spin in front of my mirror, telling myself I look the part of a business owner; classy and elegant.
I hear a horn blare from outside the house.
I recognize the horn because Journey doesn’t get out of her Jeep unless necessary when picking someone up. She agreed to drive Mom and me to the party. Parking is only available right off the main street at the firehouse, and there are only a few spots in the back for staff. We opened the back lot where we take in deliveries, so we’d have more space, but it will still be a tight squeeze.
"Look at you, all fancy," Journey says as I try to climb into her back seat without flashing my butt to the rest of the neighborhood.
I scoot all the way in to look at what Journey’s wearing, and I’m not surprised to see the black pants. She has a coat on, so I don’t know what shirt she’s wearing, but I assume it’s dressier than her normal attire.
Mom takes a seat in the front and pulls down the mirror to apply her last coat of lipstick. “I’m happy we’re doing this," Journey says. "Dad wouldn’t have wanted these parties to stop."
"I agree," Mom says.
"He’ll be there with us," I tell them.
While driving down the back roads toward the center of town, I see Journey thumbing out a text on her phone. "Are you serious? Quit texting while you’re driving," I yell at her.
She hits the send button before dropping her phone into the cup holder. "Okay, I’m done."
"I’m serious. You’re going to get into an accident. It’s not worth it."
"Okay, okay, I understand." She says this a lot, and I’m sure she understands but chooses not to care.
"I really don’t like it when you text and drive either," Mom tells Journey. "You promised you weren’t texting while you drive anymore."
"Okay, it was the last time."
"I hope so," Mom says.
The small titter of arguing eats up the rest of the time it takes to arrive at The Barrel House. We take a spot in the back and park behind Brett’s truck since we’d be leaving at the same time, anyway.
As we make our way to the front of the shop, the caterers are bustling in through the front door, mission style without expression. Tables are being opened, and cloths are snapping in the air before falling into place while serving ware is delicately set on a side table.
Bourbon Love Notes Page 23