“They’re all good people. I’m really happy here.”
“I know a few people in the food industry, you know. I think they’d be very interested in your friend.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Naomi, what’s the point in having a wide circle of friends and acquaintances if you can’t introduce them to each other? People like meeting other people. It’s human nature.”
“Whatever, Mom. Just … maybe ask Max before you interfere in his life?”
Her mother sniffed. “Fine. Now, where’s this studio?”
“Upstairs.” She led her mother to the stairs, explaining how she’d renovated the place. “Jacob said I hurt the resale value.”
They reached the door at the top of the stairs, and Naomi opened it to reveal the true home of her heart. Her mother’s eyes widened. “Your brother was wrong, dear.”
Naomi grinned. “Glad to hear it.” Her mother might be many things, but she was absolutely reliable when it came to real estate and home design.
“This is my most recent work.” She gestured at the finished sculpture on the table.
She’d glazed and fired the piece yesterday, and it now sat proudly in the center of her studio, waiting to be packed into a crate sitting open on the floor next to the table. Ready for transport to the gallery, to be revealed to everyone who walked in the door and anybody who might click on the website. This was certainly going to be the featured piece of her show. It was her finest sculpture ever, and every time she looked at it she wanted to weep.
The lump of clay she’d sat on her workbench weeks ago was now an incredibly lifelike human heart, striated with raised veins and surrounded by a mesh formed by the interwoven fingers of two hands clutching it carefully. Between the fingers of the hands sprouted delicate strands of a plant that strongly resembled Irish barley, the braided fronds gently edging the caging fingers aside to reveal the heart within. She hadn’t realized what she was doing until she was done. She stared at it, lips thin, and heard her mother gasp.
“Naomi, it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Judith Klein traced the strands of barley that were freeing the caged heart with one gentle finger, and then looked up at her daughter. “Has he seen it?” No need to ask which he she meant.
Naomi shook her head.
“Are you going to show it to him?”
“Probably not.”
“Naomi—”
“What good would it do, Mom? This was never meant to be permanent. I don’t do relationships, remember?”
“People change, Naomi.” Her mother glanced over at the sculpture. “Given the right incentive.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s leaving.”
“Leaving the country, or leaving you?”
“Is there a difference?”
“Ireland isn’t that far,” her mother said. “Lots to do there.”
“Do I seem like the sort of woman who would chase a man across an ocean?”
Her mother looked her up and down, then smiled slowly. “No. My daughter is the sort of woman men cross an ocean to find.”
Naomi felt tears welling up. Again. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Well, if he can’t recognize how wonderful you are, it’s his problem,” her mother said firmly.
Naomi sighed. “He’s been great, Mom. I’m the one who screwed it up. I freaked out about the idea of using my personal connections to help him, and I didn’t even talk to him about it.”
“Why?”
“Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know.” She shook her head. “I feel like an idiot. Do you know, if we hadn’t been sleeping together, I wouldn’t have thought twice about calling Luis for him?”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “The sex made a difference? Must have been good sex.”
“Mom. I am not taking this conversation in that direction.”
Her mother shrugged. “Your loss. I told you I had a lot of fun in the seventies.”
“Ew.”
“So, why didn’t you help him?”
“Because I knew Luis would tell you, and then it would be like when you shoved me into Andy Weinstein’s car when I was seventeen.”
“I never shoved you.”
“Mom, you literally closed the door on my foot.”
“Well, you were late.”
“Because I didn’t want to go, and you were so blinded by the idea of me magically falling in love with Doctor Weinstein’s son that you didn’t care about what I wanted. And you made sure nobody else did, either. All I heard about for weeks was what a cute couple we were, and how everyone was looking forward to our wedding. I was seventeen!”
Her mother winced. “I suppose our friends can be overly enthusiastic sometimes.”
“Do you remember in college, when Ross Jacobs gave me that cute little rose gold ring he’d gotten on his trip to Montana? We weren’t dating, just friends, and he thought of me when he saw it because it looked like a sculpture I was working on. And then, when I was home on break, Mrs. Greene stopped me in the cereal aisle in the grocery store to wiggle her eyebrows at me and ask about the ’special ring’ I’d gotten from a man.”
“I … may have mentioned it to a few people.”
“Can you at least try to imagine how uncomfortable that made me feel?”
Her mother nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Naomi shook her head. “Iain and I were just having a good time together. I didn’t need all of San Francisco society Googling him to see if he was good enough for me.”
Her mother was silent, staring at the sculpture.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that he’s been very good for you,” her mother said. “But also that I want to see that piece in the gallery, along with everything else. I’m amazed by what you do, Naomi.”
She stepped closer and slung her arm around her mother’s shoulders in a one-armed hug. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but I’m pretty sure I got all of my artistic skill from you.”
Her mother flushed, then smiled. “Well, your father can’t even draw a stick figure when he tries, so it had to come from somewhere.”
“I mean it. You have amazing taste, Mom. It just came out a little differently in me.”
“Well, I’m proud of the way you use it,” her mother said, returning the hug.
“Thanks. And Mom—thanks for coming. Thanks for worrying about me.”
“Try and stop me,” her mother said. “What’s next?”
Naomi stepped away and filled her lungs with air, trying to ignore the pinch in her chest that felt like heartbreak. It was time to move on. Her next move had been planned from the beginning, and she was ready to make it. “Next, I head to the gallery in San Francisco to set up the show. It’s time to pack up and leave River Hill for awhile.”
22
Iain and his father had spent the last forty-five minutes going round and round with one another, only to reach the same exact point they’d started: Iain intended to stay put in River Hill, and Cathal Brennan didn’t want to let it happen. Now, they sat across from one another in awkward, stony silence while they waited for the conference call to connect with the rest of the Brennans back in Ireland.
Iain had texted an SOS to Maeve thirty minutes before, but his sister still hadn’t responded. While that was very much in keeping with her personality, now was not the time for her to be indulging in one of her famous silences. He really needed her by his side, presenting a united front on their endeavor.
“What’s this about you selling your shares?” Fionn demanded without so much as a hello the moment the call connected. Next to him was Braden, wearing a sour grimace, and to Iain’s surprise, their mother. He tried to read her expression for some indication of where she fell on the matter, but Colleen Brennan had the finest poker face in six counties.
He dragged his eyes away from her and stared straight into the camera. “Maeve and I are buyin
g a distillery here, and I need the capital for the deal to go through.” He needed them to understand that his mind was made up and there would be no swaying him from this path.
According to the family lawyer, no one could actually block the sales of his shares. His father and brothers knew that too, so the only move they had left was to try and persuade him not to. But persuasion had never been their strong suit. Most of the Brennan men operated more on the bully end of the spectrum.
Knowing his brothers as he did, Iain had already anticipated every point against his plan they could toss his way during this conversation. Opening their own distillery wouldn’t be easy, but Iain was confident he and Maeve could make it successful. After all, there were several other small, artisan outfits operating at a profit all over the U.S. And none of them had the pedigree he and Maeve brought to the table.
Braden leaned in and sneered at the screen. “You’ve had some stupid ideas—”
Iain rolled his eyes and leaned back in a gesture of nonchalance. He was not going to let Braden rile him up. Cutting his older brother off before he could say something that’d make him look like even more of an ass, Iain said, “If you’re trying to sweet talk me into compliance, you’re doing a—”
“Sorry I’m late!” Maeve called out, rushing in through the door. “The bank took forever.” She plopped down on the sofa next to Iain. “What did I miss?”
Iain did a double-take. “The bank?”
Maeve glanced between him, their father, and the laptop screen. “Ah,” she mused. Everyone but she and the Brennan family matriarch wore matching looks of confusion. “I guess you hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”
“What part?” their father barked, glaring at his daughter.
Maeve chewed her lip and shot Iain a look he couldn’t quite interpret. If it were anyone else, he might think that was guilt darkening her expression, but he knew his sister better than that. There wasn’t an underhanded bone in her body.
But it wasn’t Maeve who answered. To Iain’s surprise, his mother cleared her throat. “The part where I announce I’m going into business with Iain and Maeve. I funded the distillery.”
“You what?!” Fionn and Braden cried in unison.
And all at once, the two rooms, one on each side of the ocean, both erupted into a wild cacophony of competing voices and gestures.
Eventually, when it became clear no one was going to cede the floor, Iain marched over to the sink and pulled out the bullhorn he’d found in the cupboard underneath it several days ago. He had no clue why Max was keeping it under there, but he wasn’t going to question the man when it was the perfect way to get everyone to shut up and listen to their mother.
He flicked on the switch and raised it to his mouth. “Hey!” he shouted, his voice echoing loudly in the tiny room.
Maeve winced and leaned away while his father covered his ears with both hands.
“What the hell was that for?” Cathal shouted back at his son.
Iain dropped the bullhorn to his side and returned to the couch. He made a dramatic show of setting it down on the cushion next to him, so everyone would know he’d use it again if they got out of hand. He turned back to the screen. “You were saying, Mom?”
She smiled at Iain, and for the first time all afternoon, he thought everything might be okay. “I was saying that I’m investing in your distillery.” Iain glanced at Maeve. Her mouth was split in a devious grin. He’d forgotten how much she looked like their mother, but with the both of them looking like cats who’d just stolen a distillery’s worth of cream, the resemblance was clear.
“For almost two hundred years,” Colleen O’Brien Brennan continued firmly, “the men of this family have made other men richer, while the women have been kept out. At no point have any of you—” she cast a pointed look at each of the men of her family “—sought to rectify that.”
Iain’s father crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, his chin jutting out defensively. “I love you dearly, Colly, but you know as well as I do that tradition matters. Especially in a company like ours.” They’d clearly had this conversation before.
“Yes, I do know that. But everyone on this call also knows that you boys have benefited tremendously from it too, while women like Maeve have been harmed by it.” She looked at Iain. “Son, in your professional opinion, would Brennan’s have taken any flack for making Maeve a shareholder?”
It took Iain a moment to respond. Frankly, he was still in shock. He’d known his mom had a strong feminist streak in her, but he’d never seen her publicly countermand his father, much less state an opposing position about the patriarchal nature of the company’s founding or the way it continued to be run. From the sound of things, however, this wasn’t the first time she’d brought it up with his father. Now, he wondered what other changes she’d been silently working for behind the scenes for all these years. And he couldn’t help but appreciate her pointed reference to his own professional qualifications with her question.
He shook his head. “Maybe twenty years ago, but not now.”
Braden scoffed.
“I’m serious,” Iain continued. “Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, times are changing. There are women distillers now, famous ones. And female brewmasters who are making a killing in the field. If we’d put Maeve at the forefront of our operations years ago, we would have been trailblazers. Instead, we’ve stagnated and lost ground with younger buyers. We look like a company run by old men, for old men. And newsflash—those old men are dying off. We need new customers.”
His father’s eyes flashed with fury. “If it were up to you, you’d kill off everything that makes Brennan’s Brennan’s. You have no sense of duty or honor!”
Iain’s belly clenched with hurt. Nothing his father said was true, but he knew there was nothing he could ever do to make the old man see the situation any differently. All Iain had ever tried to do was keep Brennan’s at the forefront of Irish whiskey. He’d given everything to the company that bore his family name … right up until the moment it became apparent their loyalty didn’t extend back to him. Or his sister. “Then I guess the only thing that’s left to say is I’m sorry you feel that way.” He turned to his mom. “Thank you, Mom. I appreciate what you’re doing.”
Iain pushed off the sofa and set his hand on Maeve’s shoulder. She looked up at him with eyes that glittered with unshed tears. She might be willing to rebel with him, but she hated true conflict. It couldn’t be helped, though. He gave her hair a soft tug. “I can’t be here anymore. Bring me up to speed later?”
She nodded as Iain stepped around her … and straight out the door.
Iain lost track of how long he’d been sitting in the gazebo in the middle of the town square, but his untouched coffee had long since turned cold, and the sun had set some time ago. He flipped his phone over and over in his hands, debating whether or not he should call Naomi. That had been his first inclination, but with the way things were between them, he didn’t know if that was the best course of action. When he’d left her place earlier that afternoon, they’d said they would talk. But about what? He’d been paralyzed by wondering about the answer to that question for what felt like hours.
The decision was taken out of his hands when a lone figure strolled across the grass, up the steps of the gazebo, and stopped in front of him. He leaned back and looked up at the only woman who’d ever had the ability to tie him up in knots. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” She nodded to the space next to him. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Sure.” He scooted over to make room on the bench for the both of them.
When she sat, he turned to face her and took a deep breath before speaking. He had so many conflicting emotions running through him, and there were so many things he knew they needed to discuss. “Naomi, I—”
“Iain, I—” She smiled, her lips forming a thin line on her beautiful face and gestured for him to go first.
“How’d you find me?”
; “Technically, I didn’t. Your sister called Max wondering if he knew where you might be. He called Noah, who called me. I was on my way out of town but had stopped for coffee.” She held up her to-go cup with The Hollow Bean’s black and white logo front and center. “I was walking back to my car when I had this strange urge to cut across the square. I looked up, and there you were. Like serendipity.” She bumped her shoulder against his, and it brought a smile to his face. Maybe the first real one he’d felt all day.
Iain knew he should explain to Naomi why Maeve was looking for him, or why he hadn’t answered Max’s phone call or Noah’s text message, but he could only focus on one thing. “You said something about heading out of town?” She was leaving?
Naomi took a long sip of her coffee, her eyes finding his over the rim of the cup. Iain couldn’t say why, but he got the sense that she was stalling. Eventually, she swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I need to get down to the gallery and get all my work set up for the show next week.”
Iain felt a quick stabbing pain in his chest … exactly like the one he’d felt when they’d been driving home from Gavin’s show all those weeks ago. At the time, he’d thought it was indigestion. But now he knew better. It was love. And heartbreak. And it fucking sucked.
He was happy for Naomi’s success—honestly—but he was a bit sad, too. Everything between them had fallen apart so quickly. Iain realized he’d taken it for granted that he’d get to see the final pieces she’d chosen for her exhibition because he’d be at her house helping her pack them up. Instead, he had no clue how her headline piece had turned out. Or what it even was. It seemed as though he didn’t have a clue about a lot of things where she was concerned.
The Distiller's Darling Page 16