I’m pissed that I didn’t get her number and that she never told me where she had been staying on the island. At least if I had the name of the hotel I could . . .
My phone buzzes and I swipe it from the table. Brant, my brother’s name, flashes on the screen.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Remember that deal we had about you coming to work with me if the shit hit the fan?”
The conversation my brother and I had a few months ago back home in Mayfield replays in my mind.
“Are you sure that I can’t tempt you to come work here with me?”
I smile and toss back my drink. “You couldn’t pay me enough to sit behind a desk all day.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of sales. Since you love traveling.”
“Well. I’ll make you a deal. If the time comes when I’m in need of money or the distillery is in trouble—I’m at your service.”
Brant eyes me over the rim of his bourbon glass. “I’ll take that deal.”
A deal is a deal.
I groan. “Ugh, please tell me that you’re screwing with me?”
“I wish I was, Wes,” he blows out a heavy breath. “I’ve got a baby on the way, and my fiancée’s business is about to launch. I need you here.”
Sometimes I can’t believe Brant and his fiancée, Caroline, are going to have a baby. Caroline Stratton. Thanks to our great-grandad, Sam, fucking over her great-grandad, my family’s bourbon distillery is in a hell of a mess.
“When?” I ask, crawling out of bed.
“Can you be here sooner rather than later?”
I scratch the back of my neck. “I’m supposed to stay here until the first week of June.”
Brant’s silent for a moment. “Our new bourbon rolls out in June. I need you on this one, Wes. Sink or swim time.”
I stare out over the blue-green water and blow out a deep breath. “Okay. A deal’s a deal. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I end the call and resume my station at the grill. Instead of screaming, I down the rest of my beer.
Goodbye Maui.
I need to be there for my family. I’ve had my fun. Getting the hell away from Maui and memories of a dark-haired beauty with a fantastic ass is for the best. Probably.
Wes
Two months later
It’s worse than I thought.
Tourism’s low.
The company’s strapped for cash.
My fingers bite into my palms. I want to dig up great-grandad’s body and beat the fucking shit out of him. Thanks to his lie and stealing the original recipe from Clarence Stratton, Cardwell Bourbon’s legacy is tarnished.
We’ve lost major space in liquor stores. Half of our restaurant accounts are gone. Most of all, we suffered a hit to our credibility.
I loosen my tie and stare out the window. Not the view I’m used to.
No more trips to Bali or Hawaii. At least not in the foreseeable future. If I’m not Wes, the nomad, the manta whisperer, then who am I?
You know—Weston Cardwell, the suit.
But a promise is a promise, and I’m going to help my family out of this nightmare.
Despite my own fucking predicament, Pop’s pushing back his retirement. Brant and Pop have split the roles of CEO and president. Meanwhile, the VP of sales and marketing—a.k.a. me—is having shit luck getting our sales team in a position of success.
At least I have a job. Layoffs were a bitch. We’re running this place with a skeleton crew.
My calendar pops up and alerts me to the meeting I have with Brant in ten minutes. Mentally, I clock the current time in Hawaii.
Almost ten a.m. Before it’s noon in Maui, I’ll be driving back to my house, and my day will end.
I need to stop torturing myself.
Blowing out a deep breath, I carry myself down the hallway to Brant’s office.
“Hey, little bro.”
“Brantley,” I grumble.
“Cheer up, Weston,” my brother says from the round table in his office. “It’s not so bad here, is it?”
“I’d rather be on a boat,” I confess.
“We can rent a pontoon boat down at the old marina. Do a little fishing this weekend.”
“No thanks.”
His hands clasp together on top of the table. “Look, I know you’d rather be out there surfing and doing the things you love, but you gotta try and find a way to be happy here. And look at it like this, the sooner we get things on track, the sooner you can get back to doing what you love.”
My eyes meet his blue ones. “Brantley, I’m going to be thirty this year. By the time we get things back on track, I could be forty.”
“Let’s hope not,” he says and shuffles the paperwork in front of him. “Tomorrow we launch Royston’s Rye Special Edition. This is our jumping-off point. But we need more. Something out of the box.”
My thumb rubs along my chin. “I don’t know if this will help, but I recently read that Japan’s doing some incredible things with whiskey. Why not hire a consultant and see if we can’t create a recipe?”
He levels his gaze to me. “Where do you propose we get the money to hire this consultant?”
I spear a hand through my hair. It’s a lot shorter than I like, but it’s growing on me.
“Take it out of my pay.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. But I do like your idea. I’ll get some feelers out. See if anyone comes recommended.”
“I’ve got another idea.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“While I was in Maui, Jerry invited me to his place for a wine tasting.” I stood and walked to the bar cart. “They booked it through a winery in Italy. This family-run business sent two people to his house to tell them all about their selections of wine. Not only that, but they had balsamic vinegar and truffle oil too. It was really cool.”
“Okay,” he taps his finger to the table. “Tell me more.”
“Customers book us for an event. Say they have twenty bourbon drinkers. We take all the flavors, or maybe we have the client fill out a form based on their flavor preferences. We ask them to supply the ingredients—we can make all kinds of cocktails and show them the best way to enjoy our bourbons. Then at the end of the night, they can purchase right on the spot.”
His face lights up and his palm slaps the top of the oak table. “Weston, this is a good idea. I like it. No, I love it.”
We pore over some more ideas and run through our options. We decide on the basic bullet points. I send my thoughts off to the marketing team.
“One more thing,” I say to Brant.
“Yeah?”
“I think we should set up a booth at the summer farmers market.”
He stares at me for a long moment. “Okay, that’s every Saturday from eight to one. So, who will work that?”
“I’ll do it. I’ll take some people from the sales team. They can take turns and I can train them. Eventually, they’ll be able to do it without me. I’ll do the same thing with the private tasting events.”
“Sounds good.” He clasps a hand to my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. You want to grab a drink?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t. I gotta go help Caroline at the boutique. Her fixtures came in today and I don’t want her lifting the heavy stuff.”
“I still can’t believe you’re having a baby with the cupcake girl.”
He laughs. “What can I say, we’re sweet on each other.”
I fake a gagging sound. “Please promise me you won’t be the guy with all the dad jokes.”
His hands land on his hips. “Not a chance, little brother. But let me tell you something, love and being in love can change anything. It can also make you do strange things.”
We wrap up our meeting, and I walk back to my office feeling pretty great about my suggestions. I end the day powering through a few emails. Before I call it a day, I pull up the year-to-date sales report.
Cupcake girl.
<
br /> I remember a woman who likes cupcakes too.
Back Then
“Just come inside with me,” Minka laughs and tugs my shirt.
I stare up at the brick building with the striped awning. Palm trees in giant planters sit on either side of the white french doors. My eyes drift to the window. Everything inside is pink and colorful. It reminds me a little bit of my sister Haven’s bedroom when we were kids.
“No way. It’s got a pink and white awning.” My hands gesture upward. “I see zero dudes inside.”
“Wes, you won’t lose your ‘man card’ if you step inside a cute little cupcake shop.”
“Cute—exactly, which implies delicate and fragile. I’m not sure the ceilings are high enough for me. And if I sit at a table, I’ll turn those tiny chairs into firewood.”
Her arms fold over her chest. Annoyance flashes in her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“What do you think people on the island will say if they see me inside?”
She throws her hands up. “People will say—cool, Wes likes cupcakes too.”
My eyes narrow. “I can get you cupcakes at the grocery store.”
Minka rolls her eyes. “These are the best cupcakes on the island. I told myself that I’d come here. I’m going in without you.”
Her brown hair falls down her back as she turns away from me. Minka disappears inside, and I shove my hands into my pockets.
The gal behind the counter hands Minka something in a wrapper.
Her eyes close as she takes a bite. Then a smile breaks on her lips and it’s apparent all over her face.
Damn.
I pull open the door just as she takes another bite. The scent of vanilla and creamy butter wraps around me. Despite my best efforts, my mouth waters.
“Welcome to Sweet Temptations,” a gal with purple hair and glasses greets me.
Minka’s eyes meet mine as she swallows.
“Wes, you’ve got to taste this cupcake. Chocolate and coconut.”
I step up to the counter. Minka holds the frosted concoction in front of my mouth. My lips wrap around the dessert and she winks at me.
I chew and swallow. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve tasted. Well, second most delicious.
“It’s good,” I tell her and wipe my mouth with the napkin she hands me.
“Let’s get a box, my treat.”
I smirk. “Fine, but can we eat them outside?”
That earns me another eye roll. “Yes, you knuckle dragger.”
My hand covers my heart, feigning hurt feelings. “Ouch.”
She picks out four cupcakes. I’ve never seen someone so happy about cupcakes in all my life. Unless we’re talking about the birthday party I had with Superman cupcakes. That was a great day.
We sit at the beach a few blocks up.
She takes a bite then hands it to me. I take a bite and hand it back.
Coconut and chocolate. It’s a decadent mixture. Decadent mixture? Who am I?
“The best way to follow up cupcakes is with a mai tai,” she tells me.
“Hmm, I had another suggestion.” I waggle my brows at her.
“I bet you do.”
I breathe in the salt and sand as I enjoy the cupcake. Yeah, I admit it.
“This one time,” she says before taking another bite. “My mom brought home a box of those Hostess cupcakes. The chocolate ones. I ate the entire box.”
I laugh. “Did you get sick?”
“Nope, but I got in so much trouble. Mom dragged me out of bed at eight-thirty. That night we drove to the grocery store where she made me buy another box. She even made me pay for the gas it took to get there and back, too!”
I wince. “Your mom sounds hardcore.”
“She was very strict when I was young.” Minka stands to toss the cupcake wrappers in the trash can nearby. “But I guess she had to be with three daughters.”
“Three daughters. Wow. And now that you’re all older is she still strict?”
“She passed away last year.”
I swallow thickly and reach for her hand. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Her thumb brushes the back of my knuckle. “Thanks. She was very sick for a long time.”
We sit quietly. The sound of waves and the passing cars fill the spaces in between.
“What about your family?”
I smile. “What about them?”
The wind toys with her hair. “Do you miss them being out here alone?”
“What makes you think I’m alone? Maybe my family lives on another island.”
She shoves at my shoulder. “Are you going to answer all my questions with a question?”
I study her face and tuck the loose strands behind her ear. “No. I’ll tell you about my family over dinner.”
“Is this your way of asking me out?”
I nod and tip her mouth to mine. “Yes. Have dinner with me, Minka.”
Her eyes search mine and then she kisses me. “I’ll have dinner with you, but I get to pick the restaurant.”
“You drive a hard bargain. And later, I’ll drive into you—hard and fast.” My lips map her cheeks and down her throat. She lets out a shuddering breath when I stop just below her ear. “Then, I’ll take you again—soft and slow.”
“Wes,” she whispers. “You better.”
Minka
Meanwhile in California
The camera focuses and the producer counts us in.
“Welcome back. You know our next guest from her very popular blog, The Preppy Baker. And today, she’s whipping up the dessert of our dreams—peach bourbon cupcakes. Say hello to our good friend, Minka MacDonald.”
Kate hugs me, and I smile for the cameras. “Thank you for having me.”
“Everyone saw these”—Kate gestures to the tray of decadent desserts—“and rushed to the counter.”
The audience goes wild. Claps and cheers filter around the studio. I’m on Kate’s show at the Love and Dine channel. It’s a modest network. Romance movie marathons. Reruns of soaps. Not to mention saccharine-sweet morning and afternoon talk shows.
“You look so tan,” she mentions. “Your skin is glowing.”
“Thanks. I still can’t believe it’s been two months since my paradise vacation, and I’ve managed to hold on to my tan.”
“Okay so, today,” Kate clasps her hands together. “Peach and bourbon?”
“Yes, Kate, that’s right,” I gesture to my premade mixing bowls. “Summertime means ripe and juicy peaches. Yummy cupcakes with peaches and bourbon. Not to mention buttercream frosting.”
“Buttercream frosting, you know that’s my favorite,” she says and picks up the bowl.
“I do, Kate.” I scoop up the bottle of Royston’s Rye Special Edition and hold it in my hands. “And the bourbon is mine.”
That gets a big laugh from the audience, which surprises me.
“These bourbon peach cupcakes are phenomenal. The peach flavor really comes through in the tender cake. Using rye makes them a bit spicy. And to be honest, a little bourbon never hurt anyone.”
Kate’s hip rests against the counter. “Is there any reason you chose Cardwell Bourbon over, say, another more genuine brand?”
Her question irritates me. Cardwell Bourbon is the best bourbon on the market. The single barrel is uniquely refined. Sam’s Original was the best on the market, but this flavor might be their best yet.
Post scandal, I’ve read the trade publications, and they’re working on a new original bourbon. In my opinion, as a fan of all things bourbon, I can’t wait to see what they do with the recipe.
“Actually, Kate, for me personally, there’s nothing more sincere about the care that goes into every bottle of Cardwell Bourbon. It’s unique and perfect in its own way.” I pause to pour a shot. And then I hold it up to the light. “Perfect. Unique. Two distinct qualities I love in my bourbon experience.”
Five minutes and thirteen seconds later, the segment ends.
Kate turns to fa
ce the camera. “You can get the entire recipe on our website at love and dine dot com. Just click the foodie link. And please visit Minka’s website, the preppy baker dot com.”
I take off my apron and toss it onto the barstool. My cheeks hurt from smiling all morning. If I’m honest, I’d rather be in my yoga pants and an old college T-shirt tucked away in my office writing.
The good ole days.
Me with my laptop, a warm mug of coffee, and a messy bun getting shit done.
After my ex and I divorced, I was lost. Depressed. One morning, I had a craving for apple pie. I bought one from the store and it sucked. So, I went back to the store, purchased all the ingredients, and made my own. I found the joy of baking again. A few Instagram pics and a blog later, I was in business. Making enough money to support my daughter and me. Sure, sprinkle in a contributing post here and a collaboration there—bam! More money to pay for my mom’s medical expenses.
But then, I had my breakthrough. Kerris Von Roy, the Queen Consort of Sardones, hired me to make her birthday cake. A confetti cake with hand-painted sea turtles dancing around the ocean. She’s a Chicago native like me.
When the royals posted the cake to their Instagram, they tagged me. My life changed in a matter of hours.
I became insta-famous. One hundred thousand Instagram followers in three hours. Blog hits went through the roof. A few months later, People Magazine ran an article about the sweetest celebrity birthday cakes—there it was, her face and my cake.
That’s when the requests for media appearances started rolling in.
I’m not one for the spotlight, but I do it because I like making wonderful treats that people enjoy. The money’s good. And for the most part, I’m happy.
I am.
Right?
“Mom, you look so pretty on TV,” says Celia, my daughter, who jumps up from the chair and grabs my hand.
“Thank you, baby.”
And all this is possible thanks to a childhood education from my mother. She bought me my first baking set from Tupperware. I wore out the damn cookie sheet mat from baking every chance I got. She spent every day in the kitchen. All our meals were homemade.
Before dad left, dinners were four courses and there was always cake—pound cake, coffee cake, Bundt cake, and angel food cake. Angel food is my least favorite, but the twins, they love it with strawberry frosting. The twins being my younger sisters—Zara and Anya.
Copper Lining (The Cardwell Family Series Book 3) Page 3