Neat

by Steiner, Kandi

  “Let’s make one.”

  Mallory

  That weekend was the best weekend of my life.

  I woke the next morning with Logan’s arms around me, his legs weaved through mine, my back to his chest. We’d kicked the covers off, but the warmth from his body alone was enough to sustain me. I’d rolled in his arms, watching him sleep and thinking over the promise we’d made the night before.

  To make a universe — one where we could be together.

  It didn’t exist. That much, we both knew for sure. There wasn’t a day anywhere in the future where his family or my family would be okay with us being together. But sometime in the last month, we’d decided it didn’t matter anymore.

  Logan had kissed my nose when he woke up, smiling and running his fingers through my hair as he watched me. I could tell he was just as worried as I was, that he was wondering if what we’d said in the dark still held true in the light. He’d told me to stay in bed, brought me coffee and made us breakfast, and then we’d sat there in the sheets we’d made love in, and we’d talked.

  He’d asked me if I wanted to be with him, and I’d said yes. I asked him if he was ready for the consequences of being with me, and he’d said yes. And that was all it took. Neither of us were in a rush, we knew we had time before we needed to tell anyone. For a while, we wanted to keep it between us — mostly because we were selfish, but a little because I needed to find a way to talk to my dad before we told him.

  Logan was sure his family would come around, that they would support him eventually — even if it took a while. And from what he’d told me about them, I believed it. They may never fully approve, but his brothers would stand behind their brother, his mom would stand behind her son. There was love there, and understanding, and communication.

  All three of those things were missing in my family.

  I couldn’t imagine a day or scenario where I told my father I was falling in love with Logan Becker and he said, “That’s just swell!” I needed to think, to figure out a way to prove to him that Logan wasn’t whatever it was my father thought he was. I needed to show him that I didn’t do this just to piss him and Mom off, but because I cared about Logan — more than I’d cared about anyone before.

  If Dad found out before I had a plan, everything would crumble. He’d take my shop, kick me out of the apartment above it that I called home, and if I knew him well enough, he’d find a way to take it out on Logan, too.

  That was what scared me most.

  So, with a promise to each other that we were together, but that we both needed time before we told anyone, we ate breakfast in bed, and then Logan laid me down in those sheets and made love to me slowly, sweetly, with his eyes watching mine, his arms trembling on either side of my head where they held him above me.

  And the best weekend of my life continued.

  It was absolute bliss, playing house with Logan. It was the first weekend of the shop being open, so all day long on Saturday, I was downstairs, hosting classes and talking to potential customers who would stop in on their walk down Main Street to find out more about what we offered. Logan was there, too, for a while — helping restock supplies, ringing people up at the Square register, cleaning up after one class so that I could get ready for the other. But when Mrs. Brownstein came in with her children, casting us questioning looks, we knew it was a little too dangerous. Nearly everyone in town knew our family history, and we didn’t need word getting back to either of our families before we were ready.

  So, Logan went home for the day, working on cracking the password to his father’s hard drive and — God bless — working on that perfect body of his, too. Then we met up for a late dinner at my place, and he told me about the Elon Musk book he was reading while I told him about the hidden art talent in Stratford. We spent Saturday night tangled up in each other, talking and laughing and never even bothering to get dressed, because we knew it wouldn’t be long before we’d peel those clothes off once again.

  And Sunday, we did it all over again.

  Logan didn’t leave my place until bright and early Monday morning, giving himself the day to shower and shop and get ready for our Christmas party at work. It was Christmas Eve, and the entire distillery was off for the next two days, but the Scooter Whiskey Christmas party wasn’t exactly optional for the employees. It was always a grand affair, with Mom going all out with catering and a band just like she loved to do, and Dad giving himself an excuse to talk into a microphone, just like he loved to do. They’d both made it very clear that I was expected to be there, and Logan and his entire family would be there, too.

  Even though the last thing I wanted to do was put on another dress I didn’t feel comfortable in and play into the politics of Stratford, I knew it would be bearable with Logan there. I looked forward to stolen kisses in dark hallways, to watching him from across the room without anyone knowing I’d had him in my bed all weekend, and most of all, to coming home tonight and knowing he’d be coming home with me.

  I floated on a high all day long, even when Chris dragged me an hour out of town to the packed mall crawling with last-minute Christmas gift shoppers to find me a dress to wear to the party. I didn’t even complain when he had me trying on heels to match, or when he insisted on paying to get my hair and makeup done by one of the girls at the salon there. We stopped by his place long enough for him to put on a well-tailored, navy blue suit and a red tie that matched my dress, and then we were off, headed to the distillery.

  “Logan is going to have to sit on his hands to keep from touching you all night in that dress,” Chris said as we made our way across the parking lot. A hundred other cars were parking, too, and the clouds swirled with a threat of snow above us.

  “I’ll have to tell him to thank you.”

  “Oh, trust me, you wouldn’t be okay with how I’d let Logan Becker thank me.”

  I poked him in the rib, and he laughed, holding his arm out for me to loop mine through.

  “Come on. Let’s see if your mom made any of that boozy eggnog we used to steal when we were teenagers.”

  The wind whipped cold against our faces as we huddled together and made our way inside the distillery. The party was being held in the only event space the distillery had, which was usually reserved for schmoozing possible partners or big clients. I gasped when we pushed through the doors, gawking and doing a full three-sixty turn as one of the pew boys from church took my coat.

  “Whoa,” Chris murmured, looking around with me. “Your mom really went all out.”

  And she had. It was a winter wonderland inside that old warehouse. Blue up-lights cast the walls and ceiling in a beautiful cerulean blue, and fake snow fell from the ceiling in the form of little foam bubbles. As soon as the flakes hit the ground, they disappeared, but there was scene after scene of wintery fun lining the room — a snow man, a little forest of trees, a small log cabin with the chimney churning out light smoke, an actual fire pit that had people sitting around it making s’mores. The dance floor was already covered with distillery employees and their families doing line dances to the country music the band was playing, and there were carolers making their way around the room, singing Christmas songs softly — just loud enough to be heard by those in very near proximity.

  We made our way deeper inside with our mouths still gaping, and someone handed us what appeared to be champagne, but it was tinged a light pink. When we tasted it, Chris’s eyes widened.

  “Peppermint,” he said in awe.

  I shook my head, a small laugh escaping my lips. It was an incredible party, and I had to give it to my parents. If they knew how to do one thing well — it was this.

  Chris and I claimed our seats at one of the round tables in the back corner, me dropping off my clutch and him hanging his suit jacket on the back of the chair. Then, he led me to the dance floor, peppermint champagne still in our hands, and we danced.

  I was never a big country music fan, but I couldn’t fight back a smile as I did the old line d
ances I’d used to love in high school with the rest of the employees at the distillery. In a way, it felt like a big barn party, like just another night at The Black Hole, and I smiled despite the fact that I was in a dress and heels.

  When I did a turn during “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” and saw Logan watching me from across the dance floor, I smiled for a completely different reason.

  I stuttered, but he moved easily into the next move, giving me a wink and a crooked smile that had his dimple popping out on his left cheek. I smiled back, finding my place in the dance again, but unable to take my eyes off him. His own eyes swept over me, and he shook his head, mouthing a “wow” that made me blush.

  Blush.

  Who even was I?

  We were still staring at each other when Logan’s older brother, Jordan, narrowed his eyes — first at Logan, and then at me. I swallowed under the intensity of his glare, offering a small, noncommittal wave. Jordan lowered his brows more, turning his gaze to Logan, who finally tore his eyes off me and continued dancing, acting like nothing had happened at all.

  My stomach sank, remembering the universe we still lived in, regardless of the one we’d promised to make together. But I didn’t have time to stew on it before Dad was on the microphone, telling us to make our way to our tables for dinner to be served.

  I wasn’t able to steal away time with Logan like I’d hoped — not during dinner, and not after, when the white elephant gift exchange was happening between the employee children on the dance floor. When the band picked back up again and people started making their way to the floor, I caught his attention from where he sat at a table with his mother, Jordan, and Mikey, and I nodded toward the hall where the bathrooms were.

  Logan nodded, and my stomach was a mess of nerves as I made my way across the room, like I was about to steal a car instead of talk to my boyfriend.

  My boyfriend.

  An audible sigh left my chest at that, and I shook my head, giggling to myself and looking back over my shoulder to see if Logan was following. I stopped short, frowning when I saw he’d been pulled aside by the other tour guides. They shoved him toward the dance floor, relentless, and he laughed and laughed, but his eyes were sad when they met mine.

  “Sorry,” he mouthed.

  I smiled, waving him off and letting him know it was okay.

  Maybe I wouldn’t get time alone with him at the party, but I’d have him all to myself when it was all over.

  That was enough for me.

  Chris and I made another drive by at the peppermint champagne table before we were back on the dance floor, too — on the opposite side of where Logan was. We exchanged glances now and then, shared a smile or two, and all the while, I counted down the minutes until the party would be over and I would be in his arms again.

  “If I could have everyone’s attention, please,” my father said when the next song died out. Everyone on the dance floor turned to face the makeshift stage, where he stood behind a podium with a microphone, smiling and beaming out at his employees. Mom stood beside him, both of them dressed in pearly white — Dad in a tux, Mom in a gown — looking like the Groom and Bride or like the King and Queen, themselves.

  I would have rolled my eyes if I wasn’t in such a good mood.

  As it was, Chris and I gathered in the middle of the dance floor with everyone else, holding our glasses out when a server came around to refill champagne glasses. That meant a toast was coming, and if I knew my father, he’d be toasting to how successful the distillery was this year.

  AKA — how successful he was this year.

  “Mrs. Scooter and I would like to sincerely thank each and every one of you for attending tonight,” he said, putting an arm around Mom as they swept their eyes over the crowd. “This is the twenty-seventh year that we’ve had the Christmas Eve party — a tradition that my grandparents started that I’m happy to keep alive today.”

  There was a light applause, and my mom squeezed Dad’s arm. I swore I saw him getting choked up, which was laughable — considering him and grandpa were fighting about almost everything up to the very day he passed away.

  Dad went on to talk about how well the distillery had done, talking about new partnerships and advances. The entire room was abuzz when he revealed that my brother, Malcolm, had secured us a sixty-second advertisement during the upcoming Super Bowl. Dad said there would be filming happening at the distillery, because they wanted to show the faces that made America’s favorite whiskey come to life.

  I zoned out a bit after that, sipping my champagne that I was supposed to be saving for the toast while my eyes scanned the room for Logan. I found him over to my left, closer to the stage than I was, surrounded by his mother and two brothers. Noah wasn’t there this year, since he was visiting the mayor’s daughter in Utah. It looked a little strange, seeing the family without one of the brothers — like a puzzle with one piece missing right in the center.

  Logan must have sensed me watching him, because he took a sip of his whiskey, casually glancing around until he found me, too. He smiled, tilting his glass toward me, and I tilted mine.

  With just our eyes, we had an entire conversation in that moment.

  You look beautiful, he said.

  I can’t wait to get you home, I said.

  Soon, he said.

  Soon, I echoed.

  Then, my father asked my uncle to join him on stage, and the applause pulled both of our gazes back to the front.

  It was always my father who had the charm to bedazzle a crowd. Uncle Mac, on the other hand, always looked like he was perturbed, like he was biding his time until he could be alone again. He gave an awkward smile at the applause, standing next to my father with rosy cheeks and a glass of whiskey in his hand.

  “As you all know, my little brother has been instrumental in this distillery’s success since our father passed away. It was his idea to implement a tour department — an initiative that continues to pull visitors in from across the country and the world every single day.”

  There was another roll of applause, and Chris nudged me. “That initiative has also brought a plethora of gay tourists into Buck’s,” he said, wagging his brows and taking a sip of his champagne. “Thank you, Mac.”

  I chuckled, nudging him back as my father went on about all of my uncle’s accomplishments. I was tempted to zone out again, to see if I could eye-fuck Logan from across the room a while longer, when I heard my name called.

  Applause started again, but I stood there frozen, confused, wondering what I had missed. Chris cleared his throat, nudging me forward before he began clapping around his champagne glass, too.

  I smiled, cheeks heating as I made my way to the stage. One of the pew boys helped me up the stairs, and then I was standing next to my mother, facing practically the entire town of Stratford. I found Logan, and his comforting smile anchored me, steadying me as my father beamed at me from the podium.

  “We’ve been trying for a long time to get our daughter, Mallory, to take her role at the distillery. But, as many of you know, she is a colorful bird who likes to fly her own course.”

  There were a few chuckles, and I forced a smile, despite the fact that I wanted to roll my eyes at the backhanded compliment.

  “When Mallory told us she was coming back home to Stratford after she wrapped up her masters degree, we were thrilled. Not only because — as many of you know — she was opening her very own art studio, but because it meant we’d have our family together again, too.” He paused, beaming at me like we were best friends. “And we are so proud of her, of all she’s accomplished.” He turned to the crowd then. “What do you guys think? Do we love the new addition of Dalí and Mal’s to Stratford?”

  The applause roared then, and Logan let out a whistle between his teeth that had me actually smiling and blushing. I covered the smile with one hand, and Logan grinned up at me, tossing me a wink that I held for my own.

  “What you might not have known was that while she was building that studio up d
uring her evenings and weekends, she was here, working as a tour guide during the week days. And from what her uncle has told me, she has excelled at that — after a few minor setbacks, of course.”

  Those who knew of those setbacks chuckled throughout the room, and I found myself forcing a smile again, wondering when all this hoopla would be over.

  “We’ve had more compliments for Mallory’s tours just in the past month than we’ve had for any other tour in the past year,” Dad said, and that had my eyebrows shooting into my hairline — one, because it was news to me, and two, because I found it hard to believe — especially given how many compliments came in for Logan each and every day.

  And that’s when my stomach sank to the stage floor.

  Because I knew, right then, that my father was up to something.

  And I knew it was something I wouldn’t like.

  “She’s put personal touches on her tours, telling our visitors about fond memories she had with her grandfather, about growing up around the distillery, about the history only our family knows. She’s even volunteered to help out with tasks outside of her normal duties — like cleaning out an entire storage closet to make way for new equipment that will help our brand excel.”

  I frowned, opening my mouth to mention that I did not do that alone — or by choice — but my father kept talking.

  “That’s why, it is my absolute pleasure to announce to all of you tonight that my brother, Mac, is retiring after the new year. And it is my distinct pleasure to also announce that we are filling his position with another deserving member of our family — a member we weren’t sure would ever come home, one we are so happy to have back in Stratford, and one who has already made us proud in her short time working at Scooter. We know she will have a long and successful career ahead, and we can’t wait to see where she takes this instrumental part of our company. Please help me congratulate Mallory Scooter — our new Manager of Tour Guide Operations.”