Chapter Four
Eve was surprised Nick was suddenly so willing to take the job, even on a temporary basis.
Surprised, and delighted. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her own impending waterworks. Because, honestly, she had no idea what she was going to do if he decided not to work with her.
Eve had only been partially kidding when she’d told Nick he’d be saving her life if he took the job. Nobody would die if it didn’t get done in time, but her world might end. She had everything so delicately balanced that if the tasting center wasn’t finished before the fundraiser, there would be hell to pay. Already Lorena wasn’t sleeping, and Eve was afraid her mother would have another nervous breakdown right before the party. That’s what had happened when Daddy died, and Eve and Allie had had to take turns staying up with her to ensure she didn’t go running naked onto the interstate. And then when David died in Afghanistan that was bad. Really bad. This fundraiser was the one thing Lorena had looked forward to, and Eve was going to make sure it went off without a hitch.
She told her mother she’d make the party happen one way or another, but “one way” —Raleigh Baker—was in the hospital and “another”—Nick— had, up until two seconds ago, been determined not to commit.
“Well okay, then,” she said, instead of falling to her knees and hugging his legs with gratitude. Probably the better choice, especially since he was suddenly looking a little green around the gills.
Lorena humphed and said something about needing to check on the Morgans’ raffle basket donation for the benefit. She got back in the cart and drove herself and Allie away, leaving Eve standing in the morning sunshine smiling at Nick. Who recovered his composure and gazed at her with something vaguely unsettling—his dark eyes were focused on her, slightly crinkled at the corners, his mouth almost tipped up at the corner.
He broke the moment by tilting his ball cap down.
Of course, the sun was shining right in his face, so it could have been a squint.
“So…” She opened her planner and flipped to a new page. “I assume you’re going to want to start as soon as possible. Will you need to hire helpers? If you do, we need to budget for that and agree on a payment schedule.”
He tilted the hat back to scratch his head. The morning was steamy, and sweat was already making his hair darker where he ran his fingers through it. The soft fabric of his T-shirt clung to the bumps and dips of his torso.
“You got all that in your little notebook there?” He leaned forward to peer at her list.
His scent—warm man, Irish Spring, and coffee—surrounded her. She held her breath, lest she bury her face in his chest.
“You write that stuff in hieroglyphics?”
She laughed. “Have you been talking to my fifth-grade teacher?”
“Oh yeah,” he told her. “After I told you I’d come out here, I Googled you. There are entire message boards about your handwriting.”
A giggle escaped her. “Oh no! I heard there was going to be a meeting of Handwriters Anonymous starting up this week. Think I should look up the address?”
He didn’t answer. She turned to see him watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head and stepped back. “So. You were talking about money?”
“Yes. Money. Of course.” Get them back onto a business track. It was probably best she keep her distance. She’d gotten too personally involved with Raleigh—worrying about him constantly and giving him too many breaks when he’d shown up too drunk to work.
Raleigh Baker was a stinky old drunk under his funny-cranky demeanor. His son was a pheromone-emitting hunk of smoking hot man-flesh with a sense of humor. The keeping-him-at-a-distance rule might get thrown out of the window before she’d had a chance to put it in her planner.
“Let me—” She dug into her tote bag and freed the binder with “Tasting Center Control Manual” typed on a notecard in the label pocket on the spine. The damned thing was about to need a second binder. Fortunately, she didn’t need to write that on her to-do list, because she had devoted half of the walk-in closet to office supplies. Her favorite place. All that potential for a perfect, organized life.
Flipping to the section labeled “Money Matters,” she pulled a sheet of paper out of a page protector. “Here you go.”
He looked it over and nodded. “This is reasonable, I guess,” he told her.
“You guess? Do you want to take it home and look it over?”
“Nah. I trust you.”
She could only stare up at him. He was just going to assume she’d done the math right? She always went over everything with a fine-tooth comb. Twice. So she didn’t quite get it when other people didn’t. In this case, she didn’t have the luxury of coaxing him to go over anything he didn’t want to review.
“Ooookee dokey,” she finally managed. “So…what do you need from me right now?”
A slight flare of his pupils and a barely noticeable flicker of a glance at her body were the only suggestions she had that he might have taken her words in a less than professional way, but she flushed hot all the same. He was cute. Really cute. But he was here to work, not flirt. She forced herself to back up.
There wasn’t any reason for her to stick around the job site. He had her phone number if he wanted anything, and she probably wasn’t going to miss any fun stuff. “So, are you going to hammer or screw anything today?” Aw, geez. She had not just said that. Had she?
“Maybe later.” His grin sent a zing to places she was trying to ignore, this being a relatively public place and all. Was he flirting with her? Her already warm face began to flame. He was totally flirting with her. Or maybe she was flirting with him. She should go find something else to do before she made a fool of herself.
“I guess I’ll let you get to it, then.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a fresh composition book, just like the one she kept her journal in. She stepped forward to hand it to him “Here. You can use this for your notes and lists.”
She couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the look of terror that crossed his face. “I’m not asking you to tattoo anything on your forehead. Here. Maybe this will help.” Another step closer, and she handed him a pencil. “Look. It’s got an eraser and everything.”
A dimple appeared. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “Can I give you a lift back to your house?”
“No thanks,” she told him, moving back again so she couldn’t accidentally touch him. Everywhere. With her whole body. “I’m heading over to the bottling plant next.” She indicated a modest cinder block building a couple hundred yards away, across the road that led farther into the distillery grounds. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do when she got there, but she had to get away from Nick and his gravitational field.
“Okay.” He stood there, smiling at her.
She walked backward, smiling back. “Okay. Bye.” It would be appropriate to turn around now and face the direction she was traveling, but she waited to watch him turn away to do his work things. Because she was a terrible pervert and wanted to see his butt in those jeans.
The only problem was, he wasn’t turning away.
“Oh my God,” she said, forcing herself to spin the other way.
She was pretty sure she heard him chuckle as she walked, but wouldn’t let herself, under any circumstances, glance back.
At least, not until she finally made it to the door of the bottling plant. He was bent over the plywood table, making notes. Until he looked over his shoulder. He was pretty far away, but she could swear he winked at her.
Several hours later, Nick cursed and forced his attention back to the paper in front of him. He had to stop looking up to see if Eve was anywhere nearby.
He actually had a little to-do list started. First was to get in contact with Mason about the barn wood, but he hadn’t talked to him in exactly five years, two months, and four days. Not that he counted. And the phone number that he had for him was no longer in service. That meant he was going to have to go looking for him.
The good news was, he knew where to find his old friend. The bad news was, he was going to have to go there to talk to him. “Fuck. Me.”
“Ummm…”
Nick whirled to see Eve standing a few feet away, face a charming shade of pink.
“Too soon?” he asked, then grinned, because he couldn’t help but notice she looked directly at his crotch before she met his eyes. Huh. So she’d thought about it.
She rolled her eyes at him and said, “Sounds like you’ve hit a snag. So you don’t have to engage in self-abuse this early in the game, what’s up?”
He shrugged. “Nothing major. Just realized I don’t have phone numbers for a guy I need to help me with some stuff.” At least, it shouldn’t be major. He knew where to find him. He just had to decide if he wanted to go there.
“Well, if you need my help, let me know. I’m pretty good at internet surveillance.” She waved her hands around as though trying to erase what she’d just said. “I mean, in a purely non-creepy-stalker sort of way.”
“Is there a non-creepy way to be a stalker?”
“What I mean is, I’m good at finding information online. Heck, I bet I could build this place myself, if I wanted to. I’ve spent so much time researching the best way to do everything building related I’m practically ready to be on HGTV.”
“Oh no. Are you going to follow me around and tell me how to do my job?” The thought wasn’t as disturbing as it could be. He could get her a little tool belt to wear that would weigh her jeans down enough to show him a little more skin. Not that he would ever do anything like that. He’d think about it, though.
“Probably later. I really am interested in learning how to actually use a hammer, but right now I thought I’d see if you wanted to help me do my job.”
The thought of spending some more time with Eve today definitely appealed to him. It beat the alternatives, which were going to the hospital to check on his dad again or stopping by the Beer and Barrel to look for Mason.
He grabbed the rock he had weighting down one corner of the blueprints and dropped it on the ground, reaching for the next. She’d moved over to the table and picked up the tube that held the plans. He rolled them up and she stepped closer, holding it out. He grabbed the end and slid the roll of paper inside, but she didn’t let go.
So he slid his hand down the length of cardboard until his hand was almost touching hers. “What would you like me to do?”
She was close. Very close.
“Um,” she said, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “It’s Thursday.”
“Yeah…”
“I was already up at the Morgans’, and everyone was there but you. I didn’t want you to be left out.” If there hadn’t been a big cardboard tube between them, he’d have been able to feel her body against his. He could smell her perfume, like honey and flowers, and practically taste an overlying flavor on her breath. Something sweet and familiar, and very, very attractive.
“On the first Thursday of every month we have a tasting session. Clyde Morgan, who’s the master distiller, drags out all the samples he’s been messing around with, and we—everyone who wants to—we all meet at their house to taste and cast our votes for the next limited release.”
“Is that so?” He wasn’t listening; he was focused on her face, so open and inviting. Her breath against his skin was intoxicating, and he wanted to kiss her more than he’d wanted anything in his life. She looked at his mouth and licked her own lips. He wanted to taste that—
Bourbon. That was the scent on her breath. “No.” He stepped back.
“Excuse me?”
“No. I can’t.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I wish I could. But I just remembered that I have to be somewhere.”
“Well, that sucks.” She looked at him, brow furrowed, oblivious to the disaster that had almost occurred. Of course. Because she hadn’t come down here intending to be kissed by her carpenter. She’d come to invite him to a work social event, and he was acting all weird and shit.
“Yeah, I…have to go to this meeting thing.”
“About your dad? With his care team?”
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“Oh. Okay. Maybe next time.”
He didn’t answer. Maybe there wouldn’t be a next time, and it wouldn’t be an issue.
“All right, so I guess I’ll get back up there and let you get out of here.”
She left, the smell of heaven—and hell—going with her.
She had wanted him to kiss her. And he had really wanted to kiss her. Hadn’t he? The way his heart had sped up when she was near, the way his skin practically vibrated with want—that was about her, not the sudden unnerving need to taste liquor on her lips. It wasn’t about the booze. Was it?
It was time to get out of here, away from this place. He shoved the blueprints and Eve’s giant Binder of Everything into the portable shed, locked it, and got into his truck.
He turned his key in the ignition, put on his seat belt, then pulled down the sheet of paper he’d shoved into his visor. The list of local meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous wasn’t long, but there was one starting in an hour not too far away. He’d have time to grab a drive-thru burger and get there in time to introduce himself to the group. He might not find out if he was so desperate to kiss Eve because she smelled so much like his drug of choice, but at least he’d get a chance to remind himself why it was important to stay as far from the business end of Blue Mountain Distilling as possible. He wasn’t about to throw five years of sobriety away for a few minutes of heaven on the lips of an angel.