Chapter Sixteen
Grant stared at the large, empty bins that would hold the mash for what would become the next batch of bourbon. He pulled the clipboard down and read through the notes. Whiskey. He was blending whiskey. The bourbon was already being distilled.
After the night he’d had with Stacey, focusing on anything but her was becoming a real challenge. Not that he minded the images drifting through his mind. Or what they were inspiring him to do the second he could get his hands on her again.
“You okay?”
Grant turned toward the voice. “Yeah.” He waved off Patrick Donovan, one of his partners. “Why?”
“You seem pretty happy.”
“I’m always happy.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “I know you better than that.”
Grant shrugged, but he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.
“Is this about a girl?”
“Yep.”
“Well.” Patrick pulled his glasses off and rubbed them clean with the edge of his white T-shirt. “Don’t let yourself get too distracted since, you know, you’re behind production schedule.”
Grant’s smile faded, but he remained silent. Underneath the light tone was an underpinning of hard truth, one that his partner wouldn’t let him miss.
One of the reasons Patrick was a shrewd businessman was his ability to read people. Whether one-on-one, or an entire population, he had this uncanny knack to gauge habits and form an intelligent business decision based on his observations. Grant had watched him do it since college. It was one of the reasons he liked the guy and found him annoying at the same time.
Hiring Grant and subsequently making him partner had been Patrick’s idea. Part of his “strategic plan,” the man had said. All the more reason for Grant to make sure the business continued to gain ground in the spirits market. This meant staying loose, staying focused—and keeping his brain away from Stacey, at least while he was at work.
He frowned. That almost sounded like he was blaming her, or labeling her a distraction, but really, it wasn’t her fault he couldn’t keep his head on straight. Being with her last night, with that awesome dinner and the more than awesome sex after, made him feel… He didn’t know what word to give it besides Patrick’s “happy,” as lame as it sounded.
Why wasn’t he panicking about how she made him feel? Where was the well of fear that edged up higher and higher, the voice of caution that practically screamed at him whenever he was too close to having one foot into a serious relationship?
“Whatever it is that’s going on in your personal life,” Patrick began, “just remember that you’re our spokesperson. Do your job, schmooze people, and don’t taint our reputation.” He frowned. “Oh, and keep making the best bourbon around.”
“Do my job. Best bourbon. Schmooze. Don’t mess up rep. Got it.”
Something about his tone and the hard look he shot him made Grant’s skin prickle. The guy was serious, but Patrick had a job to do, considering how much money he’d borrowed to open the distillery in the first place.
Patrick headed for the door that separated the distillery from the tasting room. “I’m off to give Stephan a break before he ends up mauled by the bachelorette party.”
Grant blew out a breath. Stephan was the third partner who worked with the marketing team and handled the tasting room. Thanks to his playboy lifestyle, Stephan refused to mix business with any place he might run into an ex-girlfriend. That’s when Grant was tapped to represent the distillery, thus earning him a piece of the company.
So it was time to get his head out of his ass before he gave his partners a reason to bail on him. He’d had enough of that in his life. No need to tempt fate.
Was he tempting fate with Stacey, though? Even in the absence of his usual fears, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he was, and he knew better than anyone how stupid that made him. No. He needed to pull his head out of his ass before he fucked everything up. As much as he hated the idea, one way or another they’d have to bring things back to normal. More nights in her bed weren’t worth the loss of their friendship, were they?
He knew the answer to that. Had known it from the start.
How in the hell had he let himself forget?
He shoved a hand through his hair and remembered too late that he’d worn gloves. Though why he even had them on was beyond him, now that he thought about it. He was pulling ingredients for the mash, for God’s sake.
Shit. He really was distracted. At this rate he’d start thinking he was making another batch of gin even though the juniper berries weren’t in yet.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket. He grabbed it, his chest giving a funny little twist at the possibility of chatting with Stacey, and glanced at the screen.
Meredith.
Meredith? Who the hell was Meredith? He hadn’t handed his phone over to a woman for her number since… Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time. He scanned the text message. Oh, right. The woman Isaac had introduced him to at the Winters’ get-together. She was available to meet for dinner tonight, then had a tight travel schedule after.
He frowned. Tonight was Tuesday. Therapy Tuesday. Table 13B would be set as it always was for them, and Mei-Ling would put them through the paces again, reminding them of all the reasons they were practically already a married couple.
Even as his heart warmed at the idea, he knew going down that path was a mistake.
He needed to do something to save him and Stacey from themselves, and fast.
He looked at the text message again. Maybe this was the universe’s way of handing him an opportunity that would fix everything.
He blew out a breath, knowing what he had to do. It was as much for Stacey’s good as his. At least, that’s what he told himself. After all, he’d encouraged her to keep looking for Mr. Long Term despite what was happening between them. By going on a date with Meredith, even if he wasn’t interested in the woman, even if the idea made him feel queasy, he’d prove to Stacey that he meant it. If a best friend couldn’t keep his word, who could?
He thumbed a quick text to her, asking if they could skip this week’s dinner, and almost immediately got a response back.
Why?
He hesitated, but if he was going to preserve their friendship, he had to do it, right?
Meredith’s got time tonight before she heads out tomorrow morning. Won’t be back for three weeks. If you’re not okay with it, say the word.
And even though it made him the biggest idiot, his heart whispered, Please say the word…
Ten seconds later came the one-word response: Fine.
He frowned and texted back: Are you sure? I don’t have to go.
He couldn’t help it—masochist that he was, even knowing he could never do anything with it, Grant was desperate to hear Stacey tell him she didn’t want him to go. If she couldn’t—if this was headed the way every other relationship he’d ever been in had gone, he wanted to know before what felt suspiciously like love turned into a nightmare that ripped his heart out of his chest.
Please tell me not to go…
Stupid heart.
When she didn’t respond right away, he set his phone down and headed to the storage area for a sack of barley to start the whiskey. His hands shook as he reached for the bag. Why was he shaking, damn it? He needed to get a grip. No matter what she said, he had to get the batch blended before he left for the day.
After he’d hauled the sack into the room and dropped it on the floor far less carefully than he should have, he picked up his cell.
Go. Have a great time! Catch up with you later. XOXO
A strange, achy sensation struck him dead center in his chest.
There it was.
And he wasn’t surprised.