The Sweetest Gift - Scarlett Cole Page 0,46

trolls until it became too much for Liv. The deep depression and frightening levels of anxiety had shown signs of lifting as of late, but it was still too early to expect their youngest sibling to return to work.

“Me, too. But we can keep it together until she gets back, right? You starting on Dad’s office?” he asked.

“I was going to, but now I’m here, I don’t know if I can face it.”

In the past, when she’d thought about how her father would have handed over the reins to the three of them, she’d always imagined it would be at least a decade away, and involve a big cake wishing her father a happy retirement. They would cut it on the production floor instead of in the office so everyone could be involved. They’d talk through her plans—the ones that included turning the distillery into a state of the art environmentally friendly masterpiece. He’d have tidied his office, removing the personal debris built up over a lifetime. The pictures of her parents’ wedding, of Jake holding a glass of his first distillation, of Olivia’s first wedding event, of Emerson’s graduation.

But now it was up to her, and she didn’t feel even close to being ready. She put her hands on her hips, and looked at the piles of papers, the tchotchkes.

Jake threw his arm over her shoulder. “I have faith in you, Em.”

Her father’s letter had assured her the same. But somehow, she didn’t feel as though she deserved the faith placed in her.

Four hours later, Emerson was at the airport ready to board. “Ms. Dyer, there was a problem with seating a family together, so with your permission, I’d like to give you an upgrade,” said the attendant.

Doing a mental high five, Emerson smiled. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

The flight was only two and a half hours, long enough to have a drink to calm her nerves and perhaps watch a movie—anything to take her mind off the thousands of feet between her butt and the ground. Plus, she fully intended to embrace the time as her first period of enforced relaxation in months. Two and a half hours without calls, interruptions, and emails. Any work could wait until she was safely ensconced in her hotel that evening. She placed her laptop bag in the overhead compartment and slid her purse under the aisle seat in front of her.

“Wine?” asked the flight attendant.

Emerson took a glass from the tray. “Thank you.” She took a sip, acidulous flavors exploding on her tongue. It was a touch fruity for her personal tastes, but it was free and available. She switched her cellphone off and let her head fall back, eyes closed, on the headrest. Two and a half perfect hours without being bothered by a soul.

“Excuse me, you’re in my seat.”

Emerson opened her eyes with a start. A tall man, looking way too handsome for his own good in a fitted navy suit, stared at her like a rather deliciously imperious Clark Kent with his black hair a little on the long side and most definitely ruffled. He looked down at her through glasses that quite possibly made him even hotter.

“I’m sorry.” Emerson placed her glass down and pulled the ticket out of her purse. “I was upgraded; they gave me a new ticket as I boarded. Perhaps they made a mistake,” she said, wondering why she felt the need to apologize to the ungracious man glaring at her.

She looked at the ticket, then up again at the numbers above the row of seats. 3B. The aisle seat. She was in the right spot. “There must be some mistake,” she said, showing him her ticket.

The man growled. It was low, and quiet, but it was most definitely a growl. “I so don’t need this today,” he muttered under his breath, before leaning over her to press the buzzer for the flight attendant.

In spite of his rude behavior, he smelled delicious. Nothing floral. Decidedly woody. And the move revealed a shirt that fit his taut frame as if it had been painted on.

“Are you sure you aren’t in A?” Emerson offered quietly, pointing toward the empty seat next to her, not that the jerk was worth any of her time. But other passengers were looking, and she’d rather fix the problem than continue to cause a scene.

“I never sit by the window,” he said, as if that explained everything.

A flight attendant arrived and smiled so hard Emerson’s jaw ached at the