Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan

Prologue

Ten Years Ago

I shouldn’t have acted on impulse.

I could not walk away unscathed.

Melody and I kind of grew up together, but it wasn’t like those stories you hear when two kids live next door to each other, play cops and robbers, or climb trees for years until they hit puberty. Then, bam, there was an unfamiliar kind of connection. Melody and I only saw each other a few times a year, despite living only one town away.

Our dads had been friends since a young age and eventually intertwined their businesses. Melody’s dad, Harold, ran The Barrel House, a bourbon distillery, and my dad produces the barrels to store the bourbon. Therefore, the times our families spent together were at the distillery parties Harold liked to host.

During the parties, Melody and I had always kept each other company, building forts with the wooden crates or partaking in wild games of flashlight hide-and-seek around the rows of barrels in the shop’s basement. No matter what we did, we ended up in a fit of laughter, rolling around on the ground until it was hard to breathe. Then, we’d fall asleep in a corner somewhere, waiting for the late-night party to end. Months would go by in between the times we’d see each other, but when the wait was over, it was as if no time passed at all. We picked up right where we left off.

Then there was one party, the party that sucked. We were in seventh or eighth grade. I brought a bag full of Pop Rocks, Pixy Stix, and Sour Patch Kids for Melody and me to share. We decided those were the best foods to have during an adult party because we’d get a sugar rush that would keep us entertained through the duration of the night. I waited for Melody in the backroom by the stacked wooden crates. My brother, Brody, was busy looking for a spare bottle of bourbon to sneak into a corner so he could convince Journey to join him at a party of their own. Melody and I called Brody and Journey our annoying older bratlings since they both enjoyed looking for trouble. Quite a pair, even as kids.

When Melody and Journey arrived, I held up the bag with a smile, but they walked past me as if I was one of the wooden crates and continued into the stairwell that led downstairs to the distillery. They left me standing there like an idiot holding a bag full of candy as if it should be the highlight of our evening. I questioned their behavior, wondered if something happened, and thought of every possible cause for the sudden silent treatment.

Nothing made sense until I thought back on what I learned in health class. I recalled an argument about hormones—whether the girls’ hormones kicked in first or the boys who were paving the way. It turned out; the boys won that battle most of the time. Maybe the girls were just better at hiding their feelings. The dramatic change in her behavior was very confusing.

Maybe Melody realized she simply didn’t like me, or possibly found a boyfriend. However, there was also the chance that the shy girl I always knew was suddenly feeling bashful toward me, the person who had been her friend for longer than I could remember.

The night of the party crawled by at a snail’s pace. My boredom was out of control; downing pixie sticks alone, feeling like a loser. Melody had come upstairs to use the restroom just as I was walking out of the men’s room, and we bumped into each other. I was about to say something, but she turned red. Her eyes widened, and with a small awkward smile, she ran off.

I knew the look. I was old enough. When a girl blushes and smiles like that, she may have more on her mind than friendship. I wanted to go with that conclusion.

When I realized what was likely happening, I began referring to Melody as adorable. That’s when I felt the first flutter in my chest, one I hadn’t experienced before. It was pure excitement. However, the frustration was heavy while trying to understand why Melody wouldn’t speak to me. Still, I respected her feelings because I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

At the time, I didn’t realize how long her discomfort would last, but the silence went on for years. Sometimes, Melody’s sister, Journey, would tease her right in front of me, confirming my assumption of how Melody