Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,11

about bourbon. How I failed to teach her nothing throughout the years is beyond me, but so be it,” Harold says through laughter. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know where her heart is and the current goals she has in sight.”

“I’ll be sure not to step on her toes, sir.”

“Oh, you’re misunderstanding me,” Harold replies with a hearty chuckle. “By all means, step on her toes. She needs more than a few lessons about bourbon if she wants to help a customer, never mind help with the family business.”

“I understand,” I tell him. This should go over well. Melody Pearson was as stubborn as could be and after my unknowing run-in with her today, I’m positive that personality trait has only grown stronger through the years.

“Also, I asked her for a bottle of Red Apple. If I’m dying, I better drink the stuff up, right?”

The dying jokes. I’m sure they are to be endless with him. “Could you make sure she leaves with a bottle for her old man?”

“I can do that, yes,” I tell him.

“Her mind is not on the straight and narrow and I suspect she will walk into more walls than usual in the coming weeks. I love my little girl, but when she is upset, she can’t think a straight thought if her life was to depend on it.”

Melody was always clumsy when we were kids. I guess that hasn’t changed much either. I always found it adorable because she’d laugh at herself after a crash into a sturdy object. “I can imagine she’s going through a lot too,” I say, trying not to say too much or too little.

“A lot more than I can explain to you, but I’m sure seeing you will put a smile on her face.”

I’m not so sure about that.

“We can hope. Well, I will call you when I have your sales information and an update on everything else. Does that sound good?”

“Sure does. Thank you for what you’re doing, Brett. I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you, sir.”

When the call disconnects, I realize Melody will probably be pissed when she sees me. I don’t know if she recognized me on the plane, but if she didn’t and thinks I might have recognized her and said nothing, this will be a disaster.

It’s best if I play dumb too.

I think.

4

I’m getting lucky, finding a parking spot on the street in front of the old fire station where The Barrel House has taken up residency for longer than I’ve been alive. There’s a small lot around back, but I don’t think it would be appropriate to let myself in through the back entrance if Melody is already here.

I’ve been staring at myself in the rear-view mirror, debating on an appropriate look of shock for when I see Melody, but I’m an awful liar.

Relief fills me when I spot her helping a customer as I walk in through the front door. The relief is short lived as I hear her stumbling along her words to answer a customer who is looking for a bottle of The Barrel House’s infamous Quinn Pine—a seasonal special.

At this moment, I am damned no matter what I do next. I will either embarrass and surprise her or allow her to become embarrassed on her own then, surprise her.

Hey, it’s me, the guy you sat next to on the plane and didn’t recognize for four hours—you know the jackass who kissed you then left town ten years ago? Yeah, Brett Pearson here; winner of all winners at your family’s business to serve and help.

“Quinn Pine, Quinn Pine,” Melody mutters to herself, sweeping her finger along the bottles on the top shelf before making her way down to the next row. “Where are you?”

Her cheeks are burning red, an easy telltale sign with Melody. It has always been easy to tell when she is embarrassed. I believe redheads have a knack for showing their feelings through color on their cheeks easier than most. Her skin is so fair. She’s already embarrassed, which means I have nothing left to lose.

“Oh, we won’t have that until the first of the month,” I answer the customer on behalf of Melody.

Slow and seemingly unsure, Melody twists around in her knee-high chestnut-brown boots, taking one good, long look at me. Her eyes widen with wonder.

“Ah great, I’ll have the Quinn Maple for today,” the customer continued, blind to the awkward stare Melody and I shared.

I reach above Melody’s head and grab the Quinn Maple for the gentleman.