Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,12

“Here you go,” I say, handing him the bottle.

“Thank you,” the man replies, bringing the bottle up to the register. Melody scurries around to the back side of the counter and waves her fingers over the keyboard as if she’s about to perform a magic trick. Her eyes dance around the register’s monitor and I’m almost positive she doesn’t know what to click first.

I helped Harold last summer when he and Marion went on a cruise. Journey was busy with work, and Melody was living in South Carolina. I had everything running smoothly by the time I left. It feels like it was just yesterday.

“Uh, one minute. I need to go find Mr. Crawley,” Melody tells the customer. She spins around in search of the man who normally tends to the distillery downstairs.

“I can help,” I offer. “Twenty-four, ninety-five.” I make my way around the back counter where Melody is still fumbling around with the cash register. I give her my best empathetic look, silently asking her to move so I can ring the man’s order through. The purchase is complete within a minute and the man is quick to offer his gratitude with a promise of returning soon for the Quinn Pine. I hold my focus on the customer walking out the front door, waiting for the wrath to begin.

The door isn’t even completely closed when the word, “You,” escapes her pretty lips.

I twist to face her, responding with the only logical thing to say: “You.” Between the one word and whatever I’m supposed to say next, my mind goes blank and something stupid spills out. “Do you work here?”

I don’t know why I thought playing dumb would work in this situation. However, she could have been playing the same game with me, and I’ll never know.

“This is my dad’s shop,” she says, announcing it as if I’m an intruder. Does she think I’m some random person? She could think I’m stalking her if she doesn’t recognize me. How could she not recognize me? How could I have been so uncertain about her yesterday? What the hell is wrong with me? “The better question is, do you work here?”

Do I work here? I suppose yes and no. Her father asked me to help, so I would think she’d be aware, but I’m not sure what to think right now.

“You’re Mr. Quinn’s daughter?” What? Why would I ask that? Obviously she’s Harold’s daughter. She’s Melody. I guess playing dumb is just the easiest thing for me to do since I seem to do it so well. “I knew you looked familiar.” I more than knew. I was questioning it for hours while sitting next to you on the damn plane.

“Yes, one of them,” she responds, but her words come out as a question, confirming she has no clue who I am. If she does, she turned into a talented actor. Unless maybe she is Journey, but I doubt her personality would change so drastically over the years.

“I’m Brett Pearson. Our dads go way back.” I’m speaking to her as if she has amnesia now. I should take a minute to think before talking. She knows who Brett Pearson is and that our dads go way back.

“You’re Mr. Pearson’s son,” she says, her jaw falling ajar. She had no freaking clue who I was. Unbelievable. Either I became a hell of a lot uglier or grew into my body. I’m hoping for the latter half.

“One of them, yes.” Brody and I look alike but have two distinctly different body shapes. I’ve always been tall, lean and broad-chested, while Brody is a little shorter and built like an athlete. Although, again, I suppose anything can change in ten years, except height. I wouldn’t expect her to remember our precise height difference.

“Are you Melody or Journey?” She has to be Melody. I know it’s her; I’m positive.

Her eyes paralyze me as she stares into mine with a look of wonder, or something deeper that I can’t comprehend. “Melody,” she says after what feels like hours.

We have confirmed she is Melody, and I am Brett.

What may have only been ten years for me might have been a lifetime for her. However, I feel as though I have lived two lifetimes in the last ten years. Kissing her that night—it still feels like only yesterday and I can’t make much sense of what’s happening.

“The younger one who doesn’t plan to let the family business go,” I tease. Melody closes her eyes and turns away as