Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,3

myself.

Before I could consider my next actions, I lunged forward until our noses touched, and I closed my eyes. The knot in my throat made me pause. My heart and mind battled with each other, and there wasn’t a winning side.

Screw it, I thought as I touched my lips to hers—the lips I needed to feel. My mind went blank as I pressed my hand against Melody’s burning cheek, and I curled my fingers behind her ear. My body was screaming demands. I needed to hold her closer, but I had already gone further than I should have. I was still leaving and shouldn’t have started a new chapter I knew I couldn’t finish.

Despite the bit of rationale running through my mind, I couldn’t part my lips from hers. It was an unbreakable magnetic force. It was something I didn’t know I needed but somehow could not resist. A drug. An instant addiction. My stomach ached, and my heart raced. I was so damn stupid.

Another one of Melody’s hiccups interrupted our kiss. Her face filled with a look of humiliation once again, but among her embarrassment and frazzled gaze, she stared longingly as if trying to analyze the thoughts behind my eyes.

“Don’t gulp the bourbon next time,” I told her, resting my hand on her shoulder, grinning for her comfort. I didn’t know how to move on from there. I’d kiss her again if it wouldn’t cause more pain down the road, but it would, for me, at least. I licked my lips, tasting the cherry-flavored lip-gloss she was wearing. “Thank you for a memorable night, Melody.”

Her eyes were full of despair. She knew it was over, just as I did. But how could something be over before it started? Rather than waiting for her to speak the first hello, I should have approached her long before that night.

It was my fault.

There couldn’t be an us.

Not then.

1

If someone told me a year ago, I would be in the state of South Carolina dressed in a suit today, I would have laughed. I would have laughed so hard I might have peed myself because I was sure there was nothing in the world that could make me come back to the Carolinas. Nothing, unless Pops asks me to do him a favor and close a vendor sale. I’m not a sales guy, but Pops doesn’t ask me for many favors, and he and Mom do a lot for me, so I couldn’t say no.

The hallway leading away from the meeting room is concrete, underground, and cold for this part of the country. I’ve seen my fair share of bourbon distilleries throughout my life, but a lot of them offer tours to enthusiasts. I’m almost positive this building doesn’t open up to the public. Their equipment is on the older side, and there’s more or less no sign of life here. Literally. I don’t have a signal on my phone. I only have one bar, but it’s enough to know I have an incoming call from Pops.

I’m sure the call won’t connect, but I answer anyway. “Hey,” I say, rechecking the signal as I walk closer to the stairwell. There isn’t even a sound on the other end. I’m not sure he can hear me. “Give me a minute, and I’ll call you right back. I’m just leaving the distillery. There’s no service down here.” I disconnect the call and find the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. During the long minute I take to get out of the cement structure, I consider what reason Pops would have for calling me while knowing I’m at his vendor meeting. This meeting could have been much longer, but luckily, they were ready to sign when I walked in the door.

As I reach my rental car, I call Pops back. “Hey kid,” he answers after the first ring.

“Everything okay?” I hear a sigh, then he clears his throat. The expressive sounds tell me something is wrong. “Is Parker okay?” I ask with immediate panic.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine, Brett,” he says, sounding frustrated.

“What’s going on then?”

I slip into the car, switching the phone from my left hand to my right so I can close the door and turn on the ignition. “It’s Harold,” Pops says.

“Harold Quinn?” I question. I just saw him two days ago when I brought him a shipment of barrels to The Barrel House.

“Yeah,” Pops continues.

“What’s wrong?”

There’s a long string of silence and my thoughts are everywhere. “Stage four cancer,” Pops