Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,45
the couch, eager now that Dakota hadn’t flipped out like he’d so clearly thought. “I know you don’t have time to take on more work, but I’ll have nothing but time two weeks from now, and I’ll need the income. Cake decorating isn’t really my thing, but I can take on whatever you don’t have time for.” Not really my thing was quite the euphemism for can’t stand it. Calder was just as good as Dakota, but he lacked the patience that went along with intricate cake decorating. Something like the golf course he’d done a couple days ago would’ve driven Calder to way more than seven drinks.
Dakota handed the phone back and took a leap. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Calder’s brow creased. “Okay, as in let’s do it? Or okay, as in let’s talk about it some more?”
“We do need to talk about it more, and not just from a logistics point of view but from a business one. Once we figure that out? Yeah, I’m in.” Anticipation was a heady thing, making Dakota’s palms sweat on his glass.
“Really?” Calder’s grin overtook his face.
Dakota’s matched it. “Really.”
“I thought for sure you’d need to spend a week thinking about it.”
It wasn’t quite their dream of opening their own little boutique bakery; it was, however, a step in the right direction. And how could Dakota say no to that?
Tay grew up with two older sisters. He’d witnessed more than one guy bring them flowers before a date.
He didn’t think Dakota would appreciate flowers, and not because Dakota was a guy, but because he was more practical than that. There weren’t any flowers in his house, just sturdy plants that would last forever instead of flowers that would wilt and die within two weeks.
Which was how Tay found himself at the liquor store near Dakota’s house twenty minutes before their date. Except . . .
Shit. There were five billion brands of scotch. And whiskey. Wait, were they one and the same? No, there was a sign for American whiskey, Irish whiskey, and Canadian whisky—without the e, strangely—and, in the middle of it all, one for scotch.
He was so screwed.
He must’ve had a stupefied expression on his face because two employees headed in his direction. The older one—tall and broad and distinguished with silver at his temples and in his neat beard—reached him first. He had a name tag that read Chris pinned to his green apron.
“Help you?”
“Yes. Please. Save me.”
Chris chuckled. “What are you looking for?”
Tay waved a hand at the six billion brands of scotch. Which one of these should I bring on a first date? Not the question to ask when he hadn’t publicly come out as bisexual yet. “What’s good?”
“Are you looking for something light and grassy, or something smoky with hints of nutmeg, something more peaty—” Chris cut himself off. The stupefied expression was back on Tay’s face, no doubt. “Is it a gift?”
“Yes!” Tay said, louder than strictly necessary, jumping on the excuse. Or not an excuse really—it was technically a gift. “And I don’t really know his tastes yet, but I suspect they’re on the higher end. Which one of these is good but isn’t so cheap that it’d make me look like a cheapskate, but also isn’t super expensive and makes me look like an asshole who’s trying too hard?”
Chris laughed outright, his chuckle warm and deep. “Here.” Pulling a fat bottle containing light amber liquid off the shelf, he handed it to Tay. Dalwhinnie Highland Single Malt Scotch Whisky, Aged 15 Years, read the label.
So scotch and whiskey was the same thing? He was so confused.
“It’s not overly expensive,” Chris explained. “It’s amazing scotch, and it’s not as popular—or well-known—as some of the others from Scotland, like Glenlivet and Glenfiddich.”
Tay nodded like he knew what Chris was talking about.
“Do you want a gift bag?” Chris asked as he walked Tay to the checkout counter.
Was that going overboard? Oh hell, he was buying a $110 bottle of scotch. Nothing was going overboard at this point. “Sure.”
Anticipatory nerves bunched into a ball in his stomach and flew outward as he drove the few minutes to Dakota’s. It felt like he’d been looking forward to this date for five months, not five days. Not even last night’s win in Ottawa could trump the happy bubble in his chest.
And he really, really liked winning, so that was saying something.
Excitement had his heart almost leaping out of his chest when he parked in Dakota’s narrow driveway behind his SUV. Grabbing his gift