Page 24 of Whiskey Proposal

I bark out a cynical laugh. “I’ve heard that before.”

Lane

The next morning, when I return from chores, the smell of toast hangs in the air and the bathroom door in the hallway is closed. I force myself to walk past it before I do something stupid like inhale the lily vanilla scent escaping the confines. I had that smell on me before. After I kissed her that night. It was just one reason of many why I couldn’t get her off my mind.

How upset is she going to be when she learns I’m off today?

I usually stop in at the distillery anyway, but the lure to stick close to Emerson won’t leave me.

She’s like the mare I have in the pasture. When I first got her, she was skittish, wanting to be included in the world of the other horses, but not trusting it. When approached, she’d hightail it to the far side of the enclosure.

Hunger cramps my stomach, reminding me of breakfast. Emerson might’ve eaten already, but I’m starving.

I hear her emerge, but I don’t turn. If I look too excited to see her, she’ll avoid me even more than she already does. Yet she came to the tasting room last night. There was no reason for that, and we both know it.

I wanted to get her in for a tour. She claimed to have taken one at the Denver facility already, but I want to show her Foster House Gold. The main site is all Myles’s hard work. The Huckleberry Springs distillery is my baby. Mine and the other guys I run it with, but Myles stepped back to let me take lead. I have a stake in it too.

“I’m going to work at the kitchen table,” she says from behind me, her rich voice rolling over my skin. My body heats and desire expands, an ever-present nuisance these days. I haven’t been able to shake this need inside me since she first walked into my office.

When I turn, I almost swallow my tongue. Blue jeans mold over muscular thighs, and if she turns, the sight of her ass might give me a coronary. Is it tight and round? A heart shape? Perfect for my palms? Her Ariat shirt clings to her curves and pools at her hips.

She’s fire in her work skirts and blouses, but this is my second time seeing her in jeans. They make her approachable, something she would very much hate hearing.

When she cocks an eyebrow, I start. I’m staring. I’m probably leering. “I have an office.”

Her brows crash together. “Here?”

I almost chuckle, but she might take it the wrong way and assume I’m laughing at her or boasting about the size of my house. Instead, it’s her resistance—to me and everything to do with me. It’s her second night under my roof, and she hasn’t been beyond that bedroom of hers. “The last room on the right. I also have an office in the shop and one at the distillery. Take your pick.”

Her eyes widen with each choice I rattle off. “The barn doesn’t get one?”

“I’d never get any work done with the cats. I’d have one on my lap, another on my keyboard, and probably a third knocking my coffee over.”

Her laughter chimes through my house and my chest constricts. It sounds so damn right, and without her here, the memory is only going to make my place seem emptier. “I’m fine in the kitchen.”

“All right.” Frustrating woman. “Take what you need from the office.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal state secrets and sell them to your competitors?”

“Foster House would do it better no matter what.”

Instead of smirking, interest fills her hazel eyes. “Indeed?”

“Indeed,” I confirm. “Our attention to detail and understanding of flavor profiles are what set us apart. We let the materials tell us what kind of spirit to make. That cucumber from your drink last night?” She nods. “Those are from Mae’s garden.”

“Mae Bailey?”

Fondness fills me. “Yes. She said it’d be a good year for cucumbers last year, so she planted a ton. When she joked that she might have to leave them in random cars to get rid of them, I said we’d take them. They make an excellent infusion for our vodka.”

“You’re proud of that.”

“Yes.”

She studies me for a moment before setting her laptop on the table. “Myles is open about fostering with the Baileys. Are you close to her because of him?”

I owe Myles for everything I have. “Yes. Want some eggs?”

Her lips turn down. Is it the subject change? “Do you make them every morning?”