Bourbon Summer, page 4
“People are going to talk.”
His right eye twitched and a cloud of tension rolled over him. “And this time, I’ll be in control of the narrative.”
What other times hadn’t he been in control? He wasn’t talking and it wasn’t my business to ask. It wouldn’t take much to convince people. The town’s grapevine would take over and fill in the blanks. Fake dating Tenor Bailey. He wouldn’t have to do much to be better than all my real dates.
I couldn’t believe I was even entertaining the idea of a date, real or not, with a Bailey—
I gasped. “Your family.” The embarrassment choked me. The coolest family I knew would find out I was a popularity charity case. They’d hear about how I had to pretend to have a boyfriend while I was a full adult. “Oh my god. I can’t ask you to lie to them. That’s not very most valuable employee of me.” There were no parking spots for most pathetic employee either.
“Hey,” he said soothingly, ducking his head to catch my eye. “It’s fine. We don’t have to tell them. You’d be doing me a favor.”
I let out the most undignified snort, but unrefined was the theme of the night around Tenor. “How?”
He drummed his fingers on the countertop before answering. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a girlfriend. They think I’m hung up on my ex, and this’ll show them I’m not.”
Working over his words in my head, I couldn’t find a hole in them. Either that, or I was too relieved he was willing to go full ruse with me to look harder. “You’re willing to break the hearts of all the women patiently waiting for a date with you?”
“I can put a pause on my life of serial dates.” He smirked, but his eyes were shadowed. “You’ll be doing me a favor.”
I doubted that, but I wasn’t in a position to argue. The only other option was to tell the entire family I admired that I’d cornered their loved one into going out with me. “Okay. So we know what we’re doing.”
The flood of adrenaline that had been fueling me all night suddenly drained. I smothered a yawn with my hand. I still had to drive back to Bozeman tonight. The trip only took about forty minutes to get to my actual apartment, but it’d be close to midnight before I got home. Past my bedtime, and my emotions had been through the wringer tonight.
A lot of women my age were at clubs or even married and expecting kids. I didn’t even have a cat.
“Where do you stay when you close?” he asked.
“I commute. It’s not a long drive.”
“Every night?”
I nodded. “No big deal.”
His mouth formed a troubled line. “Why didn’t you say something? We could set you up somewhere.”
I was touched by his concern, but I squirmed under his attention. People weren’t usually concerned about me. “You don’t need to.”
“You’re my employee.”
Didn’t mean he had to worry about me. I shrugged and lifted my bourbon to my lips. He snatched the glass from my grip. “What—”
“Not if you’re driving.”
“I’m twenty-five, Tenor. I can handle one drink before I drive.” I hadn’t planned to finish all of it, but pride was pride. My stomach growled as if to announce that I also hadn’t eaten.
“Twenty-five. Jesus,” he muttered. He dumped the bourbon down the drain.
I gasped and leaned over the counter. “That’s like thirty dollars!” And a pour was cheaper at the cocktail bar than anywhere else. I sat with a plop. “I’m not that young.”
“I’m thirty-eight, Ruby.” He pushed his hair off his face. “Thirteen years. Christ. People are going to think I’m robbing the cradle.”
“It’s not like I’m fresh out of high school. It’s not a big deal.”
“Normally, it’s not, but I haven’t . . .” The muscles in his jaw flexed and he looked away. Something bothered him. Something because of me.
I let out a sigh. None of this was his fault. He was allowed to have issues with it. “You shouldn’t have been dragged into any of this. I didn’t think, and I’m sorry.”
His steady gaze landed on me, the yellow flecks glinting. What was going on in that brilliant mind of his? “You can stay at Mama’s tonight, and we can get you something to eat.”
“I do not need—”
“You’re my fake girlfriend,” he said, his tone challenging. “Isn’t that what I’d do for you?”
I snapped my mouth shut. “How far are we going with this? Staying at your mom’s seems pretty serious.”
Translation: Tell me everything so I don’t foolishly mistake your consideration for actual interest. I’d have to write it on my mirror at home. You and Tenor are not a thing. He’s pretending to save your ass.
He narrowed his eyes while considering my question. “It says that we’re getting more serious. Then it’ll make more sense to my family when we go to the wedding together.”
All that echoed in my head was “. . . go to the wedding together.” Traitorous hope rose in my stomach. This is not real.
Regardless of my mental warnings, the one small sip I’d had lit in my belly, spreading warmth through my abdomen. “Just what does that mean?”
“We’ll talk about it. After you eat and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Are you sure I can just drop in on your mom?”
“She’ll be delighted.” At my dubious look, he shrugged those big shoulders. “I grew up with foster kids arriving at all different hours. Now her house is almost empty. She’ll love having another room filled.”
“I thought your brothers-in-law . . .” I frowned. “Brother-in-law’s brothers?” I shook my head. Wynter’s husband had been a foster. His two brothers were much younger than him and now worked for Mae Bailey. “How do you keep everyone straight?”
“They’re all family. Lane and Cruz are staying with her for now, but they go to Denver a lot to learn about distilling and Foster House.” He rinsed my glass. “You gotta remember there were seven of us after my parents adopted the girls, plus the foster kids who’d come and go. Mama can have five people staying over nowadays and it’d feel empty to her.”
“Oh.” That was sweet. I’d grown up with no siblings. My stepdad hadn’t been around for long. It’d been just my mom and me, and since I’d graduated, we’d traded roles. She was off seeing the world and I had settled down. “I guess if she doesn’t mind. Then we can discuss everything tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there in the morning helping with chores. I’ll grab you for breakfast and then we can talk.”
Butterflies took flight in my stomach. I hadn’t ever been this excited for a real date. If just fake dating Tenor filled me with giddy anticipation, then I had to be careful. A whole month of pretending could go to my head, and I couldn’t let it.
It was just after eleven at night and I was sitting in Mae Bailey’s house, at her kitchen table. She was in long pajama pants and her salt-and-pepper hair was in a French braid.
“I can make decaf.” She rummaged in a cupboard and looked over her shoulder. “Of course, we always have bourbon.”
Tenor was standing at the door, his arms folded across his chest. “You can go to bed, Mama. I’ll make sure Ruby gets something to eat and finds the guest room. And I’ll text Lane and Cruz to make sure they’re presentable in the morning.” He ended the last part on a low growl.
Mae set a mug on the counter and quirked a brow at her son. “Good idea. Cruz seems to think every day is boxers-only day.” She chuckled. “To be young and lack self-consciousness.” She patted Tenor’s arm. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She turned to me. “Don’t worry about noise, Ruby. My room is upstairs. Lane and Cruz might be young, but they hit the hay fairly early and sleep like the dead. Though early for them might be midnight.” Her fond smile showed how much she cherished them. “Good night.”
“Good night, Mrs. Bailey,” I said.
She stopped on her way to a large, open living area. “If you call me Mrs. Bailey again, I might have to revoke the welcome.” Her eyes twinkled. “Mae or Mama are all I’ve responded to my whole life. Sometimes more colorful names, but never Mrs. Bailey.”
“Thanks, Mae.” When she left, I was alone in the kitchen with Tenor. “Your mom is amazing.”
“She is.” He opened the fridge and peered inside. “Looks like there’s leftover pork chops, mashed potatoes, and . . .” He lifted the aluminum foil off a glass container. “Squash or sweet potatoes. I can’t tell.”
My stomach clenched. I was so damn hungry. Usually after a bar shift, I wolfed down toast when I got home, or waited until morning and woke up ravenous. “Does she make that big of a meal regularly?”
“She wouldn’t consider this a big meal, and yes.” He pulled out the dishes. I rose and crossed to a cupboard that I hoped had plates.
He glanced at me. “What are you doing?”
“Helping?”
“Sit. You’re a guest.”
“I’m your fake girlfriend.” Saying it didn’t make it more real. More fake? It was too late to decipher what was happening.
“You’re not a fake guest.” He turned toward me, not slouching at all. “Sit.”
The low grumble rippled right over my skin. I went back to the table.
He prepared two plates. I felt moderately less like an intrusion if he hadn’t eaten either. “That’s a lot of food. Are you sure your mom wasn’t saving it for someone?”
“Mama can throw a four-course dinner together as quickly as I can make a sandwich.” He tossed one plate into the microwave and busied himself with making coffee. “She always makes more so anyone who stops in has food.”
“She’s unreal.”
He leaned against the counter. “She is.”
His answer lacked emotion. So did his expression.
Actually, he was like that a lot. He seemed like the most mellow brother. Teller would stomp around the distillery on occasion. He didn’t take his irritation out on people, but we could tell when he was in a jovial mood or when he was pissy. The same with Tate, but he was quicker to smile. Because he was married with kids?
At first glance—and second and third—Tenor came off as the calmest. But no. That wasn’t correct. He just hid what he was feeling. The little bit we saw was the tip of the iceberg.
The smell of coffee and savory pork chops filled the air. My mouth watered.
A shirtless man around my age sauntered into the kitchen. He was scratching his chiseled chest. His dark hair was longish, like Tenor’s, and rumpled like he’d been lying down. “Damn. Something smells good.”
Irritation flickered across Tenor’s eyes. “Get a shirt on. We have company.”
Surprise flitted across the guy’s face and he frowned. “This late?” His gaze landed on me. “Oh shit. Sorry. Didn’t know you had someone over.” He ducked into a room off to the side and I heard a metal lid clang. A dryer.
“Sorry about that,” Tenor said and swapped plates in the microwave. “That’s Lane.”
“I should’ve assumed since he has more than boxers on.” The corner of Tenor’s mouth lifted and I wanted to pump my fist in the air. I’d made him almost smile. “No worries. It’s his home.”
Tenor’s face softened. “Yeah, it is.”
While I never minded seeing a chest as defined as Lane’s, there was only one man’s torso I was interested in gawking at. But Tenor wore his shirts too big for me to do more than imagine the muscle underneath.
Lane came out in a Mountain Perks T-shirt that might’ve been Mae’s from the way it was glued to his chest.
Tenor’s mouth flattened. “Seriously? That’s the best you could do?”
Lane pressed his fingers to his chest and adopted an astonished expression. “Perhaps it’s my ankles on display that torment you.”
I smothered a snicker.
Tenor shook his head. “I’ll give you extra chores tomorrow just for that.”
“Bring it on, old man. Mm. The pork chops. Mae made, like, fifteen of them. She has a sixth sense for when you’re going to swing by for food.” His long legs ate up the distance between me and him. He stuck a hand out. “Sorry. My manners are rusty because I usually hang out with my brother or this guy all day. I’m Lane.”
“Ruby.” I shook his hand. I’d seen Lane and his brother Cruz around but had never been introduced to them.
His shake was perfunctory, but Tenor straightened, his eyes narrowing like he was worried Lane would pick me up and haul me to his bedroom.
Lane snapped his fingers. “Social media girl,” he said warmly, with a hint of admiration. So unlike Cara when she’d said it. “I follow the accounts. I’ve been studying them. You do a good job.”
“Thank you.” I might’ve beamed a little. It was one thing to get compliments from my employers, but Lane wasn’t directly involved in Copper Summit, though he was familiar with the industry. From what Tenor had said, he’d been training with Myles at his whiskey distillery outside of Denver.
“Rough night at the bar?” Lane asked, leaning against the counter next to Tenor.
Tenor’s face was impassive. “Don’t you have an early morning?”
One of Lane’s dark brows arched. He looked from Tenor to me, then back. “Oh. Yeah.” He let out a theatrical yawn and stretched. His shirt rode up above his waistband. “It’s past my bedtime. Got those chores in the morning. The goats don’t like it when I’m late with their food.”
I bit back a grin, but heat flooded my face. I wasn’t ready for everyone to think there was something between me and Tenor. What if they didn’t think I was good enough for him? Would they have issues with my age? At least I couldn’t help that. I’d tried to change for Brock but it had never been enough. Cara probably didn’t go to bed by nine on Fridays just so she could read.
By the time Lane was gone, the food was done heating up. Tenor brought both plates to the table.
He poured some coffee, then retrieved a bottle from another cabinet and splashed some bourbon into each one.
“What line is that?” I asked when he set them on the table.
“Solemn Summit.”
“The one named after you.” All the Baileys had a special barrel named after them.
He sat next to me. Only the corner of the table was between us. “I shouldn’t be surprised you know them all.”
“You know, when I got the job, I went out and bought a bunch of bottles to try before I started.” I’d used all my tip money from the serving job I’d had through college.
He was midslice of his pork chop. “You bought them all yourself?”
“I was excited.” I still was. “It’s a dream job, and I wanted to be good at it.”
He cut a chunk of pork off. “We’ll reimburse you.”
“That was eighteen months ago.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He swiped his meat through his potatoes and shoved the forkful in his mouth.
“Oh. Thank you.” I took a bite and groaned. “So good.”
Tenor paused, his fork in the air.
I patted my mouth with a napkin. “Sorry. My mom isn’t a big cook. If it’s not from a box, she can’t make it.”
“Mama’s food is the best, but it’s been basically her full-time job most of her life.”
“My mom’s sensitive about it. About her cooking.” I loaded up on mashed potatoes. None of my family could cook this well. “I think it’s because she had me so young. Then my stepdad, or my ex-stepdad—I never know what to call him. Bill. They’ve been divorced for several years. We don’t talk much anymore.” He’d met another woman who hadn’t liked that his stepdaughter was still in his life. “Anyway, Bill used to tell her she could scorch water.”
“Did he cook?”
“No.”
“Then why was he complaining?”
“I asked him that once. He didn’t have an answer, and Mom pointed out what a good question that was.” Bill and my mom had divorced shortly after. I’d been sad to see him go, but the atmosphere at home had gotten lighter. Mom quit trying to be superwoman when he wasn’t there and could just be Mom.
I finished my food about when Tenor did.
I took a sip of the coffee with bourbon. “Mm. I think this is the only way I can drink decaf from now on.”
“It’s the only way any of us can drink it.”
I chuckled and caught a flash of a smile from him before he closed his lips around the rim of the mug.
My heart fluttered. I longed to push his hair off his face and take those glasses off. Or leave them on, as long as I could see sharp cheekbones and intense brown eyes.
“Cara and Brock might be moving to Bourbon Canyon, but we won’t let them bother you if they keep coming into Copper Summit on your shifts.”
I scoffed. “You Baileys can do a lot, but you can’t control other people.”
His steady look said maybe they could.
I shivered. His attention warmed me faster than the hard coffee. “She shouldn’t have power over me. She wasn’t even that bad, but I felt like I was in middle school again, wondering why she was making me feel bad in front of her new friends. I had a weak moment and dragged you down with me.”
“We’ll make sure you’re safe.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “The only part of me that Cara’s dangerous to is my pride.”
He shook his head and rose, taking both of our plates. “People like her shouldn’t get away with how they treat others.”
I followed him with the mugs. “I’m sure she has her own issues.” Tonight, she hadn’t been nearly as hurtful as when we’d had classes together in high school. I’d sat with my other friends at lunch, the quiet, bookish ones who also liked Hollywood gossip. They’d been my refuge from wondering why I wasn’t enough. That lunch table had been my oasis. I’d looked forward to it. In the tasting bar earlier tonight, I hadn’t had a table of friends to look forward to. I’d had to be my own oasis.
He turned abruptly. I tipped my head back to meet his gaze. The yellow in his eyes sparked. Contained energy rolled off him. I was a short statue in front of a towering Tenor.
“She very well may,” he said, “but she has no right to make others feel worse because of them.”
