A few long strides and Mal was in front of the oven. He retrieved a baking tray and spread roasted fruit onto a small platter in the middle of the table.
“This is a roasted fruit and cheese dish. One of my favorites, and I love sharing it.” He pointed to different pieces of fruit as he spoke. “Bosc pears, quince—which oddly enough tastes horrible until you cook it. I like to add some oranges for a bit of zing.” Next he pulled another baking dish from somewhere along the top of the barbecue. “Then top it with roasted hazelnuts and cheese.” He tilted the dish and shook it gently side to side, sprinkling nuts over the fruit. Lastly Mal picked up a shallow bowl, took a handful of cheese, and crumbled it over the entire concoction. “Blue cheese.”
Colt stepped closer for a better look. The aroma of the food combined with the sight of Mal’s muscular hand working the cheese made Colt’s heart thud a little faster. It was nearly impossible to refrain from reaching out and tracing the veins on the back of Mal’s hand. Colt wanted to know what Mal’s skin felt like.
“Quality control,” Mal said and held a bit of cheese out to Colt.
Without thinking, Colt took the cheese with his lips, brushing his tongue over Mal’s fingers in the process. The skin on his fingers had a pleasant texture and tasted vaguely of fruit. Neither moved for a few breaths; then Mal slowly pulled his hand back, and Colt bit his lower lip.
Colt’s stomach picked that instant to growl, making Mal laugh. “Okay, hint taken.” He wiped his palms on his thighs a few times, and Colt silently cursed his stomach for ruining the moment.
Mal pulled out two chairs and waved at the one closest to Colt. “Have a seat.”
Colt took the invitation and sat, staring down at the place setting. “There are a lot of forks. And dishes.”
Mal chuckled and used a flat spatula to place a large portion of the appetizer onto each of the top plates in the stack in front of them. “It’s not that confusing, really. You start with the topmost plate and use the utensils beginning with the one farthest from the plates.” He picked up one of his own forks and held it up. Colt realized Mal was waiting for him to follow suit.
Colt filled his fork with fruit, nuts, and cheese. When the concoction hit his mouth, textures and flavors exploded on his tongue. “Oh… that’s….”
Mal smiled while he chewed. It wasn’t long before he announced, “Time for the main courses.”
Chapter Four
MAL’S inner—much more rational—voice screamed, Twenty-four!
Not only was Colt, who was a mere twenty-four, about to become a representative for Mal’s whiskey empire, he and Mal were going to be spending a ridiculous amount of time together.
That wouldn’t really be an issue if Mal could take his eyes off the kid—man, he was a man.
Twenty-four!
He was freaking bloody twenty-four.
Mal was thirty-six. What the hell did one discuss with a twenty-four-year-old, drop-dead-gorgeous man? He wished he’d never seen Colt’s birthdate on his paperwork.
“Do I look okay?” Colt asked. He seemed a little shy and unsure all of a sudden.
Guilt assaulted Mal; he’d made Colt uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been staring, but you look amazing. A whole new you. I like it very much.”
Colt glanced down and shrugged a bit, a slight blush covering his ears. “I shouldn’t have been staring either, so I guess we’re even?” He looked up, then away quickly.
Mal stopped himself from blurting the words “You were staring at me? Why?” Instead he smiled softly. “We’re both guilty. Our little secret.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’ll get the rest of our dinner.”
“I’ll help.” Colt stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. Mal and Colt reached the sliding glass door at the same time, and Colt stopped seconds before running headlong into Mal. He stepped back quickly. “Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry.” Mal waved Colt through the door. “After you. I’d love some help.”
Colt blushed even more deeply and scooted through the door. Mal held the handle for a bit—one, two, three deep breaths—and then he followed Colt into the kitchen. His body definitely appreciated Colt, and accidentally colliding, feeling Colt’s lean body against his, even briefly, was a bonus.
They assembly lined their task. Colt pulled the steaming-hot bakeware from the ovens, and Mal transferred their contents to serving dishes. Once everything was arranged on the outside table, Mal took the baguettes down from the warming shelf on the upper grill.
“Oh… ow… hot.” Mal juggled the bread as he hurried to the table. He dropped them into a waiting wicker basket.
“You made all this?”
Mal nodded. “Sure did. A number of the recipes in Kensington’s Place are my creations, or ones I took and tweaked. I understand the potatoes are one of your favorites.”
Surprise registered all over Colt’s face. “How did you know?”
Mal reached over and took Colt’s bread plate. He broke one of the baguettes and divided it between them, then passed Colt the potatoes. “I make it a point to know if people like the food my restaurant serves.” When Colt stopped eating and lifted his eyebrows, Mal confessed, “Audrey told me. I wanted to impress you.”
“You wanted to impress me?”
“Yes, I did. We’re going to be working together, and I’m hopeful we’ll become friends. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Mal passed Colt a small bowl. “The spiced oil you liked for dipping the baguette in. There’s a domestic staff that comes in daily, and I have a driver, but no cook. I have food brought over from the restaurant if I don’t prepare my own meals.”
Colt grinned. “I’ll be sure to thank Audrey.”
They spent a few minutes eating. Mal poured more of the berry lemonade into each of their glasses and took a long sip of his before setting his glass down. “I was hoping we could get to know each other a bit.”
“Meaning I tell you all about me,” Colt said. He didn’t sound offended, but maybe disappointed.
“And if you’re interested, I’ll tell you a bit about myself.” Mal took another sip of lemonade, more to gather his thoughts than to quench his thirst. “You go first. Ask me anything you want to know.”
Colt set down his fork, put his hands under the table, and sat straighter in his chair. “Why aren’t you your company’s face? I can’t imagine anyone knowing more about it than you.”
Mal chuckled and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “My mother ran this company for many years. Kensington was her family name. She kept it and passed it on to me—it was part of some agreement when she married my father. I went to school. I’d learned distilling mostly from my grandfather, my mother’s father, and some from my father. He learned from my grandfather how to become a very skilled distiller. My mother was the business genius. So I have an MBA from Wharton, and I studied chemical engineering at Vanderbilt University here in Tennessee. Running this place and being a distiller are two very time-consuming jobs. The fact is, I had to make a choice. Represent the company or run it and make whiskey.”
“Business and chemical engineering. Is that what someone needs to be a distiller?”
Mal smiled. “That’s your second question, but no. There is no formal schooling, at least in this country. There may be in others—I don’t know. One learns by working under great distillers. No one was better than my grandfather. The business degree was to learn to run a company and do it well. The engineering degree is helpful in this business, but not a requirement.
“Anyway, after my mother passed, I took over completely. I know how to balance books and create kickass whiskey. What I’m not very good at is public speaking, interacting with large groups of strangers, and generally being charming and personable. I think someone who represents the company has to really enjoy being out there in the public eye.” He shrugged. “Being a primetime asshole may work for some billionaire business people, but rarely. Truth be told, that’s not
the sort of public reputation I want to have.”
“So a guy who makes whiskey has to be fun and outgoing? Yeah, three questions.”
“Something like that. And as I said, I don’t want to be known as an asshole. Jeffery and Audrey came up with this idea. Find someone who can charm the world while I brew good spirits,” Mal explained. “My turn.”
Colt nodded. “It is. Shoot.”
“I’m not sure how to ask this, so I guess I’ll just say it. You don’t seem like a street kid.”
“How many do you know?” Colt asked in a low voice.
Mal tilted his head to the side and smiled. “I thought it was my turn to ask questions.”
“Sorry.” Colt ducked his head, then met Mal’s gaze again. “I was kicked out of the house when I was fifteen. Before that I lived in a nice middle-class neighborhood with good schools.” He looked down and bit his lip. “I miss it. I miss them, but I….”
“You what?”
Colt shook his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter anymore. That life is over.”
“Maybe your new life will be as good or better, and something you enjoy as well.” Mal sighed. “To answer your question, I knew another young man once who took to the streets, but not for the same reason as you did. He got wrapped up in heroin, among other things. We didn’t know what happened to him until we buried him.”
“I never did drugs.” Colt looked down at his plate for a few seconds before pulling his hands out from under the table and picking up his glass. “I’m sorry for what happened to your friend.”
Mal took the opportunity to do what he’d wanted to do since this conversation had begun. He reached across the table to lay his hand over Colt’s, pleased when Colt didn’t pull away. He could pretty much guess why Colt was booted from his childhood home. “I’m sorry that your parents left you homeless. There is no reason to do that to your child.” When Colt looked directly at him and smiled a bit, Mal wanted to know more, keep the conversation going, so he added, “Whose turn is it?”
Colt laughed. “I lost track already.”
“You have a nice laugh.” Mal pulled his hand back and stood up. “Ready for dessert?”
“Sure.” Colt stood up. “I’ll help.”
Mal dipped his head toward the door. “I’d like that.” He crossed the deck and held the door open for Colt. Once they were back in the kitchen, Mal pulled a cake from the oven. “Pineapple upside-down.” He nodded to a cupboard. “Want to grab more dishes?”
“It smells amazing. Like everything else,” Colt said and pulled two more plates from the shelves. He carried the stoneware to the center island where Mal worked. Colt leaned down and peered at the cake. “That looks really gooey.”
Mal laughed. “It’s supposed to be. This needs to set for a while before we cut into it. How about a tour of the house?”
“That’d be great.” Colt stopped and stared at the floor. “I was kicked out because I’m gay. I thought you should know that. I’m gay.”
Mal reached out and gave Colt’s wrist a squeeze. “In this house that’s not a problem, trust me.” He released Colt before he led the way from the kitchen to the main foyer. “You already saw my office and Gwen’s fitting room.” He pointed to the right where those rooms were located. “And this is the formal library and living room. My grandmother called it the receiving room.” Even while he spoke about the house, Mal’s brain reeled. Colt wasn’t subtle at all about making sure Mal knew without a doubt he was gay. A sudden thought horrified Mal. Had he understated his own preference too much? Did it matter? Was Colt simply offering full disclosure because of his job, or was there more to it?
“I caught a glimpse when Audrey brought me here. It’s huge.” Colt spoke softly, yet his voice punched through Mal’s thoughts.
“Any functions hosted here are held in there. You’re welcome to borrow any of the books. Audrey tells me you’re a reader.” Mal stepped into the room and flipped on the light. “As you can see, it can hold a cozy gathering of about a hundred people.”
He watched as Colt looked around the room, obviously taking in the massive stone fireplace, couches, armchairs, the enormous globe that opened up into a portable bar, and the three walls lined floor to ceiling with hundreds of books. Mal was impressed that Colt didn’t seem as much awed by the house as simply curious about furnishings and the rooms’ general appearance.
To fill the silence, Mal started talking. “My grandparents believed in education for everyone and that no one should be denied because of finances. They, and later my parents, donated a lot of money to area schools and programs, emphasis on reading and the arts. Those are some of the people always inviting me to this function or that awards ceremony.” He shrugged. “I’ve tried very hard to continue that tradition and make my grandparents and parents proud. The distillery also sponsors a few students every year in certain degree programs. Everything is paid for them: living expenses, tuition, books, whatever they need.”
“I’m sure the people who get that money are very grateful.” Colt walked around the room, running his fingertips over the upholstery of the nearest couch. “Do you have a lot of parties?”
Mal shook his head. “I go to as many events as I can manage, but I don’t host more than one or two parties every couple of years. I’m more of a small-gathering-of-friends sort of guy.” He turned off the light and motioned to the foyer. They crossed to the main staircase. “Up here is where I really live, when I’m not in the distillery or outside, that is.” He paused to organize his thoughts about what he wanted to say next. “Audrey tells me you live in that small motel down the road and walk to work.”
“Yes, sir,” Colt said. He squared his shoulders and looked Mal directly in the eye. “There aren’t a lot of choices around here, so I was happy they had a vacancy.”
No apology for his living arrangements. It came across loud and clear to Mal: Colt had provided himself with a safe, stable place to live. A place Colt called home that gave him a sense of self-worth Mal didn’t often see in people.
“You’ll probably want somewhere a little more convenient to live. There will be some travel involved in your job, as well as odd hours. The motel’s location might not be ideal. Since we’re far enough from any town there aren’t any good alternatives, Audrey suggested you could live here. I’ll admit I haven’t had guests in a while, and I resisted for a few minutes. But once I gave it some thought, it seemed like a good idea,” Mal ventured.
Colt didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. His expression made it clear he was utterly stunned.
Mal needed to explain. He hoped he hadn’t insulted Colt, but he’d felt a deep need to help this young man. His words rushed out. “It wasn’t part of the original plan, but it makes sense since you’ll be putting in a lot of hours at the distillery.”
“Um… I…. That’s very kind. And generous but not necessary. I like the motel. Since they know I’m long-term, the manager said I could put up shelves for my books. The staff there are pretty awesome people.”
“I just wanted to put it out there that you have another alternative. I’m not the best traveler, and when a trip is over I want to get home to my bed, not take another jaunt to get home. And I’m utterly spoiled by the fact I can walk to work. I tend to forget not everyone likes an arrangement like that. The choice is completely up to you. Maybe give it a try for a while? It will be very convenient. Really short commute to work. You can ask Jeffery to set up an automatic withdrawal from your paycheck for the rent if you’d like. It’s pretty simple, but fair warning, he’ll still grumble.”
That made Colt laugh, and Mal relaxed.
“Actually, I like that idea. The motel is cash only, which can be a pain sometimes,” Colt said. “Particularly when I work late, the bank is closed, and my payment is due.”
“You certainly can’t make an informed decision without seeing the rooms.”
Mal took the steps two at a time, and Colt was right behind him. When they reached the top, Co
lt stopped and gripped the railing, staring down. The main hallway was a half wall, creating a balcony looking over the foyer.
“This is sweet!” Colt sidestepped down the hall, gazing at the first floor.
“My rooms are down this way.” Mal pointed to the left. “You’d be over here. If you decide to move.” He touched Colt’s arm, leaving his hand resting on Colt’s bicep a little longer than was probably necessary.
“There is only one door,” Colt pointed out.
“Two. Mine is at the other end of the hall. This entire floor is two suites. There is a third floor with three bedrooms, each with a bathroom for guests.” Mal pointed to another stairway. “The suites are nicer, though, and bigger. You might feel more at home on this floor. You’ll definitely have more room.” He waved at the staircase. “The floor above that used to be an attic, but I converted it into a gym for training.”
“Training for what?”
“MMA. It’s mostly a diversion and stress reliever, but I’ve done some small amateur competitions,” Mal said as he opened the suite door. He turned to let Colt in and was met by an expression of awe. “It’s… uh… a hobby.”
“Did you win?”
Mal shrugged and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “I have a few trophies. Nothing big. Local stuff that I entered.”
Colt’s face split into a brilliant grin. All Mal could do was stand there and stare and marvel at how incredibly striking he was. “That’s sick! I think I have to learn.” Colt’s exuberance was flattering to say the least.
Mal’s cheeks warmed slightly. “I think that can be arranged. It’ll be fun to have someone to train with. Here’s your room.”
Colt walked in and stopped in the middle of the front room. “Room? This is an apartment. One ultrafine crib.” He turned in a circle, gawking. “A little pastel and flowery for me, but… I suppose I could live here, if the rent is the right price.”
“What the motel charges is a fair price, considering all the flowers on the walls.” Mal put his hand out. “Deal?”
Whiskey and Moonshine Page 5
