Brett takes a step back, loosening his arms from my body. "Why turn back time, when we’re right back here where we started?"
I lift my gaze from his chest and lose myself in the golden hue of his amber eyes. "Time brought me back here," I say.
"Time brought me back too," he says. "The duration of time determines the worth of an outcome—that’s what this place is all about. Therefore, if we turn back time, we’d have to start over and bottle up our feelings for another ten years until it would be time to enjoy the potential quality."
"Are you talking about bourbon, or—"
Brett leans down and presses his lips to mine, his arms scoop around my back, pulling me in, holding me tight, making me feel like we have waited more than enough time for this moment. His hand loosens from my back and sweeps across my cheek. His lips part and with only a second to breathe, our lips reconnect. My hands tremble as they wrap around his neck, feeling the short-shaved ends of his hair tickle my knuckles. I have forgotten about life outside of this moment and I want to stay here for this reason alone. Brett kisses my bottom lip, then my top lip, and pulls away to stare down into my eyes. "That kiss has been bottled up and aging for quite a while," he whispers.
I manage a smile, feeling the muscles in my face stretch in a way I haven’t felt in weeks. "There she is—the woman with the million-dollar smile."
"It feels like I haven’t smiled in so long.”
"If a kiss can bring a smile to your face, I have no problem filling that role in your life until you learn how to smile on your own again?"
His words make my cheeks burn, and I press my teeth into my bottom lip. "I might be okay with this.”
"By the way ..." he says. "Becca is my cousin. In case you were curious." Brett winks as if he knows what thoughts were going through my head.
"I wasn’t curious," I lie.
He narrows an eye at me, calling my bluff. "Well, good."
"So, labels," I say, turning around, grabbing a stack.
"Yeah, not those," he says.
"They’re Quinn Pine," I tell him. "Isn’t that what we are shipping?”
"They’re Quinn Pine 2013 and 2014. You’re holding Quinn Pine 2015."
I close my eyes and shake my head. "I am going to make so many mistakes, and I apologize for it now."
"I have no issues correcting every single mistake you make," he says, reaching for the right stack. I turn and tilt my head to the side, giving him a look of distress, but his response is another kiss. "But I guess it means I must make you smile again after." He sighs and turns away from the labels, walking back toward the shop door.
I place my hands on my cheeks, trying to cool them down before Mr. Crawley sees the red hue likely outlining every freckle on my face.
"Are you two all set up front here? I have to go fill a few barrels downstairs?" Mr. Crawley asks.
"Yeah, we’re good," Brett says. "I plan to get her settled with shipments and the computer system in a bit."
"Next week, I’m teaching you the art of making bourbon, young lady," Mr. Crawley says, pointing at me with a wink as he walks out the back door.
"I suppose I should learn about that too," I say.
"It could help, a little, maybe," Brett says, pinching his fingers together in front of his crooked smile.
Brett unloads the first crate, pulling the bottles out one at a time. "These are the 2013s," he says, pointing to the lid off the crate where there is a date stamped next to Dad’s scribbling words of Quinn Pine.
"He had messy handwriting whenever he was in a rush.” I stare at the smudged numbers, remembering the way he would stick his tongue out of the side of his mouth while scribbling.
"It’s a lot of work to get done in one day," he says. "He was efficient."
I lift the first bottle, preparing it for the label. I close my eyes and imagine Dad placing the bottle into the crate. I can almost still feel the warmth of his hand.
"When you’re feeling up to venturing out into town some night, I’d like to take you to a restaurant they built a couple years ago. They’re one of our biggest local customers, and they know your dad well. You should meet the owners. They’re great people."
"Is this for business reasons?" I ask him.
Brett shakes his head as he places a label on a bottle. "No, it’s for selfish reasons."
19
Journey messaged me about a half-hour ago asking me if I could come home to Mom’s for a bit. She wouldn’t give me a reason but said everything was fine. I figured Mom was having another moment, maybe, or something broke in the house. Journey has been staying with us for the last few weeks so we can keep Mom company, but at some point, soon, she’s going to have to go back to her apartment, and I will have to start thinking ahead to what’s next for my life. I know I can stay with Mom, but I’ve been living on my own—more or less—for years, and I don’t know if it’s a healthy situation to stay "home," long-term. Right now, she needs us, though.
I helped Brett finish preparing the shipments due to go out today and left to see why Journey needs me at home.
Brett. I’m grateful for the thoughts of him consuming my mind on the drive home today because, for the first time in weeks, I’m thinking of something other than death, loss, and pain. Maybe I don’t have a right to move those thoughts aside, but that kiss was like a painkiller.
My fingertips press against my lips as I pull into the driveway, wishing I could still feel the touch of his mouth against mine. My heart flutters at the flickering memories of feeling his hands on my face. Even the prickles of his short hair against my arm sent sparks through my skin.
I feel like I’m walking on clouds as I take the steps up to the front door, but I collect my thoughts before stepping inside. I need to put the last few hours away and focus on what’s happening in this house.
The moment I enter the foyer, I hear a muddled conversation—it makes me stop and listen before I drop my bag to the ground and toss my jacket onto the foot bench. I storm into the kitchen, finding Ace at the table with Mom and Journey. "What in the world are you doing here?" I ask him, fury fills my every word.
I’m still holding my keys, shaking my hand toward him with anger. "I have been trying to reach you for weeks. I know you didn’t change your number since your voicemail picks up, so I thought something happened." Ace stands up and takes a few steps toward me. Mom and Journey are both wide-eyed and silent.
"Yes, something happened, but it doesn’t concern you anymore because we aren’t together.” I fold my arms over my chest, feeling as though I need to defend myself.
"So, you get to break up with me on a whim and tell me to stop caring about you as if I can turn my feelings on and off like a light-switch, and I’m supposed to just say, ‘Okay, sure, hon, no problem. Let me know when you want to talk things out.’ Is that what I’m supposed to do here?"
I can hear the rage growing through each word, but he has no right to be angry, and I have no problem sharing this news with him. "There is nothing to talk out, which is why we haven’t spoken."
Ace throws his hands in the air. "For Christ’s sake, Mel, we were living together. Your shit is still all over the house. It’s like you’re still living there, but nope, you’ve left me for someone else, evidently."
"What?" I question.
"I heard you with him a couple of weeks ago when I called," he continues.
"So what? He’s an old friend."
Journey does the Journey thing and snorts. Her obvious punctuation highlights my words. "An old friend, right?" Ace says.
"You know our dad died, right?" Journey speaks up.
Ace turns to face Journey. "I do, now, no thanks to Melody informing me.”
"No offense, but I don’t think you were on her list of concerns while planning a funeral," Journey continues.
Mom drops her water glass down abruptly on the table, stands from her chair, and leaves the room to go upstairs.
Ace runs his fingers through his hair. "I don’
t want to be without you, Melody."
"I’m sorry.”
"You had years to offer a commitment to me, but the only thing you made a commitment to over those four years was Sunday football."
"I didn’t know you needed a commitment when we were blissfully living together," he argues.
"Blissfully?" I snap back. "I cooked, cleaned, and stared out the window for hours watching the life I wanted as I watched neighbors stroll by with their expensive baby carriages, or the play-date moms’ group, or the couple who just prefers to hold hands when they walk down the street."
"Yikes," Journey mumbles. "Sounds like suburbia-hell."
"Thank you!" Ace says, waving at Journey.
"Whoa, whoa, watch yourself," Journey says. "Any and every man I have dated has known from the beginning, I do not have plans to get married or have kids. Melody, though, I know for a fact she shared her hopes and dreams with you years ago because I was there when it happened at a friend’s wedding. The conversation went something like, ‘Oh, Ace, I can’t wait until it’s our turn. Then we’ll have babies, and live in a perfect house, in the perfect neighborhood, and live happily ever after.’"
Journey’s mocking scene sounds nothing like me, but I appreciate her standing by my side.
"So, because Melody had hearts in her eyes during a wedding, I should have gone out to buy a ring that night and maybe knocked her up a week later?"
"Sure," Journey says. "It would have been better than making her your housewife minus the wife part."
I glare at Ace, seething as he continues to defend himself. "Great, well, let’s do it, Melody. Come on, we’ll go pick out a ring and get you pregnant. Then, voila, your life will be perfect again."
I drop my hands and intertwine my fingers in front of my waist. "You need to get out of my house and go home. This is still over."
"Is this where I’m supposed to keep chasing you until you realize how serious I am?" he asks, chuckling as if he’s trying to be funny.
I turn around and walk down the hallway to the front door, opening it as an invitation. "The door is right here in case you don’t know where to find it," I shout into the kitchen.
"I’m not giving up, Melody."
"Okay, well, can you go ‘not give up’ somewhere else? I just worked half the day, and I’m not in the mood to continue this same old argument with someone I’m no longer in a relationship with."
Ace huffs and grumbles as he storms past me, grabbing his coat from the hook on the way out the door. I feel nothing as he passes by.
"How did he get here?" I call into the kitchen, asking Journey.
"Uber," she responds. "Don’t worry, we have a curb he can sit on until one comes back for him."
I close the front door, wishing it would be so simple to close Ace out of my life as I thought it was.
Journey is placing the water glasses in the sink when I return to the table. "Did you really break up with him at the airport?" she asks.
"Yes, I did," I confirm.
"That’s pretty badass."
I shrug, though her back is toward me. "You kept your calm more than I thought you would. You’re either still numb, or you had a nice morning at the shop, and I don’t think you’re still numb after making your way to the shop this morning."
I plop down at the table and pick at the cotton placemat. "You’re not even making sense," I tell her.
"You don’t look as miserable as you have—as we all have—for the last few weeks. Something cheered you up, and it wasn’t the act of kicking Ace out of the house."
"I got out of the house for a few hours. I took a breath. It’s nothing to write home about," I say, watching as she loads the glasses into the dishwasher.
"I pissed you off before you left this morning. Did you forget?" Journey continues.
I almost forgot. It wasn’t on my mind at all after my few moments in the back room with Brett. "It’s your share of the business. You can do what you want."
"Hmm," she says. "Well, I’m selling my share to Mr. Pearson, which means you will run the business with their family. Is this something you will be okay with?"
I’m not sure how to respond. I didn’t think of the situation panning out in the way she’s stating. "I don’t know. I need to think about it, I guess."
"You know it’s not because I want our family business to close, right?"
"Yeah, I get it.” I pull a thread out of a weave of the placement, trying to hold back from saying anything I might regret.
Journey looks like she’s finding things to do around the kitchen to bide time before her next comment. I don’t know what’s left to say, but clearly, there’s something.
"I’m probably going to start sleeping at home again," she says.
"I figured the time was coming," I respond.
Journey drops the sponge she was wiping the counter down with and takes a seat across from me at the table. "I don’t want Dad’s business to come between us, honestly. I know we’ve always done our own thing, but we’re sisters, and I want us to be close, especially since you’re back home."
It seems like she’s been stirring over this all day, or for who knows for how long.
"Sharing the business with Brett’s family doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. I don’t know a thing about bourbon anyway, but I’m willing to learn, and I want to keep it in our name. I can edit at night and work during the day."
Journey seems surprised to hear me agree to her plan. "And you’ll be okay with me not taking a major part in the workings of the shop? Of course, I’ll be there if you need help or something, but I don’t want to invest my life into it like Dad did. It’s not my thing."
"I’ll be okay either way," I tell her.
Journey tilts her head to the side as if she’s studying me in search of the truth. "I saw the remnants of a smile on your face. I noticed it after you said Brett’s name, though." I can feel her poking at me, like she knows. Sisterly intuition, we’ll call it.
I drop my head into my hands and sigh. "He kissed me."
Rather than a record scratch, Journey slaps her hands down on the counter. "Shut the front door ... no, he didn’t," she states, inquisitively.
"In the back room, right where he kissed me the first time," I continue, lifting my head to look up at her.
"Wow," she says. "I never thought the day would come."
"I didn’t either," I respond.
"He is a good guy," she says. "You could use a distraction, one in the form of muscles, a chiseled jaw, and pretty eyes."
I laugh at her description because Journey would never describe a man the way she just spoke of Brett. "He has a brother, you know …”
"Yeah, all set there. Does he even live in this state? I haven’t seen him since we were like twelve."
"Yeah, he lives around here somewhere," I tell her. "I’ve seen him. He came over for dinner when Elizabeth brought food a few weeks ago."
"Weird."
"Anyway, let’s um ... keep this to ourselves. I don’t want to fill Mom’s head with possible happily ever after dreams from one kiss."
"She could use the distraction too," Journey says.
"No," I argue.
"Well, too late. I’m distracted," Mom says from the entryway of the kitchen. "I knew Brett was the one for you." Mom is smiling. A real smile, and I feel like I need to set her expectations because ... seriously, it was one kiss, not a proposal. But she’s smiling.
"Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. I might want to go out on a date with the guy first before we plan a wedding date," I say, trying to make light of the topic.
"Of course," Mom says, winking at Journey.
"Let’s not start talking about this around town, Mom, okay?" I need to at least say this. Before Dad got sick, Mom was known to be the gossip queen of this town.
"Oh, who will I tell, Melody?"
Journey and I give her the same look. "I will keep this to myself, girls. Thank you," she says, pointedly. "This mean
s Ace left, right?"
"I kicked him out of the house, so he’s as gone as I can make him.”
"Thank goodness." Although, I’m willing to bet he’s still sitting on the curb outside waiting for his damn Uber in a town with no Uber drivers.
"We should start dress shopping, you know, for fun," Mom gushes.
I push away from the kitchen table. "I’m going to take a shower and pretend you didn’t just say what you did.”
"Oh, imagine—Elizabeth and I can be in-laws. How nice would it be for our family to become one?"
"Okay, Mom, while I’m enjoying the sight of Melody squirming at your words, you should set your expectations a little lower for the moment. She just kicked her ex out of the house, and the kiss was probably a diverting moment in her life right now."
I don’t need to dissect Journey’s words to understand what she’s saying, but it isn’t like I kissed some random guy on the street either. I have two diaries worth of love poems written to Brett hidden beneath my bed between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. In any case, if it brings Mom down a notch, I’ll let those words sink into her head.
"I know, I know, but I think it’s sweet you two have rekindled your crush after all these years."
"Shower. I am going to take a shower. Now.” I walk toward hallway, hoping for the conversation to end.
"Well, they say a cold shower is a perfect remedy for steamy thoughts," Mom ends our conversation with mortifying words a daughter shouldn’t have to hear from her mother.
I had to walk out. I could not respond. I don’t even know who this woman is at the moment, talking that way.
Steamy thoughts.
Of Brett.
My God.
One thing at a time.
Maybe I do need a cold shower.
20
After reading one of my old poems, I toss my childhood diary back into a box beneath my bed. I had it bad for Brett, but I couldn’t find the courage to say hi. We grew up together, seeing each other at random times throughout the years, and though we would speak in earlier years, there came a time when I could no longer find the words to talk to him. My heart ached, and my mind raced. I felt the need to hide because a simple hello felt out of reach. Now, I wonder how my inexperienced world felt such a strong pull toward him as if I knew we belonged somehow.
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