“Yeah, me too.” He wasn’t, really. Not because he didn’t want to spend more time with her—he definitely did—but he’d never tried to be sexy on purpose. Wasn’t sure if he could pull it off despite her belief in him.
“I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow and let you know the details. I actually had an author contact me a couple of days ago, and I think you’ll be perfect for what she needs.”
“So she specifically asked for a middle-aged guy, huh?” He knew his smile was forced but he couldn’t really help it. This whole thing had his anxiety on overdrive.
Charlotte sighed. Her eyes drilled right into his. “Dean, I’m not really sure how else to make this clear to you. You are insanely good looking. You have to know I think so by now. Besides, there is no way I would have asked you to do this shoot if I wasn’t entirely certain that you would nail it.”
Dean swallowed hard, staring right back at her. Yes, he made health and fitness a priority. But he knew plenty of fit, muscular guys who would still have no business slapping their mugs on a book cover. Not only that, but he didn’t want to let her down, as a professional … or as a woman. Her confidence in him helped, but his confidence in himself was seriously lacking in so many ways. “Okay, I’m going to trust you. But you should know, I lied. I’m not excited. I’m scared shitless.”
“What?” she cried. Smiling, she reached out and grabbed his hand. His heart nearly stopped. Had she even realized she’d done it? “Don’t forget, this is me, and I’ll be there to take care of you.”
Yeah, that’s one thing he was afraid of. Standing in front of her half naked, pretending to be some sort of hunky sex object. Would she touch him while they worked? Did she touch other guys? He forced the negative thoughts away, they didn’t do him any good, and as much as he hated the idea of those things it really was none of his business.
“I’m planning on it,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.
She grinned in return, finally letting go of him. This was the “them” he liked the best. The teasing, flirting, and seemingly innocent innuendo. Was that a bad idea now that they were seeing each other more often? Probably. But he’d just have to force himself to keep things like they’d always been. Just fun. They’d done it for years; surely they could continue. He’d try to remind himself of that when he stripped off half his clothes in front of her.
Six
The following Saturday’s wedding was one for the books. The mother of the bride was having a meltdown over a rip in her dress, the groom’s stepmom was not so subtly mumbling about how ridiculous the MOB was acting, the ring bearer had started vomiting in the bathroom, and the church lady had already lectured Charlotte three times on where she was and wasn’t allowed to stand in the sanctuary. Basically she might as well shoot the whole damn ceremony from the front yard; the photos would be just as good. It was tempting.
Thankfully, the bride, Paige, was taking it all in stride as she and Charlotte finished up a few portraits on a shaded patio on the back of the church. The day was made slightly easier by the fact that Paige was one of those rare women who genuinely wanted everyone around her to be happy. Put her friends and family first. Even the sweetest women could get a little crazy on their wedding day, but Paige had remained a saint, and she also looked achingly beautiful in her designer dress.
“Charlotte, I’m so sorry about all of this. My mom is a little overdramatic.”
“There is no need to explain. Weddings have a tendency to bring out the best in us,” she said with a smile. “And besides, this is your day, so no apologizing to me. Remember, I’m just here for the cake.”
As Charlotte had hoped, Paige laughed. “I hope everything with the guys is going much easier.”
Charlotte gave her a warm smile, knowing that even if the groom was MIA, she would lie through her teeth and then call in a manhunt before she burdened her bride with any more unnecessary stress. Thankfully she could be completely honest. “Lauren’s been with them all morning, and she texted me five minutes ago. They’ve had a blast. Golf, beer, and the Royals on TV. They’re on the way here now.”
Paige sighed. “Oh good. Hopefully once my mother’s dress is mended everything will be fine.”
Giving Paige’s arm a little squeeze, Charlotte spoke quietly. “Everything will be fine no matter what. Trust me, every wedding has its share of drama.” Charlotte left out that this one had more than its fair share, because who was really keeping track? “Someday all of this nonsense will be forgotten, but the moments you spend together—the first time your eyes lock in the church, your first dance, stuffing cake in his mouth—those are the moments that you will remember. And when it’s all said and done, the only thing that matters is that you and Will are going to end this day as husband and wife.”
Paige grinned, her eyes glassy. “You’re right,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “You’re so right. Thank you.”
Charlotte’s phone buzzed on her hip. “Oop, I bet that’s Lauren. Let’s get you inside so Will doesn’t have a premature sighting.”
Carefully pushing the two cameras around her neck out of the way, Charlotte leaned down to lift the train of Paige’s dress so they could shuffle indoors.
She blew out a deep breath, impressed with her impromptu speech on the beauty of a wedding day. Even she, the most jaded and bitter woman, could fake it. It was doable because although she never wanted to marry herself, she still knew some people wanted that and truly valued each other enough to keep their promises. She saw it happen weekend after weekend, but she was certain that not even witnessing a million weddings would heal the trauma of being abandoned at her own.
There was not a chance in hell she would subject herself to that kind of pain, humiliation, and fallout, ever again. Now … finding herself a man? A relationship? She did want that. But a wedding and marriage? No thank you. Those things weren’t necessary to have a family or to be happy.
Once they were inside, Charlotte was pleased to find that the universe seemed to have received her message to Paige, because the mama drama had righted itself. The mothers hugged before the ceremony, a slightly pale ring bearer walked down the aisle and then quickly fell asleep in the front pew, and the service was lovely. What Charlotte and Lauren could see of it anyway, being confined to the back quarter of the sanctuary as they were. After that the early-evening light had led to gorgeous portraits with the bridal party, and now the limo pulled up to the Lone Oak Country Club for the reception.
This wasn’t her favorite venue, but it was a nice change of scenery. She and Lauren met in the lobby and rushed to prepare for the bridal party’s entrance. Once that was over they headed toward the corner of the room.
“Let’s hurry and get some food. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.” Lauren slid her gear under the makeshift stage the band was playing on. Charlotte did the same. Contractually, they were fed by the couple. It was industry standard, and it was easiest when the reception had a buffet as this one did. They just slipped into line with a wink and smile, and in no time they were sitting on some chairs in a hallway devouring their dinner.
“We haven’t shot here in ages,” Charlotte said. Lone Oak was on the outskirts of Kenwood, a nearby town. Nice, but nothing too special. In fact, for as much as people paid to have their weddings here, Charlotte thought it lacked amenities, but who was she to judge? Everything always came up lacking when compared with the Stag.
“I would never want to have my reception here. The dance floor area is so small. And I’m not ever really that impressed with their food.” Lauren made a face down at her plate.
Charlotte agreed but knew they’d eat it all no matter what it tasted like, that was for sure.
“How are wedding plans going with Dean?”
“Good. We’ve already chosen the date and the caterer. We went with Gary’s.”
“Nice. I get to shoot it with you, right?”
“Of course. I’ll email you the date this week.”
“I still just canno
t believe you two are planning a wedding together.”
“I know, it’s crazy. At first I thought it was going to be weird making decisions for another woman, but the more I think about it, the more it kind of makes sense. I’m not emotional about it. Or bogged down by a family member’s expectations. It’s way easier than the last time.”
The slip was accidental and Charlotte was grateful that Lauren let it go unnoticed.
“I can see that. Maybe you’re onto something.” Lauren pointed her fork at Charlotte and lowered her voice. “Ready-made weddings by Charlotte. Just show up and say I do.”
Charlotte laughed. “A good idea. But no, not gonna happen.” She quieted her voice down to a whisper. “I don’t even like weddings. And can you imagine the bridezillas?” She shuddered in mock horror.
“You don’t have to like weddings to be good at planning them. I mean … you’re good at photographing them. Making money is its own motivation.”
“Anyway.” Charlotte waved a hand, hoping to change the subject. “Things are going well and I’m excited to do the rest. And I mean everything. Cake, flowers, his ring.”
“What about her dress?”
“I don’t know, and I’m afraid to ask Dean for some reason. But obviously it will have to be done. I mean, you can’t really pop into a bridal shop in the desert.”
Lauren’s eyes went wide. “Can you imagine you and Dean shopping for wedding dresses together? Are you going to try them on for him?”
Charlotte hesitated. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know. But he’ll definitely have to come along because I’m certainly not going to pick her dress on my own. I don’t even know her.”
“And you know Dean is not going to walk into a bridal shop and do it by himself. Wow, it’s like you guys are getting married.”
Charlotte blanched at that. “It’s so not even close to that. This is a business arrangement.”
“Yeah, but … you like him. And you’re planning a wedding together. I think it would be hard not to imagine it.”
“Lauren, you know how I feel. I can separate my attraction to him from this process.”
“Yes, I do. But I can’t help hoping that you might eventually change your mind. You have so many painful emotions wrapped up in that breakup, Charlotte. You know it will never happen that way again.”
“Do I? It’s not impossible.”
Lauren gave her a long look. “Okay, nothing is certain. You’re right. But you need to learn to trust yourself. You’re not the same person you were then, and if you meet a new guy, he won’t be just like John.”
Charlotte decided Lauren’s last comment didn’t warrant a response. They’d had the conversation too many times, and nothing was going to change. Lauren was right, that year was littered with pain, and while Charlotte had recovered in many ways, she also hadn’t in others.
One thing she knew: Getting jilted by her fiancé John five years ago had hardened her heart on the matter, and there was no going back.
Taking a bite of her dinner, Charlotte sighed. She’d truly believed he was the one, the great love of her life. Her parents had loved him, too, and she’d always believed his parents had loved her. Everything had seemed perfect.
Back then they’d known they were young, that high school sweethearts weren’t always meant to last a lifetime, but Charlotte had believed that they were each other’s soul mates. They’d talked openly about how they would defeat the odds. What a crock of shit.
When John had begun to pull away, he blamed her business, which was growing fast and taking all of her weekends. She understood that and vowed to be better, make him a priority.
And then she’d gotten pregnant.
A complete surprise, and yet for a while their problems seemed to be resolved. John had appeared to be happy about the baby, and Charlotte—having always dreamed of being a mother—was beyond thrilled. Of course the timing had been less than ideal, but their surprise and happiness had outweighed all the downsides. Plus, what did it matter, they were getting married.
They’d decided to tell their families they were expecting at the wedding breakfast, the day after the festivities. That way the news didn’t distract from the excitement of their big day. And a little part of her didn’t want her parents to be disappointed—although she knew they could do math—but still.
Sadly, the choice was made for them when Charlotte suffered a traumatic miscarriage. Sitting in the hospital bleeding, vomiting, and feeling physically and emotionally empty inside, Charlotte had let John convince her not to tell their parents what had happened until after the wedding. He told her it would upset them. For some stupid reason it made sense, even though no one could possibly hurt the way she did those next few days. She still occasionally had nightmares. The kind where she woke up crying, drenched in sweat.
Looking back on that time was painful. John pulled away even more, and Charlotte grieved mostly alone when she wasn’t busy keeping up the appearance of a bride looking forward to her wedding day. Secretly she was hoping and praying that marrying John and solidifying their relationship would help them to heal and move on. Make them soul mates again.
Time and reflection had now taught Charlotte she’d been too wrapped up in her own pain to see that he’d stopped loving her long before they’d lost their baby. That the days leading up to the wedding day had been full of signs she should have been paying attention to if she’d been in the right frame of mind.
Not that she blamed herself. Not even a little bit, because the way John handled calling off their wedding—like a cowardly and selfish jerk—had been inexcusable.
And yet, eventually, a blessing.
But the blessing came with a price. Her beliefs on love, men, and forever-after had been changed that day. She now approached the opposite sex with newfound insight and expectations. A man was never going to be her everything. She could care for him, be attracted to him, but if they grew apart, it wouldn’t upend her life. Not like it had with John.
Human beings were fickle creatures. How could anyone expect another person to stay with them forever? If Charlotte ever entered a relationship with a man again, her needs were overall very simple. Because of that fateful day, marriage was off the table for her, but she had also realized how much she wanted to be a mother.
She wanted a child. Or maybe even two.
Surely there was a man out there who was okay with that. For a while she’d hoped that man would be Dean, but as time went by, it was looking like it wasn’t meant to be.
Seven
Dean had never jumped on the whole hating-Monday bandwagon. In fact, it happened to be his favorite day of the week, and this particular Monday he was determined not to let the dark sky and constant raining get him down.
It was mash day at the distillery, which meant he spent hours babying a small batch of milled corn and rye cooking in a metal vat of hot water. When it was finished, the mash would go into a fermenter and begin its six-day process before finally ending up in the copper distiller. He loved this part, always had.
Dean had learned the art of distilling grain alcohol from his grandfather who had done it in very small quantities in his barn, using a distiller he’d crafted himself out of an old soup pot and some copper piping. By the age of sixteen, Dean was already taste-testing the “hearts” and helping to transfer the distilled whiskey into small charcoal barrels. He still recalled the first barrel his grandfather had given him to take home and keep. It had sat aging in his parents’ garage while Dean waited patiently for his legal birthday, when he and his grandfather planned to uncask it together.
Unfortunately, that day came six months shy of his twenty-first birthday when his grandfather died of a sudden heart attack. The night of his funeral, Dean had opened the barrel, filled a flask, and gone out to the old man’s grave site at dusk. He’d emptied that flask, finally appreciating the smooth caramel taste of his hard work, all the while lying on the grass next to a fresh mound of dirt.
To this day he couldn’t start a new batch of mash without thinking of his grandfather. Still couldn’t feel the milled grains slide through his fingers without remembering the sight of strong wrinkled hands, or smell the yeasty scent without hearing the old man’s deep gravelly voice.
Today those fleeting thoughts brought a smile to his face, but he tried not to linger on the ones that made him sad. Like the fact that his grandfather would have been so damn proud to see his grandson running—and succeeding—at a full-fledged distilling operation.
Ronald Troyer—Grandpa Ron to Dean—had also been a hunter, a total man’s man. Hence the name the Stag. Dean had been grateful that neither TJ nor Jake had questioned him on that. They’d liked it, or pretended to. It had also matched the tone of the building they’d found, which with all the brick and exposed wood beams had sort of a masculine, lodge feel to it.
Standing on a tall stepladder, Dean watched the vat fill from the hot-water tank next to it. The water began to get murky as it covered the milled grains, and he turned the agitator on to keep things moving. If the grains set too long and got waterlogged, the machine could clog—which was a major headache.
He checked his clipboard and smiled as he wrote on the little dry-erase board that hung on the big metal tub. Lockdown Whiskey batch 100. Hard to believe that was true, but sure enough it was. They’d been in business for five years now, which was about how long it took to age a solid, smooth whiskey or bourbon. They’d gotten started quickly after setting up shop by making their signature Ten Point Vodka, which could be made and sold within months rather than years. Next they’d introduced Forkhorn White Whiskey. White, meaning it wasn’t aged, and basically moonshine. A white whiskey was a harder liquor, and not really meant for drinking neat. It was a mixing alcohol, as was their vodka, but they’d sold the hell out of them to both regional and Kansas City bars and liquor stores on their local appeal alone. All the while they’d continued to produce and barrel their Stag Signature Bourbon and Lockdown Whiskey, the first barrels of which would be ready to open in just a few short months.
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