“Does it matter?”
I started walking again, and she huffed, hurrying to catch up.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
It means, I know you don’t give a rat’s ass what my name is and you’ll forget it as soon as you walk out of this distillery and back into your little silver-spoon world.
I sighed, biting my tongue against the urge to be an asshole.
“Noah.”
“Noah,” she repeated, rubbing her lips together afterward, like she was tasting each syllable of my name. “Nice to meet you.”
I didn’t respond, reaching forward to unlock the warehouse door, instead. Once the lock clicked, I tugged it open, gesturing for Ruby Grace to enter.
She stepped through the doorframe, pushing her glasses up to rest on top of her head as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The distinct smell of oak and yeast settled in around us, and when the door closed, Ruby Grace’s eyes found me, wide and curious.
“Wait,” she said as I flipped on a few more lights. “You’re Noah Becker, aren’t you?”
The skin on my neck prickled at the way she said my last name, as if it said more about me than my dirty clothes in her mind.
“What about it?” I turned on her, and she was so close, her chest nearly brushed mine. She was still a few inches shorter than me, even in her heels, but her eyes met mine confidently.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, taking a tentative step back. “I didn’t mean it in any way. It’s just, I used to sit behind you in church. When I was little.” Her cheeks flamed. “We would play this game… oh gosh, never mind. I feel so silly.”
She waved me off, stepping even farther away as her head dipped. She clasped her hands together at her waist, waiting for me to speak, to lead us through the towering rows of barrels, but I just stared at her.
It was like seeing her for the first time.
That one apology, that awareness of herself, it was genuine and true. It was the young girl she actually was, slipping through the façade she’d painted so well.
And I smiled.
Because I did remember.
I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t put two and two together, but then again, how could I recognize the stunning, classy woman before me as the same freckle-faced kid who used to kick the back of my pew? She’d been just a girl then, and I had been eighteen, fresh out of high school and just as bored in church as she was. I couldn’t even remember what the game was that we played, only that it used to make her giggle so hard her mother would thump her on the wrist with her rolled-up program.
I smiled at the memory, and then it hit me.
I’d just checked out a woman who used to be the annoying little kid behind me in church.
New low, Becker.
“You were a little shit,” I finally said.
Her eyes widened, a small smile painting her lips. “Says the Becker. You boys are notorious for causing trouble.”
“We like to have fun.”
She laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”
Her eyes twinkled a bit under the low lighting as she assessed me in a new way. She didn’t look at me like I was dirty and beneath her, but rather like I was an old friend, one who reminded her of youth.
She was only nineteen, but the sadness in her eyes in that moment told me she lost her innocence a long time ago.
I didn’t realize I was staring at her, that we’d gravitated toward each other just marginally until she cleared her throat and stepped an inch back.
“So,” she said, eyes surveying the barrels. They were stacked thirty high and a hundred back, each of them aging to the perfect taste. “Which of these beauties is mine?”
“The single barrels are back here,” I said, walking us down one of the long rows of barrels.
Ruby Grace’s eyes scanned the wooden beasts as we walked, and I opened my mouth to spout off the usual selling points of a single barrel — how limited they are, how no one else would have a barrel of whiskey that tasted like hers, how each barrel was aged differently, for different time periods, and at different temperatures. But the words died in my mouth before they could come out, a question forming, instead.
“So, you’re buying a barrel for your fiancé, huh?”
Her eyes were still on the barrels, the corners of them creasing a little as a breath escaped through her parted lips.
“That’s right.”
I eyed her ring again.
“When’s the big day?”
“Six weeks from Sunday,” she sighed the words, fingers reaching up to drag along the wood as her heels clicked along in the otherwise-silent warehouse.
I whistled. “That’s pretty soon. You ready?”
Ruby Grace stopped, her fingers still on the wood as she eyed me under furrowed brows. “What?”
I arched a brow. Did I say something wrong?
“For the wedding? To be married? You know, commit yourself to someone for the rest of your life, that little thing you said yes to?”
She swallowed. “I… Well, no one has asked me that.”
“No one asked you if you were ready to get married?”
She shook her head.
Somehow, the rows of barrels felt smaller, narrower, like they were moving in on either side of us, pushing us together centimeter by centimeter.
There was so much wrong with the fact that no one had asked her that pivotal question — at least, in my mind. Here was this young girl, not even twenty years old, not even close to her prime years, and she was settling down. It wasn’t unheard of in Stratford, or anywhere else in Smalltown, USA. Plenty of my friends got married right out of high school. Most of them had kids before they could even have a legal drink.
But something told me that wasn’t what Ruby Grace had pictured for herself.
“Well, I’m asking. Are you ready?”
She blinked, and it was as if that blink stirred her from the thoughts she’d been tossing around. She started walking again, folding her arms gently over her chest. I watched her try to slip on the same disguise she’d been wearing when she introduced herself to me. She wanted the world to believe she was poised — a polished woman, a dignified lady who didn’t take shit.
But the truth was, she was still a girl, too. She was still nineteen. Who made her feel like that wasn’t okay? To just be a nineteen-year-old girl who doesn’t have it all figured out yet?
“Of course,” she finally answered. “I mean, Anthony is great. He’s older than me, twenty-five to be exact, and he’s so mature. He just graduated with his master’s in Political Science from North Carolina. That’s where we met,” she said, her head leaning toward me a bit on that note. “At a party on campus. He said the first time he saw me, he knew I’d be his wife one day. Which is so sweet. And he’s on track to be in politics for life.” She smiled, but it didn’t mask the slight shake of her voice. “The engagement happened a little faster than I expected… I mean, we’ve only known each other a year. But I think when you know, you know. You know?”
I smirked in lieu of answering.
“And Mama was so excited when we announced our engagement, she wanted to do the wedding right away. It’s crazy, knowing we have what usually is about a year’s worth of work to do in six weeks. But, she’s been taking care of a lot of it… Lord knows that woman loves a project.” Her voice trailed off on a soft laugh before she spoke again. “And Anthony, he’s exactly what my family had in mind for me. And we get along, you know? We have so much fun.”
Why did it feel like she was trying to convince me? Or maybe, it was herself she was trying to convince.
“And you love him,” I pointed out.
She paused, eyes flicking to mine as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Right. And I love him.”
I could have stared at her all day, deciphering her like a riddle that had an obvious answer if I just thought about it long enough. But she shifted under my gaze, and one glance at the rock on her finger reminded me that she was someone else’s
puzzle to put together — not mine.
“Well, here they are,” I said, tapping one of the barrels on the back wall. They were stacked just as high as the rest of the room, each barrel stamped with a batch number and an exclusive, gold-plated plaque that had all the details about when it was distilled, barreled, what rows it’s been aged in over time, and more.
“There are so many,” she said, eyes scanning up. “How do I choose? I mean, should I be looking for something specific?”
I scratched at my jaw. “I mean, there is incredible whiskey inside each and every one of these barrels. Part of what makes buying a single barrel so enticing is that you’ll have a one-of-a-kind whiskey,” I said, finally remembering to give her the spiel I’d put off before. “Usually, we let our potential buyers taste a few to compare but…” I smirked. “There is that whole legal drinking age debacle.”
Ruby Grace laughed. “Oh. Yeah. That old thing.”
She swayed from foot to foot, grimacing a little as she eyed the barrels.
“Are you okay?”
Her face twisted again as she shifted her body weight to her left foot. “Yes. Sorry, it’s just these stupid shoes. I told my mom I didn’t need to wear heels to inspect whiskey barrels, but she was not having it with me wearing boots.”
For a split second, I pictured her in said boots. I wondered if the brown leather would cap off under her knee, if her thighs would have been even more exposed in the shorts she would have paired with those boots. Or would she have worn jeans, covering her legs altogether?
Stop thinking about her legs, Becker.
“Take them off.”
Her brows shot up, eyes widening as they found mine.
“What?” She asked, laughing. “I can’t just take my shoes off.” She threw her arms up, gesturing to our surroundings. “We’re in an old, dirty warehouse.”
“You act like you weren’t born and raised in an old, dirty town.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t exactly working in the distillery or out raising cows on the outskirts, now was I? A little bit of a different setting when you’re the Mayor’s daughter.”
She tried to smile, but a soft curse left her lips when she shifted her weight again.
Without hesitation, I reached back for the collar of my t-shirt and ripped it up over my head, laying it down on the ground at her feet.
“Here,” I said, holding out my hand. “You can stand on that. It might not be a freshly polished marble floor, but your precious feet should survive.”
Ruby Grace was gaping, her jaw completely unhinged as her eyes crawled over my abdomen and chest. “I…”
“Shoes. Off.” I pointed at her feet. “You do that, and I’ll let you taste a few barrels. Just don’t tell anyone, least of all your parents.”
She chuckled, but finally stepped out of her heels. They fell on their sides as a relieved sigh slipped through her lips, and I watched her polished toes curl on my t-shirt.
“God, that feels so much better.”
I shook my head, reaching back behind the first row of barrels for the tasting glasses we housed there. “Are you always so stubborn?”
“I wasn’t being stubborn.”
“I guess that’s my answer,” I said, pouring a tiny splash from one of the barrels before holding the glass toward her. “Here. Take a sip.”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s okay. Like you said, I’m underage.”
“So you’ve never had a sip of alcohol in your life?” I challenged.
She bit her lip. “I mean… I have, but not whiskey. That’s a man’s drink.”
At that, I full on belly-laughed. “What the hell kind of talk is that? Whiskey is a man’s drink?” I shook my head. “It’s whiskey. It’s expensive whiskey, at that. And I assure you, it’s delicious — whether you have tits or not.”
Ruby Grace blushed, biting her lip against a smile. “God, sorry. I sound like my mother. More and more every day now, actually,” she mused, glancing down at her toes before her eyes found the glass in my hand again.
I pushed it toward her. “Just a sip. You’re not even going to get close to feeling a buzz. But this way, you can taste the difference between a few barrels that were aged in different ways.” I swallowed. “You can pick out the perfect one for your future husband.”
She hesitated, but her hand reached forward, taking the other side of the glass. Our fingertips brushed just slightly, just enough to make me jerk my own hand away.
“And, hey, bonus,” I continued, shaking off the awkward tension. “You can be as ‘unladylike’ as you want here. I won’t judge. You can even burp, if you’re really feeling frisky.”
Ruby Grace laughed, eyeing the whiskey like she still wasn’t sure before she shrugged and tilted the glass in my direction. “Oh, what the hell. Bottoms up.”
She took a sip, and then promptly grimaced and stuck her tongue out as soon as she’d swallowed.
“God, that’s awful.” She shook her head, shoving the glass back in my direction. “Definitely not doing that again.”
I laughed, rinsing the glass with a splash of water from the bottles we kept nearby before filling it with the same whiskey.
“Okay, that was my bad. Maybe I should have told you how to taste it first.” I handed it to her again, though she eyed it like it was poison. “Smell it first.”
She did as I said, uncertainty shading her face as she looked my way again. “I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”
“You’re not sure you’re smelling right?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You know what I mean. I don’t… I don’t know anything about this stuff.”
“It’s okay, that’s why I’m here.” I stepped closer to her, taking the glass from her hand, and when I inhaled to demonstrate, it was her I smelled instead of the whiskey.
She smelled like lavender, like an open field in the heat of summer.
“Watch,” I said, taking another breath, this time focusing on the whiskey. “You smell it first, and ask yourself what you smell. Oak? Vanilla? Honey? Maple? Every whiskey is different, depending on how it’s aged, how the barrels are charred and toasted. See what notes you can detect first. And then,” I continued, taking my first sip. I let it linger in my mouth, swirling it a round before swallowing gently. “Taste it. I mean, really taste it. Does it give you different flavors on the tip of your tongue than it does on the back? Does it burn going down, or is it just warm? And what’s the aftertaste?”
Ruby Grace watched me, fascinated, her lips parted softly, eyes falling to my bare chest where a small drop of whiskey had landed. I thumbed it away, handing her the glass again.
“Now, you try.”
She took a deep breath, like she needed to focus to really do it right, and then she repeated my steps. And this time, when she finished swallowing, she smiled.
“Wow,” she said. “It’s different when you don’t just throw it back like a shot.”
I chuckled. “Well, this isn’t shooting whiskey. It’s Tennessee Sippin’ Whiskey,” I said, tilting my imaginary hat. I tucked my hands in my pockets, nodding toward the next barrel. “Take a little from that one.”
“I can pour it myself?”
I nodded. “Just twist that spout a little, not too much. You don’t need a lot to taste it.”
She was hesitant as she poured a sip into her glass, and her eyes lit up, a little squeal of joy popping from her mouth. “I did it!”
And for the next ten minutes, I watched Ruby Grace be a girl.
She was so far from the snotty woman who had offered me her hand like a prize when we first met. She was just a teenager, a soon-to-be sophomore in college, drinking whiskey, learning something new and having fun.
I wondered when the last time was that she had fun.
I wondered if she’d ever had fun at all.
The way she looked when she laughed, I hoped she had. I hoped it wasn’t the first time that laugh had been genui
ne, the first time that sound had made its way into the airwaves. She laughed the way the wind blew — softly, and then all at once, without an ounce of shame for how that sound might permanently shift the atmosphere around it.
When she’d decided on the barrel she wanted, Ruby Grace regretfully slipped back into her heels, and I tugged my t-shirt on before leading us out of the warehouse and toward the welcome center.
“So,” I said, walking slow so she didn’t kill her feet in the process of getting back to her car. “What are Anthony’s plans when you go back to school in the fall?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you guys moving in together and he’s getting a job there? Or are you guys doing long distance for a while or what?”
She laughed, her hair falling over her face a little as she watched our feet. “I’m not going back to school.”
“Oh…” I paused. “You don’t want to?”
“I mean, I guess I do… but, there’s no point. You know? I’m getting married. I’ll be his wife now, and I’ll have so much to do. He’s already getting into the political arena, and he’ll need me to be by his side, campaigning and networking and all that.” She shrugged. “I don’t really need a degree to do that.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s what I want to do,” she said quickly. “It’s what I was bred to do.”
“Bred?” I frowned. “You’re not a horse. You’re a human.”
Ruby Grace stopped with an abrupt click of her heels once we reached the welcome center entrance, and she crossed her arms defiantly as her eyes found mine. She didn’t even have to say another word for me to know I’d pushed the wrong button, and I was about to get the same woman I met in this very spot an hour before.
“Look, you don’t know anything about me, okay? Or my family, or what I want or what I don’t want, so just stop trying to presume whatever it is you’re presuming.”
“Oh, look at you,” I chided, stepping into her space. “Using big words again.”
She scoffed. “They say nothing changes when you leave this town and come back, I guess you just proved them right.”
“Well, that’s my job,” I fired back. “Proving the ominous they right. Glad I’ve still got it.”
Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set Page 280
