by LuAnn McLane
Laura Lee laughed. “Sorry, but I just imagined that in my head.”
“And I had to force myself not to answer yes, lickety-split with capital letters and, like, ten exclamation points and seem too eager. So I typed yes real fast and then waited for a minute or two before I hit the send button.”
Laura Lee started laughing again. “Forgive me, but that’s so cute and funny at the same time. You know that you brighten my days, right?”
Mattie turned around and gave Laura Lee a big hug. “You deserve bright days. And that whole ship-sailing thing you said is a big bunch of bull. You need to listen to some of your own advice.”
“Oh, Mattie,” Laura Lee said, and then had to dab at a tear. “I’m much better at giving advice, I’m afraid.”
“Then practice what you preach,” Mattie said, and felt emotion well up in her own throat. She sniffed hard.
“Don’t you dare cry and mess up your makeup! Which, by the way, looks lovely too. Understated and classy. The soft coral lipstick is perfect.”
It was Mattie’s turn to laugh. “It’s amazing what you can learn online. I just joined Pinterest and I swear I could play on there all day long.” Inhaling a deep breath she turned around and smoothed down the skirt on her dress. “Maybe I’m more girlie than I ever imagined.”
“You look spectacular. The dress is simple but timeless. The slope of your neck and shoulders is so very feminine. But enough talk. You need to get your pretty self over there pronto.”
“I’m suddenly really nervous.” She put a hand to her tummy.
“I think it’s called excited. There is a difference.” Laura Lee took Mattie’s hands and squeezed. “Oh my, so cold.”
“Told you!”
“Look, you need to see this through but take it slow and don’t let your emotions run away with you. And call me tomorrow and give me all the details. Okay?”
Mattie nodded. “All right, I’m off.”
Laura Lee gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m going to call your mama later tonight.”
“Oh, don’t go tellin’ her any of this. She’ll be planning my long-overdue wedding and knitting baby booties.”
“No . . . no, I wouldn’t do that. I just want to tell her how things are going with my new job. Miranda was so thrilled for me. Your mama is such a dear friend. Well, all except for the whole up-and-moving-to-Florida part.”
“I know. I miss Mama too, but she and Daddy earned a permanent vacation as they call it. They vowed to return if we ever provide grandbabies.”
“Sounds like something Miranda would say.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not looking too promising at the moment. But truthfully Mason and Danny put their social lives on the back burner and put their heart and soul into saving the marina. Daddy had to get away from the stress or have a heart attack. We could have sold out to all the new development in Cricket Creek, but we wanted to save our family business and I’m so glad we did. This is my home.”
“Sweetie, I’m well aware of that. But remember that the marina is thriving now. It’s time for you and your brothers to go on with your personal lives.”
“I know. But I don’t have any regrets.”
“We all make mistakes, but having no regrets is the only way to live your life. Just live and learn.”
“Hey, you should go down to the beach for a visit. Mama would love it.”
“I will after I’ve worked for Shane long enough to ask for some time off.” She smiled. “Although working for him sometimes feels like I’m on vacation. He lets me use his pool and workout room that’s state-of-the-art.” She flexed a muscle. “At this rate I’m going to be in the best shape I’ve been in a long time. Plus, he likes to take walks in the evening.”
“Interesting . . . ,” Mattie said, and gave Laura Lee a pointed look.
“Don’t go there. I’m not about to mess up the best job I’ve ever had by doing something stupid.”
“I think you’re not following your own advice once again.”
“Shane McCray is my employer. My situation is way different than yours, not to mention he’s simply lonely with just moving here. He’s trying to keep his residence on the down low to keep the paparazzi away or I’m certain he’d find something better to do than hang out with me,” she said firmly, but judging by the high color in her cheeks, she was trying to convince herself.
“If you say so,” Mattie said lightly.
“I know so,” Laura Lee insisted, and then took a step back. “Okay, sweet pea, get yourself over there and enjoy your evening. Time’s a-wastin’. I’ll walk out to your truck with you.”
“I was gonna walk.”
“And get all wilted? Not on your life,” Laura Lee insisted.
“I guess you’re right. It just seems silly to drive such a short way, but I will take your advice.”
“Good girl,” Laura Lee said, and followed her out the door.
“Say hi to Mama for me. Tell her I’ll call her tomorrow after the breakfast rush.”
“Will do,” Laura Lee said, and gave her a wave.
As Mattie drove away she could see Laura Lee standing in the gravel driveway, watching her progress. It occurred to Mattie that Laura Lee would have made such a wonderful mother, and it was such a shame that her jerk of an ex-husband didn’t know what a gem he’d had and tossed it all away. Laura Lee never complained, but Mattie could see the sadness lurking in her friend’s eyes every so often. Mattie hoped and prayed that someone in this town would have the sense to take notice and sweep Laura Lee Carter right off her feet. If Shane McCray were the one it would be such a sweet fairy-tale ending.
A couple of minutes later Mattie arrived at Garret’s cabin and parked her blue Ford Ranger next to his fancy little sports car. She wondered if he knew that the shiny silver car wouldn’t do all that well in the winter. They tended to get more ice than snow, but it could get pretty nasty on occasion. She decided she needed to alert him to the fact. Random thoughts, but her mind always started racing when she was nervous. And she’d probably talk his ear off if she wasn’t careful. And just how did she go about asking for her underwear?
“God,” Mattie whispered when she finally mustered up the nerve to actually grab her purse, open the door, and step out of her truck. “This just might be an epic fail.” She swallowed hard, trying to calm the butterflies that felt like the size of bats in her stomach. When she opened her mouth, would one fly out? That would be a deal killer, she thought with a nervous giggle.
After one step toward the front porch she stopped to smooth her skirt. Mattie took one more step and then reached up and checked the status of her French twist. Was she trying too hard? No! The French twist was an assignment of sorts just like the dress. She shook her head, thinking at this rate she’d get to the front door by morning.
Okay, she’d made it. Raising her fist, Mattie rapped lightly on the door and for a crazy second considered running away before Garret had the chance to answer like the knicker-knock prank she and her friends did as children. The thought made Mattie laugh, dissolving some of the anxiety of standing on the doorstep of a man she shouldn’t fall in love with because it would cause nothing but heartache. And yet she didn’t think her life would be complete unless she kissed him . . . just one time.
Laughter still lingered on her lips when Garret opened the door. “Care to share the joke?”
The joke is on me, Mattie thought, but said, “Sure, but you have to invite me in first.” She expected him to step aside for her to enter, but he simply stood there blinking at her. “Garret?”
He seemed to snap out of it. “Oh, right . . . come on in, Mattie.”
Mattie entered the cabin, brushing past him so closely that she could feel the warmth of his body. Whatever that aftershave he was wearing was, it made her want to sigh. Probably something that cost a million dollars an ounce. The dam
n stuff should be outlawed. Her bare arm grazed the soft cotton of his shirt, causing a tingle that awoke the butterflies from their brief slumber. When she put a hand to her stomach Garret looked at her with concern.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m nervous,” Mattie admitted.
“About what?”
Mattie hesitated for a second while all the things she was jittery about ticked through her brain. “About asking you for my underwear,” Mattie finally replied, and he burst out laughing. When in doubt choose humor, she thought with a grin.
“And what if I want to keep them?” he shot back.
“I dunno. What do I get in return?”
“What do you want in return?” The low, teasing tone of Garret’s voice slid down Mattie’s spine like a pat of butter on her griddle, and when he took a step closer she almost asked for the long-awaited kiss. Wait. Was he flirting? Or just playing the teacher?
“A glass of wine will do for now.”
“I have bourbon,” he offered, and it pleased Mattie that he must have bought it just for her. “Woodford Reserve, in fact.”
“Nice, but tonight I’m going to be a lady.” She did a little spin in her dress, making the skirt billow slightly before coming back to caress her legs.
“I do believe that ladies drink bourbon.”
“I know that Southern ladies do.”
“Well, then, it’s your choice. I do have a nice merlot that’ll go well with the shepherd’s pie I have keeping warm in the oven.”
“How about starting with bourbon on the rocks and then have the wine with dinner?”
“Brilliant. Would you like to go outside in the fresh air? It’s shaded back there now. Dinner will keep for a bit if that’s okay.”
“Sitting outside would be delightful,” Mattie replied in her best ladylike tone. She gave him a serene smile, thinking that this was easier than she thought. “Oh, and when I had lunch with Laura Lee we ran into Shane McCray and he wanted to know if you wanted to have dinner at his house sometime soon.”
Garret looked a bit surprised but then nodded. “That sounds quite nice.”
“You don’t have to pick me up or anything,” she added, not wanting him to think that she thought of this as a date.
“No, I’d rather pick you up, Mattie, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure. Just check your schedule and let me know when you’re free.” She tried so hard to sound casual, but it pleased her to no end that he wanted to pick her up like a real date.
“I will. Perfect. Now let’s get your drink.”
Yes! She could use some liquid courage. Mattie followed Garret into the kitchen and watched him fuss around getting her glass and filling it with ice. He added a generous pour of bourbon and handed the glass to her.
“Good stuff, this Kentucky bourbon of yours.” He filled his empty glass and raised it in a salute before tapping his rim to hers. “Cheers!”
“I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” Mattie said, and then took a sip. “Smooth, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“It makes me cringe when people add a mixer to something this special.”
“I’ll keep that rule in mind and I must agree. Good whiskey should be savored. Now tell me more.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Does bourbon have to be distilled in Kentucky?”
“Okay, well, Kentucky makes over ninety-five percent of the world’s bourbon, but by law bourbon doesn’t have to be distilled in Kentucky.” She gave him a sideways look and tapped her chest. “But I for one won’t buy bourbon that isn’t distilled here.”
“Ah, loyal. I like that about you.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you know a lot about it, then?”
“I do.” Mattie grinned. “I’ve been on the bourbon trail. I went with Mason and Danny a few times.”
“Sounds like a fun trail to be on. Is it like a pub crawl?”
“No, silly boy. The bourbon trail is a bunch of bourbon distilleries, eight, I think, that got together and created a tourist trail where you can visit each one and learn how fine bourbon is crafted. You get a passport and get a stamp for each one you visit. If you hit them all you get a T-shirt in the end.”
“Did you fill your passport?”
“I did indeed.” She pointed to the bottle sitting on the counter. “Woodford Reserve is on the trail. So, what else do you want to know?”
“What’s the difference between bourbon and any other whiskey?”
“Well, since you asked . . . there are strict rules that must be followed to be called bourbon.”
He looked at his glass with interest. “Carry on.”
“Bourbon got its name in the seventeen hundreds when the whiskey was shipped down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers all the way to New Orleans from Bourbon County. At the time Kentucky was still part of West Virginia. Because it was shipped in white oak barrels with Bourbon County stamped on them, the whiskey became known as Bourbon, although some would argue that the name came from Bourbon Street in New Orleans.” She rolled her eyes.
“Ah, I take it you don’t like that version.”
“I like to keep it in Kentucky.”
“Fair enough.” Garret gave her a nod. “Tell me more.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Did you forget that I enjoy trivia?”
Mattie grinned. “I like trivia too, so this could go on forever. Take me to a museum and I read everything, even stuff I’m not interested in. Well, I take that back. I’m interested in pretty much everything.”
“Ah, Mattie, the long-suppressed nerd in me is swimming to the surface. I am the same way. I read anything that’s put in front of me, even cereal boxes. And now romance novels,” he added with a grin. “So please, carry on.”
“All right, then, since you really want to know.”
“I do,” he said, and gave her a smile that made her forget what she was saying. “I thought I loved scotch, but you just might have converted me to bourbon. I love the color.”
Ah, color, she thought as her brain came to her rescue. “Well, the long trip down the river aged the whiskey, giving it the mellow flavor and pretty amber color. Although bourbon doesn’t have to be made in Kentucky, to be recognized as true bourbon it must be made in the United States. Back in the nineteen hundreds Congress declared bourbon as America’s native spirit.” She grinned. “Are you sorry you asked now?”
“Not in the least. In fact, you might get weary of answering my questions. Plus, I enjoy listening to your sweet Southern drawl.”
Mattie felt a blush warm her cheeks.
“So, what makes bourbon so special if it is made in Kentucky?” Garret took a sip of his drink. “And this is special.” He tilted his head and gazed at her with interest.
Mattie cleared her throat. “Well, the limestone water for one thing. Limestone naturally filters out nasty-tasting minerals, especially iron.”
“Interesting. And then what?” He scooted a little bit closer, making it hard for Mattie to concentrate on the subject. The heady scent of bourbon mingled with his spicy aftershave, and her thinking power came to an abrupt halt.
“Um . . .” She searched her brain and then took another sip to hide her confusion. “Well . . . oh yeah, grains, mostly corn with rye, wheat, and malted barley, are ground into a mash and cooked with limestone water. After the fermentation process the liquid is actually a beer until it’s condensed into the white dog.”
“White dog, huh?”
“Yeah . . . it’s the clear liquid right off the still.” Was it her imagination or was he staring at her mouth? Wait. She was staring at his mouth. She shook her head, trying to focus.
“And then?” Her gaze locked with his, and time seemed to stand still.
“Oh . . . and . . . then . . .” A
nd then I kiss you. “It’s aged in, um, charred American white oak barrels, only one time and nothing else is allowed to be added.”
Garret raised his glass and looked at the amber liquid. “Ah, I love the purity.”
“I think it has to be aged for at least two years. Longer gives it a darker flavor.” She arched one eyebrow. “And a bigger price tag.”
“Thank you, Mattie. Now I will appreciate bourbon even more.”
When he turned around to refresh the drinks, she got to admire his very nice butt. “Oh my gosh, you’re wearing Wranglers!”
“I’m just a good ol’ bourbon-drinking boy,” he sang, making her laugh.
“Not hardly, but you’re getting there.”
“A work in progress, then.” Garret turned around and pressed the glass into her hand. “You’re not the only one taking notes. I had to wash them twice, though, before wearing them. They were stiff as a board.”
Mattie laughed and then took a sip of her drink.
“So, what do you think of my shirt?” He pointed to the Western-cut short-sleeved shirt that showed off his biceps. The thought went through her head that the mother-of-pearl snaps would pop open easily. When she failed to answer he frowned. “Not good? I knew I should have waited for you to go shopping with me.”
“Oh!” She clutched the glass harder. “No, I think light blue plaid is a good color for you. All you need is some cowboy boots and you’ll be good to go.”
He looked down at his loafers. “Then we should take a road trip to Nashville to go shopping. I need to head there soon to do some talent scouting anyway.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Are you free in a couple of weeks on a Sunday perhaps?”
Mattie wondered if he meant sometime in the distant future or was simply making polite conversation.
“I know that your restaurant isn’t open on Sundays,” he explained, “but if you’re busy or like to relax . . .”
“No, Sundays work for me.”
“Then it’s a date,” Garret said, and although Mattie knew he meant the term date loosely, she still got a little thrill hearing him say it.
“Shall we?” he asked, and nodded toward the back deck.
