I knew the look. I was old enough. When a girl blushes and smiles like that, she may have more on her mind than friendship. I wanted to go with that conclusion.
When I realized what was likely happening, I began referring to Melody as adorable. That’s when I felt the first flutter in my chest, one I hadn’t experienced before. It was pure excitement. However, the frustration was heavy while trying to understand why Melody wouldn’t speak to me. Still, I respected her feelings because I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
At the time, I didn’t realize how long her discomfort would last, but the silence went on for years. Sometimes, Melody’s sister, Journey, would tease her right in front of me, confirming my assumption of how Melody felt, but I did what I could to ignore them, hoping to spare Melody the embarrassment. I figured when or if she was ready to talk again, she would.
The timing for us was everything, and the minutes were running out.
I was moving along through my senior year of high school. Everyone was discussing college and plans. I endured daily conversations about what school I would head to in the fall. I always had to change the subject and find reasons to walk away.
My classmates assumed I was smart because I paid attention in class, handed in all the homework on time, and prepared for tests, but my grades were terrible. I was lucky to pass my classes, and my SAT scores were so bad they weren’t worth submitting to any college or university. I knew I wouldn’t be accepted anywhere other than a community college, and that was if I was lucky. I was more deflated than I had ever felt in my life, especially after enduring the daily breaking news reports about the acceptance packages my friends were receiving.
The thought of my future was grim. My parents felt terrible, knowing how hard I had worked. They told me I could retake the SAT’s and keep trying, even if it took an extra year. Their words did not motivate me. Instead, I gave up, even though I wasn’t sure at the time what that meant, but it was the only way to describe my feelings.
Somehow, the universe must have received my internal memo because, after a week of coming to terms with my status of going nowhere in life, the Marine Corps held a recruitment day in the cafeteria during lunch.
I had nothing to lose, and maybe everything to gain.
I was athletic, one of the best at any sports I took part in, and I assumed the Marines didn’t require certain scores from the SATs. My conversation with the recruiter was a hypnotizing discussion full of promises, hope, and plans for an attainable future. They sold me on the idea before I could mention a word about the military to my parents. I was already eighteen and had been for an entire month at that point and it was therefore my decision if I wanted to sign my life away to the U.S. government.
I informed my parents after the paperwork was signed.
I wouldn’t say it was the best conversation I had with them, but they appeared understanding.
The days following my decision were full of fear, and a sense of regret. Was it a rash decision? Was the military meant to be my future? Would I go to war? I didn’t know why those thoughts hadn’t entered my mind before making a life-changing decision, but there was nothing I could change.
I pushed the thoughts away, counting the months down until I would leave for boot camp, reassuring myself I made the right decision. It took me time to adjust, but I was moving past my uncertainty.
Then, everything in my life came to a screeching halt.
Melody approached me during the last bourbon party I would attend before leaving for boot camp.
The timing was not only bad; it was unquestionably wrong.
I should have seen what was to come the night I overheard Journey trying to convince Melody to taste a little bourbon. She wasn’t the underage drinking type, and I didn’t want to watch Journey persuade her to go against her morals, so I headed for the backroom to find some air and quiet. I had a few minutes to scroll through the emails on my phone, seeing nothing but spam as usual.
The feeling of shock was overwhelming when Melody flew through the back door as if pushed by someone. I’m not sure if she was looking for me, or just needed some air too, but there we were … face-to-face like we hadn’t been in years.
“Hi,” she uttered. It was the first word she had spoken to me in what felt like forever. I couldn’t remember what we had said to each other last. I just knew how much I needed to hear that word form on her lips.
“It’s so stuffy out in the shop. There are so many people tonight, and I needed some fresh air,” I said, trying to keep the conversation casual, scared to chase Melody off ... again.
She gazed at me as if she wanted me to say more, but it also seemed like she didn’t know where to start. “Yeah,” she replied.
I didn’t realize I had still been clicking the button on the side of my phone because my focus was on Melody.
“I—”
She couldn’t seem to get out whatever was on the tip of her tongue, and I was sure she was about to return to the party, so I knew I had to say something. “You okay?” I asked.
Melody’s eyes seemed fixed to the wall behind me, and she held her focus there for a long second as she dipped her hands into her back pocket. “Um—yeah—I know we haven’t spoken much over the past couple of years, but I—”
I wondered if she knew how much I missed talking to her after she walked by me so many times. Maybe she thought I didn’t notice. “You what?”
Melody’s cheeks brightened to a light shade of pink, and she closed her eyes for an elongated blink. Her lips pressed together before parting to speak. “I might have a teeny-tiny little crush on you, which is lame and stupid to say out loud, but I heard you’re leaving for boot camp soon, and I figured maybe I should say something.”
I wasn’t expecting to hear the words that came out of her mouth. I didn’t even know she knew I was leaving for boot camp. I’m sure our parents spoke, but I never knew to what extent. If I told her I felt the same way, the truth would have only hurt her, being so close to leaving for boot camp. And if I didn’t respond, I would have been the biggest jerk in the world. I didn’t know what to say, but I wish I had thought of something better than, “That’s very sweet.”
The hue of her cheeks burned into a deeper shade of red. I embarrassed her.
A hiccup shuttered through Melody’s body, interrupting our awkward conversation. For what I thought was embarrassment a moment earlier was nothing compared to the current look. She cupped her hands over her mouth, staring at me with a look of horror. “Sorry, I had a little—” she muttered through her hands.
I smiled to ease her discomfort. “Did you sneak a little bourbon?”
She smiled in return, and it was as if our long-lost friendship was back where it should have been. Maybe it was one-sided, but to me, it felt like no time had passed.
“A little; a couple of sips,” she said.
I held my hand up, pinching my fingers in front of my eye to question the amount she consumed. “I thought you were the well behaved one of Mr. Quinn’s daughters?” I asked with a chuckle.
“I am!” Melody squealed. She responded as if I questioned her integrity, but also found the statement humorous.
“Well,” I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t begun such an open-ended statement with nothing to follow. I was surely about to lose control over what would come out of my mouth. “I can’t say I haven’t noticed your beauty these last couple of years. It’s weird after growing up around each other, then seeing you in a new way.” I should have stopped after saying I noticed her.
“It’s the red hair,” she said, making it sound as if someone needed an excuse to notice her. Her hair is not what makes her stand out. She doesn’t need any kind of unique feature to be the center of attention. “It got redder as I got older, and now, I stand out like a sore thumb.”
Panic set in when I wondered what she thought I meant. “That’s not what I meant,” I tried to correct myself.
“Oh,” she said, breathless while sweepin
g her hair away from her shoulders.
I stepped toward Melody, needing her to understand that I was not taking her confession as a simple compliment. There were countless times I wished she spoke to me before that night. “It’s true, though, I’m leaving for boot camp soon.” Why did I sign those papers without a second thought? I should have just retaken the SATs and, waited a few weeks to think things through. I had so many reasons for joining and very few for trying harder to get into a college. Yet, at that moment, I had more reasons to stay in Vermont and work harder to attend college than to become someone I wasn’t cut out to be. I was acting on those regretful thoughts as I reached for Melody’s chin, sweeping my fingers toward her neck, encouraging her to gaze up at me. “If I wasn’t leaving—”
It was the dumbest thing I could have said or done to her and myself.
Before I could consider my next actions, I lunged forward until our noses touched, and I closed my eyes. The knot in my throat made me pause. My heart and mind battled with each other, and there wasn’t a winning side.
Screw it, I thought as I touched my lips to hers—the lips I needed to feel. My mind went blank as I pressed my hand against Melody’s burning cheek, and I curled my fingers behind her ear. My body was screaming demands. I needed to hold her closer, but I had already gone further than I should have. I was still leaving and shouldn’t have started a new chapter I knew I couldn’t finish.
Despite the bit of rationale running through my mind, I couldn’t part my lips from hers. It was an unbreakable magnetic force. It was something I didn’t know I needed but somehow could not resist. A drug. An instant addiction. My stomach ached, and my heart raced. I was so damn stupid.
Another one of Melody’s hiccups interrupted our kiss. Her face filled with a look of humiliation once again, but among her embarrassment and frazzled gaze, she stared longingly as if trying to analyze the thoughts behind my eyes.
“Don’t gulp the bourbon next time,” I told her, resting my hand on her shoulder, grinning for her comfort. I didn’t know how to move on from there. I’d kiss her again if it wouldn’t cause more pain down the road, but it would, for me, at least. I licked my lips, tasting the cherry-flavored lip-gloss she was wearing. “Thank you for a memorable night, Melody.”
Her eyes were full of despair. She knew it was over, just as I did. But how could something be over before it started? Rather than waiting for her to speak the first hello, I should have approached her long before that night.
It was my fault.
There couldn’t be an us.
Not then.
1
If someone told me a year ago, I would be in the state of South Carolina dressed in a suit today, I would have laughed. I would have laughed so hard I might have peed myself because I was sure there was nothing in the world that could make me come back to the Carolinas. Nothing, unless Pops asks me to do him a favor and close a vendor sale. I’m not a sales guy, but Pops doesn’t ask me for many favors, and he and Mom do a lot for me, so I couldn’t say no.
The hallway leading away from the meeting room is concrete, underground, and cold for this part of the country. I’ve seen my fair share of bourbon distilleries throughout my life, but a lot of them offer tours to enthusiasts. I’m almost positive this building doesn’t open up to the public. Their equipment is on the older side, and there’s more or less no sign of life here. Literally. I don’t have a signal on my phone. I only have one bar, but it’s enough to know I have an incoming call from Pops.
I’m sure the call won’t connect, but I answer anyway. “Hey,” I say, rechecking the signal as I walk closer to the stairwell. There isn’t even a sound on the other end. I’m not sure he can hear me. “Give me a minute, and I’ll call you right back. I’m just leaving the distillery. There’s no service down here.” I disconnect the call and find the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. During the long minute I take to get out of the cement structure, I consider what reason Pops would have for calling me while knowing I’m at his vendor meeting. This meeting could have been much longer, but luckily, they were ready to sign when I walked in the door.
As I reach my rental car, I call Pops back. “Hey kid,” he answers after the first ring.
“Everything okay?” I hear a sigh, then he clears his throat. The expressive sounds tell me something is wrong. “Is Parker okay?” I ask with immediate panic.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine, Brett,” he says, sounding frustrated.
“What’s going on then?”
I slip into the car, switching the phone from my left hand to my right so I can close the door and turn on the ignition. “It’s Harold,” Pops says.
“Harold Quinn?” I question. I just saw him two days ago when I brought him a shipment of barrels to The Barrel House.
“Yeah,” Pops continues.
“What’s wrong?”
There’s a long string of silence and my thoughts are everywhere. “Stage four cancer,” Pops utters. “It came back. He waited too long and—”
My heart thuds in my chest at the sound of Pops choking up. “Jesus.” I scratch my fingernails along the side of my cheek. The last time a doctor diagnosed Harold, I was overseas on a deployment and had no clue what was going on until I got home.
“I’m so sorry, Pops. What can I do?”
I don’t remember seeing Pops cry more than twice throughout my lifetime. One was when Grams died and the other was when Pop-Pop died. Aside from that, Pops is a man of few emotions. His end of the phone sounds muffled, but I hear heavy breaths. I’m not sure how to console him. I think I forgot how to trigger that simple human function over the last ten years. All I can do is remain quiet and listen.
“I need you to get on a flight in the morning,” Pops belts out. “I know you aren’t supposed to leave until tomorrow night, but Harold needs help in the shop and you’re the only one who knows how to run the place as good as he does.”
I’m not sure when it became second nature to run the shop or those machines, but something clicked the first time Harold showed me the ropes, and I took an appreciation for his passion of distilling bourbon.
“What about his daughters?” I can’t imagine what they’re going through right now. Plus, if they’re at the shop trying to help Harold, I’m not sure they’d appreciate me being there and stepping on their toes.
“Brett, you know neither of his daughters are versed with the mechanics of the distillery machines.” I didn’t know this because I haven’t spoken to Melody or Journey in about a decade, but I’ll take his word. “Journey is at Harold’s side, helping Marion out, but Melody has been living in South Carolina. I guess she’s heading home tomorrow too.”
Melody is living here, in South Carolina. I heard she had moved away to live with her husband or something, but I didn’t realize it was here of all places.
“How are the girls taking this?” I haven’t referred to them as “the girls” since we were kids, but it comes out naturally.
“From what Harold told me, Melody isn’t doing well, and Journey is quietly digesting everything.” I don’t feel like I ever knew them as well as I should have considering how close our dads are, but Journey was always the quiet, moody one, and Melody was like a ray of sunshine; always smiling, giggling, and walking into things. She was also shy and sensitive, unlike her sister.
They’re as opposite as Brody and I are. Although, we aren’t so different now, I guess.
“I’ll get my flight switched and I’ll be home as soon as I can tomorrow. How long do you think he has?” I realize my question is forward for the state Pops is in, but I can’t take it back now.
He pulls in a heavy breath and slowly releases the air before responding. “I don’t know, son. He doesn’t know. ‘Could be soon,’ is all he said to me.”
“I get it,” I say. “Hey, Pops. I’m sorry to bring this up, but can you make sure Parker doesn’t get wind of this?”
“Brett. Come on. You know we wouldn’t say anything. I just—I neede
d to tell you what’s going on, okay?’
“Of course.”
“All right, well, let me know what flight you get onto.”
“Will do. I’ll see tomorrow, Pops.”
“Love you, son.”
“Love you too.”
The only available flight out of Charleston is at six in the morning. Someone should inform the airlines that not everyone is capable of basic human functions at four a.m. I’m sure I looked like a drunk driver for the first two miles after leaving the hotel, but the breakdown lane bumps alerted me enough to stay in one lane until reaching the car-rental drop-off location at the airport.
After running through the terminal and somehow getting through security in record time, I somehow arrive at the gate with five minutes to spare. This is a close call. The flight attendants are already pushing two wheelchairs through the doors of the gate. I’ve been so focused on the fact that I’m almost late, I crash into a woman’s carry-on bag.
The woman jumps from the surprise jolt, clutching her hand against her chest as her long, auburn barrel curls bounce over her shoulders. How would anyone have time to make their hair look so perfect this early in the day?
“Pardon me,” I say, placing my hands up. “I didn’t think I was going to make it to the gate on time.” Because it’s a brilliant excuse for crashing into you while you’ve been standing here waiting. I sound like a moron.
“No problem. At least you made it, right?” She glances up at me for only a second; just long enough to respond to my apology. Her grass-green eyes pierce through me in the one quick instant. I know her. Why is she so familiar?
“I wasn’t expecting the miserable traffic in the city today,” I say, continuing the conversation for no reason other than hoping she looks up at me again.
The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball Page 48
