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Brady barked out a laugh and turned to the bottles that were displayed along the wall. He grabbed a glass and the bottle of rye, placing the glass in front of me. In one fluid motion, he flipped the bottle, poured a perfect pour, and placed the rye back in its place.
I took a sip, closing my eyes and savoring the smoothness. Curiosity got the best of me. I glanced to my left and right, making sure there were no locals within earshot. “What have you heard?”
“I think the entire town knows about you kissing her in the middle of the tasting room. Though, I’ll give Odette credit. She’s been right there, smacking down the rumors of it being anything more than a kiss to anyone who mentions it.”
“She’s right. It was just a kiss.”
“What’s funny is you actually believe that shit.”
“There’s nothing to believe. It’s the reality of it.”
“If that were the case, you wouldn’t be here right now. You would be at the tasting room, flirting your ass off. Though, I’m curious why you came here and didn’t pop over to the VFW.”
Brady was one of the few people who knew I hung around with the veterans. Mostly because I gave him updates on his old man. He had cut Ron off when he was eighteen, and he had every right to do so. Back then, he wasn’t a good person. He was a downright piece of shit who physically and mentally abused Brady. But he was sober now. Volunteered at a PTSD support group—the same group that helped him once he realized drinking had only exacerbated his issues. Brady hated the man, but at random times would ask how he was.
Brady’s oversized and rugged exterior would intimidate most, maybe even scare some, but his heart was too damn big.
“I saw him the other day. He seems okay.”
Brady nodded, his jaw tight.
It was all that needed to be said. “Anyway, I didn’t feel like serving myself tonight. Would much rather you pour my drinks.” I held the glass up then took another sip.
“Or maybe you were hoping Lainey was here,” he said, and until he did, it hadn’t dawned on me how much truth was in that statement. Brady wiped down a glass and nodded toward the doors that led to the movie area.
I spun on the stool, my eyes searching for the familiar blonde hair. I couldn’t find her, though. I took it as the universe, telling me to let it rest. I faced Brady. “You have a good turnout tonight.”
“Now that word’s getting out more, I might need to put out some more chairs next week.”
“It’s a good problem to have.”
“Fucking A. Know anyone who needs a job?”
“I’m having a hard enough time getting help, I’m not sharing my sources.”
“Thanks a lot, asshole.”
“Rhone might have mentioned Sutton wanted to pick up some shifts at the tasting room. She might be down to take a few shifts here.”
He grabbed the bottle of rye and gave me another pour. “Thanks, I’ll ask her next time I see her.”
A group approached the bar, and Brady tapped the bar in front of me before walking over to them. I took my glass and moved through the people who had just swarmed the bar, making my way to the door. Jack was at a table of older females getting all the ear scratches, his tail wagging and smacking anyone who came within a two-foot radius. I was happy not to be competing with him tonight. I’d inevitably lose.
The door opened, and Steve, Vine Valley’s resident Big Foot expert, filled the doorway. I grabbed the door as he struggled with four tasting glasses.
“Thanks, man.” He nodded to my drink. “You drinking the rye?”
“I am.”
“One of my favorites. I have a bottle at home. I make my own Manhattans with it. I’m having a Big Foot meeting next Thursday. I’ll be whipping some up if you want to stop by the museum.”
“I know I’m working, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Sounds good. Spread the word. The more the merrier.”
“Will do.”
“Okay got to get back before the good part.”
