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“So this is your lair?” she asks with a smile. She musthave walked here. It isn’t far, and with the truck now ruined, she has no way of getting around. The girls or I have been her chauffeur most of the week.
“What have you got there?” I ask her, my hands immediately going around her waist and pulling her closer to me. I can smell fresh cookies. My downfall.
“Well, I don’t have much to really give to people to say thanks for all the help over the last week, so I found another old cookie recipe in Marie’s things and thought I would try it this morning. You are my guinea pig. If you like them, then I will make a big batch and deliver it to everyone who has been over to see me or send me well wishes,” she says, my hand absentmindedly rubbing up and down her back.
“No one expects anything,” I tell her.
“Yeah, but it is a lot. Rochelle with the food, the girls for visiting and driving me around…” she says, sighing, obviously feeling overwhelmed with all the support she has received. I decide to take her mind off it for a while.
“Well, now that I have trapped you in my lair, come in, let me show you around,” I say, swallowing. I have never brought a woman here before. She calls it my lair, but it is certainly my space. My whole life is poured into this place. The bricks and stone I helped to lay, the design of the building I drew when I was young and just dreaming of having a business like this. I am proud of what I have built, but it showcases all of me, like opening up myself and giving her everything of me, leaving me raw. I hope she likes what she sees.
“You seem worried.” She looks up at me, concern furrowing her brow.
“I just haven’t ever brought anyone here. People come to the restaurant and for meetings obviously, but… I have never brought anyone here who really means something to me,” I tell her honestly, and my chest burns as I wait for her response.
She looks from me to my distillery and back again. “You know I like you for you, right? Not all this. Just for the man you are,” she asks me, and I balk. I never knew I needed to hear her say it. People associate me with my whiskey so much, it is almost like we have become one. But for her to point out that the Whiteman’s brand is not what she is with me for, it settles something within me, and I smile.
“Just don’t sniff too much; I don’t want the tourists to be put off,” I tease her, knowing she will probably never sample my liquor.
“Can’t promise anything,” she says, smiling, and I walk with her inside the admin building, taking the cookies from her and putting them in my office.
“So this is where all your deals are done?” she asks, glancing around. I lean against my desk and watch her take it all in. Taking a quick look at the bookcase, the photos of Connor and I that I have around the room, then she looks over the bar, the crystal decanters and glassware, along with a few shelves of bottled whiskey, the limited editions I have made over the years.
“Some of them,” I say, liking her in my space. In my world.
“I love this table.” Her hands run up and down the recycled timber of my desk, feeling the bumps and ridges.
“I made it a few years ago,” I tell her, and she looks at me, wide-eyed.
“Made it?” she asks, head tilting my way.
“Out of old whiskey barrels.”
“It is amazing. You could sell this type of thing,” she says in awe, and my chest warms with pride.
“Nah, it’s just a hobby. The whiskey keeps me busy enough.” Taking her hand, I pull her to me. She smiles, standing between my legs where I sit on the edge of my desk, my hands curving around her waist. I feel like I can finally breathe when her hands glide up my arms and circle my neck.
“Hey, baby girl,” I whisper, leaning down and kissing her slowly. It is anI have missed youkiss. Because even though I saw her every day, I still missed kissing her, touching her, and having alone time together. Now in my office in the peace of the afternoon, I’m relieved.
“Hey…” she breathes out, melting into me as I rub my nose with hers.
“Come, let me show you around,” I say, grabbing her hand, and we walk out, slowly looking around my space as I show her the office and one of the barrel rooms.
“This is how we store the whiskey during the aging process,” I tell her, spotting a tour going on down at the other end of the space, all getting the same information. “I have another seven rooms like this, the whiskey all at different aging stages and a variety of single malt or grain, depending on what I am trying.”
“I still don’t really have any idea of the difference between all the whiskeys, but I can appreciate it.”
I kiss her forehead and bury my nose in her hair,taking a breath before I pull her along again, and lead her into the main distillery.
“This is where the magic happens.”
Her eyes widen as she looks over the large shiny vats and tubes where fermentation and the distillation of the product takes place.
“Looks like a mad scientist lab,” she says with a laugh.
“It can feel a bit like it some days too.”
“So I am guessing you were a science major?” She looks up at me, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
