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Paisley rushes out of the brewery and we pile into my car for the short drive toRumrunner. The bar is a speakeasy complete with a hidden entrance in an alley. Tourists are required to get a password from their website but locals are admitted without one.
“Hey, Trent,” Chloe greets when he opens the speakeasy window.
He opens the door and motions us in. “Slim pickings today. Most of the local men are at theBootlegger.”
“Good,” I mutter as I pass him.
We settle into a booth in the corner near the dance floor. A band is getting ready to play on the stage. They must not be local since I don’t recognize any of the players.
A waitress arrives at our table. “Hey, Sophia. I heard you were back.”
I jump out of the booth to give her a hug. “Harper. It’s good to see you. I didn’t expect you to still be working here.”
“I own the place now.”
I feel a ping of jealousy – I was supposed to be the successful one from our high school graduating class – but I force a smile. “Congratulations. Good for you.”
“A round of moonshine shots,” Chloe orders when I sit down.
I hold up my hand. “I can’t drink. I’m driving.”
Nova pats my hand. “No worries. You can get a taxi home.”
I groan. “No, I don’t want Shepard driving me home. He’ll phone my parents to tell them I’ve been out drinking all night before I make it inside the house.”
“So?” Paisley asks. “You’re a grown woman. Who cares what your parents think?”
“I care when they interrogate me about why I came home alone or why I didn’t ask them to join us.”
“Your parents are cool. I can ring them now.” Maya picks up her phone, but I bat it away.
“No.”
I inhale a deep breath and calm my thoughts before I speak again. My friends don’t have the same type of relationship with their parents as I do. There’s a reason they spent most of their time at my house growing up. I should be thankful for my crazy parents.
“I want a night out with my best friends.”
Nova beams at me. “We missed you.”
I squeeze her arm. “I missed you, too.”
“A round of moonshine shots and some smuggler appetizers coming right up,” Harper repeats our order.
“We didn’t order appetizers,” I say.
“Trust me. You’re going to want food in your stomach.” She winks.
Guessing by how Chloe’s bouncing in her seat, she’s right.
The shots arrive and Chloe raises hers in the air. “To good friends.”
“And beer!” We chime in as we clink our glasses together.
The moonshine burns as it travels down my throat. I barely manage to hold in a cough. Moonshine on Smuggler’s Hideaway isn’t the same as the moonshine you can buy in other places. There aren’t any fancy flavors. No blackberry or apple pie to mask the alcohol.
Moonshine is moonshine the way the smugglers made it during prohibition. Except for the poison. I hope.
“Having good friends increases your life expectancy,” Paisley proclaims.
