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He models the technique and I follow suit, taking a small sip and letting the liquid roll over my tongue. It’s smooth and velvety at first, but then comes the warmth—the almost fiery burst of flavour that spreads across my palate like wildfire. I take my time, swirling it in my mouth, trying to pinpoint the layers hidden within.
“Any comments on the palate notes?” Kyle asks once everyone has swallowed or used the spittoon.
“There’s definitely spice here,” someone says from another table.
Kyle nods. “Any specific spice coming through with the finish?”
The moment it clicks, I part my lips to speak.
“Cinnamon!” Jamie blurts, stealing the word right off the tip of my tongue.
“It’s more than just cinnamon,” I say, unwilling to let him steal the spotlight again. “There’s a touch of nutmeg in there as well.”
“And if you really focus on the finish,” Jamie adds, swirling his glass like he’s some whisky aficionado on a TV documentary, “there’s clove too. It’s very subtle, though.” His eyes lock onto mine, daring me to rise to the challenge.
“Actually—” I begin but I’m cut off by Kyle clapping his hands.
“Thank you, both! Excellent observations—very thorough.” He gestures towards another table. “Let’s hear from the rest of the room now.”
Jamie smirks triumphantly, basking in the victory of having the final word. I shift my attention to the other speakers—better than looking at his smug face.
The second whisky, an eighteen-year-old single malt aged in bourbon barrels, is even more intriguing than the first. Honey and toasted almonds greet me, with vanilla and spiced orange teasing my palate. I savour the velvety warmth as it blooms through me, the finish lingering like wood smoke and dried fruit. My tongue peeks out instinctively, tasting the lingering traces.When I lower my glass, I catch Jamie’s gaze on me, specifically my lips.
Just like earlier in the car, he averts his eyes the moment he realises I’ve caught him looking.
“I’m getting raisin,” I announce to the table. “Anyone else?” I look pointedly at Johnny and Robbie.
“No, not raisin,” Jamie states with confidence. “More like dates.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I know what I’m tasting, Jamie.”
“I also got dates,” Robbie grumbles.
Jamie grins at me, entirely too pleased with himself. Honestly, what is it with this guy? One moment he’s all flirty banter, then I catch him staring at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve, and the next he’s goading me. It’s like trying to dance a reel with someone who keeps changing the steps—I can’t keep up!
I briefly consider telling him to shove it. But instead I tip back the rest of my dram—far too quickly, as it turns out. The whisky rushes down my throat with a fiery kick, and I have to swallow hard to smother a cough.
“You all right there, Maisie?” Johnny asks, concern evident in his voice.
Jamie pours me a glass of water. “Careful, Maisie. If you’re this flustered after two drams, I dread to think what you’ll be like after six.”
I glare at him and take a sip of the water. Across the table, I swear I see a flicker of amusement cross Robbie’s usually impassive face.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Jamie. I can handle a dram—or ten—better than most men in this room.”
Jamie can’t hold back a grin. He really is having the time of his life at my expense.
I force myself to take a steadying breath, reminding myself why I’m here. This isn’t about playful sparring—it’s about business.
As dram number three—a twenty-year-old aged in rum casks—is being poured, I seize the opportunity to steer the conversation back on track. “So,” I begin lightly, “any special events happening at the Bannock Hotel over the summer?”
He shrugs. “The same as every year. The tourists will keep us busy.”
Johnny nods. “Aye, no rest for the wicked, eh? Especially with the Highlands being such a hot spot in the summer. And we’re set to have a good one this year.”
No, I wasn’t after general chitchat—I was trying to tease out Jamie’s plans for the snug. But honestly? It’s like pulling teeth.
The evening rolls on, and by the time dram number four makes its way into my glass, a pleasant languid sensation is unfurling through me. I lift the glass, swirling it gently before inhaling the aroma. It’s rich and complex with layers that tease at familiarity but refuse to be pinned down. After another few seconds it hits me.
