She moved to the next set of books, which contained pictures of Dreagan from the distillery to the sheep and cattle. She knew every picture by heart since she looked at the book often enough.
There were several other sets of books, all about Dreagan in some way, shape, or form. What wasn’t in any of them? Anyone associated with Dreagan. Constantine’s name was mentioned, but there was no photograph of him. The books—all of them—focused on the whisky.
Next, Lily straightened the stickers. Dragons were apparently popular. They sold dozens of stickers every day. Then again, the Dreagan logo of the double dragons back-to-back was beautifully done. All anyone had to see were those double dragons, and they knew it was Dreagan. It was smart marketing.
Just another way Dreagan cornered the market where others failed.
Lily walked to the back to get another box, this one holding the whisky glasses that sold as well as the whisky itself. The glasses were short and wide with the double dragon logo etched into the glass. She was stocking the shelf with more of the glasses when the chime over the door dinged, letting her know someone had entered.
“Welcome to Dreagan,” Lily said over her shoulder. “I’ll be right with you.”
“Take your time.”
She froze. That voice, gravelly and a little whiny, sounded just like Dennis. She gave an inward shake of her head. Once again she was letting her past intrude upon her new life. She hated that Dennis was back in her thoughts again. Ever since her flat was broken into, she kept thinking she was seeing him everywhere.
Except she didn’t really see him, just caught a glimpse of ginger hair that turned out to belong to someone else. Or heard a laugh that made her heart clutch until she realized it wasn’t him.
It didn’t happen every day. Just when she had convinced herself it was all her imagination, she would think she saw or heard him again, and it would start a vicious cycle she feared wouldn’t break.
Last night had been the worst. She was picking up her favorite ale and a sandwich from the co-op when she heard the whistling. It was a tune she hadn’t heard before—or since—Dennis, and yet it filled the tiny store.
The ale had slipped from her fingers to shatter on the floor, soaking her boots in the alcohol, but she hadn’t noticed. Her gaze was pinned to the end of the aisle as she waited for Dennis to round the corner. Just as suddenly as the whistling began, it ended. No one turned the corner, nor did she see Dennis.
It was everything Lily could do to stay calm now. She reminded herself that she was at Dreagan, and that Dennis had no control over her anymore. She set the glass on the shelf and forced her fingers to release it. Then she turned to the customer, half expecting to see Dennis leaning on the counter with his ginger hair and cocky smile.
Instead, she found an elderly man with thick white hair and a warm smile. Lily was so relieved her knees couldn’t hold her. The man was instantly at her side helping to keep her standing.
“Are you all right?” he asked with concern in his faded gray eyes.
Lily nodded, a hand on her chest. She could feel her own heart pounding from the scare. “Yes. Thank you for your help. I guess it’s been a long day.”
“Lass, it’s more than that,” he admonished gently while walking her to the counter.
Lily was grateful for his assistance, but hoped Cassie or the others didn’t see her. She needed the job for more than just the money. The last thing she wanted was for them to think she wasn’t up to working.
“What can I get for you today?” she asked the man.
He handed her a piece of paper listing the whisky he wanted. With the fright behind her, Lily took a deep breath and let the past fade again. She began to gather the bottles of whisky while the man talked to her about his day of fly-fishing.
Thirty minutes later, she checked him out and waved while he departed the store. She shook her head with a chuckle at the stories he’d told her, which she imagined had all been made up. Still, they made her laugh and forget for a time.
Lily suddenly stilled. A prickle on the back of her neck began, her body beginning to warm at her jaw and going lower down her neck.
Rhys.
She was a mess of stuttering words and bumbling idiocy when it came to him. He had a habit of coming up silently behind her, and then talking, his rich voice sending chills racing over her. It had been weeks since she saw him. She searched for a glimpse of him every day, hoping to catch sight of him.
She spun about, a smile upon her lips, eager to hear his voice. It was rich with a hint of cynicism and a large dose of carnality. It made her envision long nights of loving, moans of pleasure, and boneless abandon.
But there was no one standing in the back hallway, no towering figure with long dark hair and aqua-ringed dark blue eyes staring at her.