“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
My eyebrows shot up. “In the morning?”
“Okay, make it ten,” he said with a chuckle. “And be ready to put that marketing genius to work.”
“You got it.”
? ? ?
At five to ten when Luke showed up the next morning, I was up, showered, and dressed. My hair was still damp, but when I saw him standing there at the foot of the stairs, holding two paper cups of hot coffee, the last thing I wanted was to spend twenty minutes blow-drying my hair and putting on makeup when Luke probably didn’t care about things like that anyway.
Besides, that was the old Charlotte, always put together and polished. And look where it had gotten me. Nowhere.
“Ready?” he asked, looking up at me from the parlor where Opal had left him.
I winked. “Give me thirty seconds.”
In the adjoining bathroom, I pulled my still-damp hair into a high messy ponytail and dabbed on some lip balm. There. I was ready.
My cell phone chimed, and I glanced down at it with a scowl. My parents. Again. Hitting a button to silence it, I stuffed it in the back pocket of my jeans. I wasn’t ready to face them or all the shit I left behind when I hightailed it out of New York.
“That was fast,” Luke said as he handed me a cup of coffee.
The surprise in his tone told me that was unexpected. I decided that I liked this new Charlotte, liked doing the opposite of what people expected.
“Cream and sugar in yours. Hope that’s all right.”
“It’s perfect.” I took a sip of the warm brew.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Luke asked as we climbed into his truck.
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the whiskey we’d downed last night, or the way he’d left me riled up and aroused.
“I slept like a baby.” At least, that much was true. I was still slightly annoyed at him for the way he’d called things off last night, but I’d never admit that to him.
A few minutes later, we turned off the main road and onto his property, rolling hills and grassy pastures dotted with massive pecan trees.
“This is me.” He pointed to a pale brick two-story house at the top of the hill. A former farmhouse, it had a wide front porch and plantation-style shutters painted a glossy black framing the windows.
“All of that just for you?”
He shook his head. “Duke and Molly and I all live there. Dad left it to us.”
My throat suddenly felt dry, and I took another sip of coffee. I recalled what Opal had said about Luke’s past.
After parking his truck beside the quintessential red barn at the far end of his property, we climbed into something Luke called a side-by-side, which to me looked like a revved-up golf cart.
We cruised around the acreage while Luke pointed things out to me—the tree house he and his brother built when they were twelve, the pond where he got caught skinny-dipping with the pastor’s daughter. It was crazy how comfortable Luke and I were together. I’d known him a mere forty-eight hours, and yet we felt like old friends.
The fresh country air and sunshine did wonders for my mood. I was happy that I’d opted not to style my hair. Hell, I was just plain happy.
“Careful now, duchess. If you smile any harder, I might go and think you’re actually enjoying yourself.”
The playful edge to his voice was addictive. After only a short couple of days, I could already feel myself falling for his charms.
A little while later, we finally stopped in front of the distillery and climbed out, stretching our legs.
“You wanna see where the magic happens?” Luke asked.
I rolled my eyes, following him toward the building that was rustic, but cute. “Why do I feel like that’s a cheesy pickup line you’ve used a thousand times to seduce a thousand girls?”
He halted in his tracks and turned to face me. “There are two things you need to know. First, this isn’t some ploy to get you into bed. I was serious about wanting your help.”
I nodded. “And the second?”
“There haven’t been a thousand women.” And then he smiled. “Maybe only nine hundred or so.”
The tinge of something darker in his gaze told me he had a story in his past that he used humor to hide, maybe something just as deep and painful as my own. But I didn’t want to think about all that just now, so I grinned back at him and followed him inside.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. It was warm and reminded me of a bread factory—humid and with a yeasty smell hanging in the air. Big wooden vats and huge copper canisters bubbled with the fermented sugars from rye and corn.
Luke pointed things out to me as we made our way through. I didn’t know anything about whiskey or bourbon, but it was cool to hear him talk about something he was passionate about. And he was clearly passionate about whiskey, or maybe he was just emotional about his family business. When he spoke about the aging and bottling process, he became animated, using his hands to talk, and watched me with a smile to make sure I was keeping up.
“This place is great, Luke. I can see why you’re so proud of it.”
“Glad you approve, duchess.”
After passing through an aging room filled with oak barrels, Luke led me to what he called his tasting room. Chocolate-brown velvet armchairs and a rustic wooden table sat in the center of the room. A bottle of whiskey with a tray of rocks glasses was waiting for us. The room was tastefully decorated in rich, masculine colors. A black-and-white photograph of a Texas longhorn hung on one wall, and the other wall was filled with windows overlooking the pastures.
“Care for a taste?” Luke motioned for me to sit as he picked up the bottle.
I’d only just finished my coffee, and now we were going to drink whiskey? “Maybe just a sip. It’s early.”
He nodded and poured a splash into each of our glasses.
I sniffed at the liquor, watching him over the rim of my glass. I’d had Wilder whiskey last night, but that was after several cocktails. “What should I be looking for? Any tips?”
He lifted his glass, inspecting it. “Deep golden color. Intense aroma. Hints of smoky caramel with a sweet maple finish.” He downed the contents in one swallow, his full lips hovering seductively on the rim of the glass. “The charred oak barrels are used only once. Each one is a tiny bit unique, and they flavor the final product.”
I took a swallow, then licked my lips. “Smooth.”
He nodded. “It’s good for sipping.”
Setting my glass down, I turned to face Luke, my interest in this place piqued. “Do you offer tastings here?”
He shook his head. “We’re not open to the public.”
“You should really consider it, play up the local angle. You need to advertise that each bottle was handmade right here. People eat that stuff up.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue some point with me, then thought better of it.