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As we walk through, I can’t help but notice her looking wide-eyed and taking it all in. She doesn’t have her phone out taking selfies, doesn’t look bored, and she eyes over everything with interest. As she looks around, I take the opportunity to drink her in. Her lips are painted soft pink, and that Cupid’s bow teases me a little. With her short stature, I’m almost a giant next to her. Then there’s her aroma. It smells vibrant, intoxicating, and I want to drown in it. When she looks back at me, I blink, having been caught staring at her, and I turn looking around the space myself, but not before I see her smile.

“So this is where you actually distill the whiskey?” she asks, looking back around at all our equipment.

“It is. Dad is our main distiller. We produce a few different varieties and products, then through here are our aging rooms.” I take her down another hallway, and I see her mouth agape as she glances around at room after room of barrels.

Her brows pinch. “You have a lot of stock?”

“We do small batches, mostly, but a lot of them. It keeps things exclusive. We want to ensure that not everyone can get their hands on a bottle of Whiteman’s.”

“You can sell it for a higher price that way too, I assume?” she asks, and I raise my eyebrows, impressed.

“Yes, we can command higher prices. But it also helps us maintain quality.”

“Do you store any barrels off-site?”

I almost hum in approval. I love the way her mind works. Who would have thought that this curvaceous hippie would have the business mind of a shark.

“We have a variety of storage facilities, both here on-site and in other places around the country.” I nod to her, not giving too much away.

“Minimizing risk? Shortening lead times and distribution channels?” she asks quickly, and I nod once again, appreciating her smart intellect and quick thoughts. Before I can get caught staring at her again, I push on.

“We have an on-site restaurant through here,” I tell her, taking her through another door, where she can see the main space. “It’s empty for the moment. Our chefs are busy preparing for the night of bookings we have… And then we have a large outdoor area. We do tastings, both inside and out, and run tours of the production rooms when we’re not distilling.” I open the large French doors and walk outside.

“It’s beautiful.” She looks around, taking it all in. “These gardens are amazing.” Walking ahead of me, she moves into the distillery gardens that I can see from my office. The sun hits her hair, the red even more vibrant in the sunlight.

“My grandparents built this. The roses have been here for years. Generations, really.”

She bends over and smells them, closing her eyes and taking in the scent.

“What do you do with all this space?” she asks as she looks over the vast amount of green lawn, the various pockets of gardens, and the small hidden-away floral oases we have.

“It’s just gardens.”

I can see her thinking, and I’m already wanting to know what’s happening inside that head of hers.

“They smell amazing. Do you have any other gardens?” Daisy asks, looking around. Our land is vast, and there’s a lot of room here.

“We have a large food garden that our chefs utilize. They have all sorts of vegetables, fruits, and herbs—”

“Herbs?” she asks, seemingly excited. “Can I take a look?”

“Sure. It’s just over here.” Stepping to the side, behind the kitchen, we walk through a little garden gate. I haven’t been back here for a while, and it’s grown in size from the last time I was here.

“Wow,” Daisy says as she tentatively walks through the garden. “You have lemongrass, chamomile, ginger…”

I watch her inquisitively. She’s in her element now, talking about herbs and plants, and I start to see her passion come through.

“We also have our own beehives for our own honey.”

She looks up at me and smiles wide, like I hung the moon, and I feel my chest push out slightly.

“Your own honey?” Her eyes sparkle in delight.

“Well, whiskey and honey do go well together,” I tell her, my voice sounding a little rough, and I swallow.

“That they do.” Again, she’s seemingly deep in thought as she walks back toward me.

“Are you into whiskey?” I ask her. I have no idea if she even drinks. Probably something I should have asked before I hired her, and now that I think about it, I’m dying to see my whiskey on her lips. Fuck, the vision is already making me ache for it.