Page 11

slurry a thick mixture of water and ground grain at the start of the mashing process

I WAS still buzzing the next morning when Jett pulled up to the entrance of the campground. I hadn't yet located Suzy Klooz, but for the first time in months, I felt genuinely hopeful about the future.

"Someone's chipper this morning," Jett observed as I climbed aboard.

The comment irritated me more than it should have. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. Just noting the change." He shifted into gear with his usual efficiency. "Good news?"

"Something like that." I didn't owe him explanations about my personal life.

At the strip mall office, customers milled around in the morning heat, fanning themselves with tour brochures. My pulse blipped when I spotted Naomi among them, looking cool and elegant in a flowing sundress.

Marv materialized beside me, sweating more than usual in his wrinkled khakis. "Bernadette, that Japanese writer is back—the one doing the magazine article."

"I see her."

"Be extra nice to her, would you? If she mentions us in her piece, it could bring in serious business. International exposure like that..." He dabbed his forehead with a napkin from his pocket. "Could turn this whole operation around."

So as Jett and I suspected, business was on a downhill slide.

As we loaded the bus, I watched Naomi gravitate toward the front again, settling into the seat directly behind Jett. The other passengers, a mix of bourbon enthusiasts from Chicago and a young couple celebrating their anniversary, seemed eager to get to the drinking part of the tour.

"Good morning, everyone," I began once we were underway, my voice carrying more energy than usual. "Welcome to the Louisville bourbon experience. Today we're exploring four distilleries that represent the heart and soul of Kentucky's liquid gold."

I threw myself into the tour with renewed vigor, weaving stories and historical facts with theatrical flair.

The passengers responded to my energy, asking more questions and engaging with each other.

Even the shy anniversary couple opened up, sharing that they'd met at a bourbon tasting in Milwaukee.

But throughout the day, I remained acutely aware of Naomi's proximity to Jett. During stops, she lingered by the bus. At Peerless, I caught them sharing a private laugh about something while the rest of us toured the grain-to-glass operation.

Her notebook remained mostly closed, I noticed. For someone writing an in-depth article, she seemed more interested in observing our driver than documenting the business of bourbon tourism.

The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly as we made our final stop, and the humidity was equally unforgiving. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the bus's air conditioning, but my energy never flagged. I was determined to give Marv the kind of tour that would earn positive coverage.

As we headed back to the office, the tip jar was nearly full.

"Outstanding tour today," called out one of the Chicago men as passengers filed off the bus.

Naomi was among the last to leave. After the customers dispersed, I counted out Jett's half of the tips and handed it over. "Making friends?" I asked, echoing his words from earlier in the week.

He pocketed the cash and smirked. "Touché."

But Jett's acknowledgement of his attraction to Naomi couldn't dampen my spirits. Besides, if I found my father in the next few days, there wouldn't be a reason to stay with Birdwhistle Bourbon Tours.