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fermentable sugar sugars that yeast can convert to alcohol

THE MORNING air carried the earthy scent of recent rain as I approached the bus, my sneakers squelching slightly in the damp gravel. Jett sat behind the wheel reading something on his phone, coffee steam rising from a travel mug wedged in the cup holder.

"No shadow today?" I asked as I climbed aboard, making a show of looking around the empty bus.

"Shadow?"

"Your faithful journalist. She must not have spent the night—I mean, she must not be joining us today."

Jett's jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. "She's on another assignment. But she'll be back."

"No doubt." I couldn't keep the smirk out of my voice as I settled into a seat behind him.

My mind kept circling back to my planned trip to talk to Suzy Klooz. Possibilities thrummed through me like caffeine, making it impossible to sit still.

"You're suspiciously cheerful this morning," Jett observed as we pulled away from the campground. His eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "Win the lottery or something?"

"Or something." I smiled to myself.

The tour group was already assembled outside the strip mall office—three middle-aged couples from Nashville. They filed onto the bus with the relaxed energy of people who'd started their vacation early, several clutching coffee cups and pastries from the nearby diner.

As we merged onto the interstate, Jett adjusted the mirror and caught my eye again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Living in your van at the campground—is it safe? I mean, for a woman alone?"

The unexpected concern in his voice surprised me. "I've never felt threatened. There have been some small thefts lately, but the couple who run the place seem to be on top of it.

"But you're essentially homeless."

The word hit me like a slap. My cheeks burned and my good mood evaporated. "I have a home. It just happens to have wheels."

"Come on, Bernadette. Living in a van isn't a choice, it's desperation."

I leaned closer to murmur, "Don't you dare pity me."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are. You're looking at me like I'm some tragic case that wandered in from the streets." I could feel the retirement group's attention shifting toward our conversation and lowered my voice. "This is temporary. A means to an end."

"What end?"

"That's my business."

His mouth tightened, but he relented with a nod.