Page 5

THE BACHELORETTE party invaded our bus like a glittery tornado.

Seven women in matching hot pink tank tops emblazoned with "Bride Squad" in silver sequins, armed with mimosas in travel mugs and enough enthusiasm to power a small city.

Their ringleader was the bride-to-be, a stunning brunette named Chelsea who looked as if she'd stepped off the cover of a bridal magazine—all glossy hair, perfect teeth, and curves that made my baggy polo shirt feel like a burlap sack.

"This is going to be epic!" Chelsea shouted as she sashayed up the bus steps. When her gaze landed on Jett behind the wheel, she gave him a smile that could melt steel. "Well, hello there, handsome."

Jett nodded politely. "Morning, ladies. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding."

"Why thank you," Chelsea purred, making no move to find a seat. "I'm Chelsea. And you are?"

"Jett. I'll be your driver today."

"Lucky us." She tilted her head, studying him like he was the last piece of chocolate in the box. "Are you married, Jett?"

"I'm not," Jett replied, his tone neutral but not unfriendly.

The other women giggled and found their seats, but Chelsea remained planted in the aisle, clearly in no hurry to end this conversation.

"I'm not either—yet."

I cleared my throat loudly. "Ladies, if everyone could take a seat, we'll get this bourbon adventure started."

Chelsea finally moved, but not before trailing her fingers along the back of Jett's seat. "We'll have to continue this conversation later," she said with a wink.

As I launched into my welcome spiel, I caught Jett's reflection in the side mirror. He wasn't exactly encouraging Chelsea's flirtation, but he wasn't running away screaming either. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth whenever she called out flirty comments during my tour narration.

At Woodford Reserve, Chelsea somehow managed to position herself next to Jett during the barrel warehouse tour, laughing at everything he said and finding excuses to touch his arm.

"You know so much about this place," she gushed to Jett as we walked between towering racks of aging barrels. "Do you come here often?"

"Part of the job," he said simply. But he didn't step away when she leaned closer.

During the tasting at Wild Turkey, Chelsea insisted Jett try a sip of her bourbon flight. "Just a tiny taste," she cooed, holding the glass to his lips. "I need a man's opinion."

"Sorry, ma'am, but I'm driving, so I can't."

She pouted, then took a messy drink from her glass, leaving bourbon on her lips. Then she kissed Jett on the mouth. "There," she said. "Just a taste."

Her friends howled and cheered.

Jett licked his lips, then nodded and smiled. My cheeks burned as I watched the intimate gesture. The other women giggled and snapped photos while I stood there holding my clipboard like a shield, feeling invisible and ridiculous.

By the time we reached Four Roses, I'd developed a tension headache that pulsed behind my eyes.

Chelsea's laughter rang out constantly, musical and confident in a way mine had never been.

She was the kind of woman who commanded attention simply by existing, while I was the kind who blended into wallpaper.

On the drive back to the campground after dropping off the bride squad—who tipped generously despite barely acknowledging my existence—Jett glanced at me in the mirror.

"You're quiet tonight."

I shrugged, counting the tip money with more focus than necessary. "Long day."

"So what's your story?" he asked as we turned onto the winding road leading to Happy Trails.

"You're interested in my story?"

He gave a shrug. "Just wondering what brings a girl from Arizona to Kentucky to give bourbon tours?"

"Needed a change of scenery."

"That's it? You drove two thousand miles for scenery?"

I met his gaze in the mirror briefly, then looked away. "Sometimes people need a fresh start."

"Running from something or running to something?"

The question hit too close to home. "Does it matter?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Guess not. We all got our reasons for ending up where we do."

When he pulled into the campground, I hurried to gather my things. "See you tomorrow."

"Bernadette." His voice stopped me at the door. "You did good today. Don't let girls like the bride squad throw you off your game."

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and stepped off the bus into the gathering dusk.