Page 3 of Bourbon Girl, Part 2 of 6
yeast strain a specific genetic variety of yeast selected for flavor and performance
THE MORNING air carried the earthy promise of rain as I approached the tour bus, my sneakers squelching slightly on the dew-dampened grass.
I was already dreading another day of forced cheerfulness.
I climbed aboard and saw Naomi sitting directly behind the driver's seat, her legs elegantly crossed and her hair falling in perfect waves over one shoulder.
She wore a crisp white blouse that defied the humidity, and there was an unmistakable radiance about her—the kind of glow that came from a night well spent.
Jett kept his eyes firmly fixed on his clipboard, scribbling notes with unusual intensity. His hair was still damp from what I assumed was a recent shower.
The evidence was written all over both of them in a language I didn't want to read.
"Good morning, Bernadette!" Naomi called out with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she'd already had her coffee and possibly something else that put her in an exceptionally good mood. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Morning," I managed, settling into a seat several rows back and trying to ignore the way my stomach had twisted into an uncomfortable knot.
"I was just telling Jett how much I'm enjoying my extended stay in Kentucky," Naomi continued, turning slightly in her seat to face me.
Her skin had that enviable dewy quality that came from good genetics and expensive skincare.
"How are you acclimating? It must be quite an adjustment from Arizona. "
"It's been great," I said, grateful for a neutral topic. "The landscape is so different—all this green, and the way the morning mist hangs over the hills. It's like living in a postcard."
"And the people?"
"Very welcoming. There's a warmth here that I wasn't expecting." I thought of the Oneys, of Marv's awkward kindness, even of Dylan's easy charm. "Everyone's been so generous with their time and stories to help me learn my job."
Naomi nodded. "That matches what I've been finding for my article. There's definitely something special about Southern hospitality." She paused, studying me with journalist's eyes. "But how's van life? Don't you miss the creature comforts—long hot showers, central air conditioning, a real bed?"
The questions felt pointed, as if she was trying to understand what kind of person would choose such a lifestyle. I caught Jett's eyes in the rearview mirror for just a moment before he looked away.
"I look at it as an adventure," I said carefully. "There's something freeing about carrying everything you need with you. And the campground has good facilities—hot showers, Wi-Fi, a real sense of community among the other campers."
"What does your family think about it?" Naomi pressed, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. "Are they worried about you living on the road like this?"
The question hit like a punch to the solar plexus. I felt heat rise in my cheeks as I scrambled for an answer that wouldn't reveal too much. "They're... supportive of me finding my own path."
It wasn't technically a lie, since there was no family to have opinions one way or another.
"Oh, I love your necklace," Naomi said suddenly, her attention shifting to the pendant resting against my collarbone. "Is that a photograph? How unique."
My hand moved instinctively to cover the silver oval, but it was too late. "Yes, it's... it's my mother."
"She's lovely. Recent photo?"
"No, this was taken before I was born." The words felt thick in my throat. "She passed away recently."
The bus went quiet except for the rumble of the engine. I could see Jett's hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel, and when I glanced up, his eyes met mine in the rearview mirror with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"I'm so sorry," Naomi said softly, her voice losing some of its bright journalist edge. "That must be incredibly difficult."
"I think camping sounds fun," Jett spoke up suddenly, his voice carrying a wistful note that seemed to come from nowhere. "Some of my best childhood memories are camping trips with my brothers. Building fires, sleeping under the stars, waking up to the sound of birds instead of alarm clocks."
I realized he was changing the subject, steering us away from the minefield of my grief, and I felt a stab of gratitude.
"I should do it again sometime," he continued, adjusting the rearview mirror. "Get back to basics."
Naomi laughed, the sound bright and musical in the confined space of the bus. "Well, if you're planning any camping adventures, don't expect me to tag along."
Instead of responding, Jett turned to greet a customer as they climbed aboard. I did the same, then stared out the window at dark clouds gathering on the horizon, wondering if the approaching storm would match the one I felt brewing inside my chest.