Page 19 of Bourbon Girl, Part 3
parrot a device used to continuously measure alcohol proof as it leaves the still
THE RUMBLE of the bus engine brought unexpected relief as I spotted Jett behind the wheel, his presence a welcome antidote to the loneliness that had been gnawing at me since Marilyn's casually cruel words yesterday.
The morning air carried the crisp promise of autumn, and for the first time in days, I felt my spirits lift as I climbed aboard.
"Good morning," I said, settling into my usual seat behind him. "How's your day looking?"
"Can't complain," he replied, but something in his tone seemed carefully neutral. When I glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, his eyes avoided mine with uncharacteristic evasiveness.
"Any fun weekend plans?" I pressed, surprised by how much I hoped he might suggest another adventure like our trip to the Bigfoot Festival. The memory of that day—his easy laughter, the authentic Kentucky charm he'd shared with me—felt like medicine for my recent disappointments.
"Nothing special," he said, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "You know, just... things."
The vague response should have been my first clue, but I was too focused on my own need for companionship to read the warning signs properly.
The truth became clear when we pulled into the strip mall parking lot and I spotted Naomi Sook, looking like a supermodel, waving enthusiastically. The moment Jett opened the bus door, she bounded up the steps with the grace of a dancer, her face radiant.
"Surprise!" she called out, throwing her arms around Jett's neck before planting a kiss on his lips that lingered long enough to make my stomach clench with an emotion I didn't want to examine too closely.
Jett grinned. "I wasn't expecting you until tonight."
"I caught an earlier flight," she said, settling into the seat directly behind him with the proprietary ease of someone claiming her territory. "I missed you too much to wait."
Their reunion felt intimate and excluding. Feeling like a voyeur, I sank lower in my seat, pretending to organize my notes.
"Hello, Naomi," Teresa gushed when she boarded the bus. "Always good to see you." When Teresa reached my seat, her smile evaporated and she whispered, "Step it up today! We need to impress her!"
Three couples followed—retirees from Tennessee celebrating their book club's annual outing—chattering excitedly about their bourbon education adventure.
"Welcome to Birdwhistle Bourbon Tours," I began, my voice strained but steady. "Today we'll explore Kentucky's liquid heritage, beginning with the pioneering distillers who—"
"Projection!" Teresa hissed. "Remember what we discussed about diaphragm breathing. And I can barely see your teeth when you smile."
The day continued in much the same pattern—Teresa's constant corrections undermining my confidence.
During breaks, I watched Jett and Naomi share private conversations and casual touches that spoke of genuine intimacy, their connection evident in ways that made my own romantic complications feel shallow by comparison.
Teresa watched them, too. "Hopefully she's so taken with Jett, she'll overlook your shortcomings."
I frowned. "With all the research she's been doing, she should have enough material for a book by now."
When we returned to the tour office, Naomi remained on board, and I realized she meant to go home with Jett.
So it was just the three of us when Jett turned the bus toward the campground.
I sat in the back to give them privacy, although it was hard to miss their laughter.
When the door opened at the campground, I grabbed my bag and called goodbye as I jumped off, but they were too engrossed in each other to acknowledge my departure.
The irony wasn't lost on me—I was irritable and lonely because of my own choices. Dylan had wanted to spend time with me. Instead, I'd panicked and lied, all because I was too ashamed of my circumstances to let him see the truth.