Page 20 of Bourbon Girl, Part 3
spirit safe a locked compartment used to view and collect distillate without contamination
THE MORNING air carried the scent of dew-dampened grass and wood smoke from early-rising campers as I approached the tour bus, my sneakers crunching softly against the gravel path. I conjured up a smile for Jett and Naomi as I climbed aboard.
"Good morning," I offered.
"Yes it is," Naomi sang. She wore a cream-colored blouse that managed to look effortlessly elegant and her skin carried that unmistakable glow of someone who'd been thoroughly satisfied in all the ways that mattered. "Sit with us, Bernadette. I have a favor to ask you."
Her invitation felt more like a summons than a request. I settled into a seat across the aisle, close enough for conversation but far enough to maintain some emotional buffer.
"Jett was just telling me about your boyfriend," Naomi continued, her voice carrying genuine interest mixed with what sounded suspiciously like professional calculation. "Dylan Biggs from Goldenrod Distillery? His family is practically bourbon royalty."
In the rearview mirror, I caught Jett's smirk. "Don't forget to mention he's a dreamboat."
Heat crept up my neck at their casual discussion of my personal life, though I couldn't decide whether I was more embarrassed by the attention or flattered that Dylan rated as conversation-worthy.
"The Biggs family would make a perfect sidebar for my article," Naomi continued, leaning forward. "Do you think you could arrange an interview with Jessica and Boyd?"
My first instinct was to deflect, to explain that I barely knew Dylan's parents beyond polite social interactions.
But something about Naomi's eager expression, combined with the way she'd effortlessly claimed territory in both Jett's life and the front of our bus, sparked a different response entirely.
"I can't make any promises, but I'll ask."
Naomi's face brightened with genuine gratitude. "That would be amazing. Thank you so much!"
As we merged into morning traffic toward our first stop, I pulled out my phone and crafted a text to Dylan: Thinking about you today. Is the distillery busy?
His response came back within seconds: Busier than normal. Miss you. How's your day going?
The simple admission made my pulse quicken with pleasure. I typed back: Professional question: I know a reporter writing an article about the bourbon industry for a Japanese magazine. She'd love to feature Goldenrod and interview your parents. Worth asking?
Of course! Let me check with Mom and get back to you ASAP. What did you do last night? Anything fun?
I stared at the question, remembering my self-imposed evening alone in my van, reading while rain drummed against the metal roof. I could have been at a concert, a restaurant, anywhere that people with normal social lives spent their Friday nights.
Nothing fun, I replied honestly.
His response came back immediately: Good!
The single word made me smile despite myself.
A few minutes later the phone buzzed again: Mom says yes! She'd love to talk to your reporter friend. When works for her?
I showed the message to Naomi, who practically vibrated with excitement. "This is perfect," she breathed. "Tell him anytime this week would be wonderful."
As I relayed the information, I caught Jett watching me in the rearview mirror with an expression I couldn't quite read. Disapproval? Resentment? For the first time since Naomi's arrival, I felt like I held some small measure of control over the situation. Maybe it was petty, but it felt good.