Page 30 of Single Malt

“You are a remarkable woman.” I reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. Before the moment became too serious, I added, “A right canny lass.” I purposefully made my accent ridiculously thick, beyond Da’s, beyond most Scots I’d ever met too. It’d always been my favorite way to make my family laugh, and laughter was always my go-to way to deflect anything before it became too somber.

Paris rolled her eyes and kissed my cheek. “One of these days, you’re going to find yourself in a situation where you can’t subvert your emotions.”

“Aye, but not right now.” I grinned as I picked up the crate, switching back to my normal voice as I asked, “Ready to go?”

Paris was a great distraction, but even she hadn’t been able to keep me from noticing Freedom watching me on and off all night. Now, as Paris and I walked toward the door, I wondered if this would be the last chance I’d have to see her.

I didn’t like that idea, but I also knew it would be best for both of us if we never saw each other again. As good as we’d been together, it was clear Freedom was the kind of woman who was either extremely simple to be with – sex and leave, one time only – or extremely complicated – a quickie in a car but no acknowledgment of even knowing each other’s first names in public.

I didn’t do complicated, and I wouldn’t be satisfied with simple, not with her.

I reminded myself of both of those things as I left. A clean break was the best for all involved. It’d be the only way we could work together on future events without it being awkward.

Well, more awkward.

As I drove Paris back to Fury’s place, she kept up a steady stream of chatter about how amazing the exhibit was and how she was going to work some of the pieces into her lectures. I enjoyed listening to her talk about the things she loved, and I was glad she was home for a while, but my mind still kept wandering back to Freedom.

I had a bad feeling that forgetting Freedom wasn’t going to be as easy as I would’ve liked.

“All right, Brody, spill it.”

I glanced at her. “What?”

“Something’s been off with you all night. I know you, Brody, and you’ve got something on your mind.” Paris gave me a hard look. “What’s going on?”

I managed a smile that wouldn’t have fooled her if it hadn’t been dark, and I wasn’t even sure she believed it as it was. “Just tired. I handled most of this myself.”

“You really need to learn to delegate.”

“Says the woman who fell asleep on the last video chat with Mom because she’d insisted on inventorying all of the site tools herself.”

Paris glared at me. “Mom’s been telling tales.”

“That she has,” I said. “You should really talk to her about that.”

My sister laughed. “I’m not that brave.”

And then she was off again, telling me about why she’d had to be the one to check the tools from that particular site.

My personal life was no longer a topic of conversation, and that was more than fine with me.

Nineteen

Freedom

I really hopedDr. Ipres didn’t have any other events like this that she wanted me to handle because they were exhausting. I’d done a little for her with the New Year’s Eve party, but that had mostly been me just checking with people in the department about whether or not they planned to attend.

This exhibit had required more attention than I’d thought it would, though, and I’d discovered that whatever path I decided that I wanted my career to take, Ididn’twant a position that would require me to do this sort of thing on a regular basis.

I also had a newfound respect for everything that my mom did for the charities she headed.

Thanks to some misinformation given to the maintenance crew by one of the student volunteers, they’d scheduled their clean-up to begin at nine o’clock this morning rather than nine o’clock last night. While I hadn’t been able to find out who, exactly, had provided the incorrect information, I suspected it had been my happy little helper, Karina.

Apparently, the email I’d sent with the times had been accidentally deleted by a maintenance worker who’d been using the computer to play some online game. That worker had then called the Cantor Arts Center and spoke to ‘someone’ who’d told them nine in the morning.

I’d asked the group of student workers who’d still been in the building after the exhibit, but no one had stepped forward. I hadn’t bothered to ask her directly, though. It wasn’t worth the discussion that would almost surely follow where Karina would claim a language misunderstanding, even though she’d never had any issues knowing morning from night when it came to any of the fun things she wanted to do.

Telling Dr. Ipres about the mix-up would most likely have reflected poorly on me as I was in charge not only of the arrangements but of Karina herself. I decided to take care of things myself and negate the need for anyone else to be involved.