Page 37 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

I nod. “Real nice.”

He grins, gaze traveling the apartment, landing on a door down the hallway. “I have some good memories here.”

I’m not often great at reading subtext, but from the heated, wistful look on his face, it’s not hard to see that he’s thinking back to a very specific kind of “good memory,” one that I’m assuming involved Kate when she lived here.

The exact door he was staring at swings open, and out walks a man, just about my height, but that’s about where our similarities end. He’s lean like a long-distance runner, clean-shaven, tidy dark blond waves, tortoiseshell glasses, in a button-up shirt whose sleeves are rolled crisply to his elbows and dress slacks.

“Jamie!” Petruchio calls. “There you are.”

The man smiles our way and offers his hand, which I’m startled to realize is damp. “Sorry,” he says. “I came straight here from the clinic. Just washed them.”

Which means Jamie came from the bathroom, where Petruchio was just gazing fondly, reminiscing. I glance at him, confused. He has fond memories of a bathroom?

“No worries,” I tell Jamie. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Jamie says.

“Jamie,” Petruchio says, “this is my good friend, Will Orsino.”

“From college days,” Jamie says, smiling warmly. “I’ve heard some good stories about that chapter. Glad to finally put a face to a name.” He drops his voice. “I’ve also heard you’re a fellow introvert.”

I’m taken aback at first, but my brain catches up a second later.Fellowintrovert, he said, which means he’s in my boat. “You heard right,” I tell him.

Jamie nods and offers a wry smile. “From one introvert to another, while I love game night, it can be a lot. I’ve found the balcony off the office is a good place to go for a bit of fresh air and quiet. Should you ever need it.”

I nod, feeling my shoulders drop a little. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one here who likes being with people but also gets overwhelmed by them. “I appreciate that, man. Thank you.”

Jamie nods. “ ’Course.”

“Need a drink?” Petruchio asks Jamie.

“I do indeed.”

“Orsino’s brought his family’s whiskey with him. A real nice bottle.”

Jamie’s eyebrows lift as he directs himself at me. “Really?”

“Really.” I nod toward the kitchen. “Opened and ready to be enjoyed. You’re a whiskey drinker?”

“Love it,” he says. “In fact, I’m going to be honest and admit I’m fanboying big-time, just been trying to play it cool so far, but now the cat’s out of the bag, I’ll level with you: when Christopher mentioned you and your family owned a distillery, I ordered an Orsino fifteen-year the next time I was at the pub just out of curiosity, and”—he slaps a hand over his heart—“I fell in love. It’s my favorite now. I’ve got every one of your whiskies in my liquor cabinet.”

I grin. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he says. “If I had known you’d be here ahead of time, I would have absolutely brought my twenty-year bottle for you to sign.”

Petruchio smiles into his drink.

This guy is a damn delight. “Well, there’s always next time. I’ll be here next weekend. Happy to do it then.”

Jamie lights up. “So soon? What’s bringing you back? You live upstate, isn’t that right?”

“I do, but I’ll be down in the city on the weekends the rest of this month.”

I tell Jamie about the work I’m taking over for Imogen, and before I know it, I’m answering his questions about our aging and distillation process, debating with him which age is best, Christopher excusing himself with a wry grin and leaving us to our conversation.

“Now, here’s a question for you,” Jamie says, nodding to mybeer. “Spending all this time with it, do you find yourself ever getting sick of whiskey?”

“Nah.” I tip my beer a little, inspecting the bottle. “I just like a cold beer in the hot summer, especially one from a local brewery, one town over from mine. I love whiskey, always will.”

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