Page 64 of Grace on the Rocks

“Where else can you find a whole industry known worldwide by a common name unless it comes from one country?There’swhisky, and then there’sScotch.”

Grace tried to think of another example, but cheddar wasn’t quite the same.

“A million different ways to make it, and all of them ours.Everydrop is infused with history and culture, tradition and innovation, perseverance and love.Maybea littleCelticalchemy.”

“Wow,”Wessaid. “AndFinnbar?”

“Patron saint of the island.”

Grace nodded.Bryan’spassionate homage to his country’s national drink made her throat feel thick, and she took a long gulp of fizzy water.

“Ready for more?” he asked.

Whisky she could take or leave, but hearing him wax poetic in his low, growly burr?Moreof that, please.Allday, every day.

He poured a lowland next. “Youmentioned bourbon.ThisAuchentoshanAmericanOakwas aged in bourbon casks.”

“That’s where the sweetness comes from?”Wesasked. “IswearItaste coconut cream.”

Grace was starting to think maybe they all just tasted the same, or maybe like whatever you were hungry for, but she enjoyed listening to the game enough to play along.

“Coconut, definitely,” she agreed.

They moved on to the final selection, a ten-year-oldCampbeltowncalledSpringbank, whichBryansaid was a mix of a little of everything: bourbon casks and sherry casks, and light peat for a sweet, smoky finish.

It was pretty good, and not just because she was tipsy.

“Ohhh,Ilike this one,”Wesgushed. “Yousaved the best for last.”

“Aye?Awinner after all?”

“One hundred percent.”

“What about you?” he asked, handingGracesome more chocolate, brushing his fingers against hers once more in a way that made the heat in her stomach spread out like fireworks through her whole body.

“This one was nice.ButIthink the first was my favorite.Whichis yours?”

“Mine?” he rasped, in a tone that sounded surprised.

Grace pushed the blindfold up and blinked at him in the sudden brightness.

“Surely one of them’s your favorite?”

“Ah,” he said, relaxing a little.

After being deprived of her vision for the past little while, everything about him just seemed so much more—more vibrant, more scruffy, more handsome, more hungry.

“Impossible to choose,” he said.

“Was it your favorite from each region?”Wesasked, still blindfolded and sniffing each empty glass again in turn.

“Aye.”

“What’s your favorite region?” she asked.

“Islay.ButImay be… biased.”

Grace noticed his throat working hard to produce the word with barely a hitch.

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