Page 24 of Sipping Seduction
Pete the Dog sniffed the air and whined.
“There’s only one more setting.” I looked over at him for encouragement to take it all the way. “Here goes nothing.”
I turned the dial as far as it would go. Heat shot through my palm and smoke billowed out from the base of the rubbery cock. I dropped it to check on my hand. Damn, that hurt. It must have shorted out or had a wire loose. Satisfied I wouldn’t be scarred for life, I reached down to grab it and turn the annoying toy off. Before I could get my fingers wrapped around it, Pete the Dog beat me to it. He picked it up in his mouth and ran out of the bedroom. The smell of burning rubber and wisps of smoke trailed behind him.
“Give me that!” I chased after him, through the front room, then back down the hall. He jumped onto my bed and stood in the middle of the plaid comforter I’d had since high school, daring me to take it away from him. “You’re going to catch yourself on fire.”
I lunged and missed. The damn dog ran back toward the front room. My leg gave out halfway down the hall, and I fell forward, half in and half out of the living room. From my vantage point on the hardwood floor, I could clearly make out the front door opening.
With every ounce of my being, I prayed that it wasn’t Frannie coming back for something she forgot. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the sound of her voice.
Instead, it was my brother Miller whose voice I heard. “What the hell is going on in here?”
CHAPTER12
Frannie
Andrew wasa perfect gentleman all night long. He held my hand as we walked around the art exhibit, and his friend explained his vision behind all the pieces on display. I tried to picture Evan’s reaction to some of the sculptures. I was pretty sure he would have loved the one made from pieces of a deconstructed grand piano. The artist called it “Jamboree” and said he was inspired by the bluegrass music of Tennessee. Personally, I couldn’t make the connection since I’d never heard a piano on a bluegrass track, but I supposed that was the beauty of art. You didn’t have to understand it to be able to appreciate it.
“Are you ready to head to dinner?” Andrew asked after we’d made our way around the room and seen the entire exhibit.
“Sure.” I let him lead me back out to the car and hoped the conversation at dinner might flow a little better. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy his company. He could carry a conversation and had even made me laugh a few times. I was worried because I still hadn’t experienced the spark I needed to take things to the next level. I’d tried to convince myself we hadn’t spent enough time together, but deep down I knew the truth.
Andrew was perfect on paper. He checked all the boxes on my list. (Yes, I had an actual list.) His last name was the only thing that had given me pause, but based on Evan’s reaction and Andrew’s very loose association with the Devil’s Dance Stewarts, I wasn’t sure that was even a factor. The problem was, he didn’t make my heart sing. Any butterflies in my stomach stayed still and quiet when he came around. I didn’t think about him much while we were apart, and he definitely didn’t inspire any steamy daydreams.
Still, he wasn’t just the best option I’d seen in the past few years—he was the only option. And marriages had been built on a lot less than a strong friendship. I might have dreamed about finding the kind of love I read about between Mr. Darcy and Ms. Bennet or even Romeo and Juliet, the kind of love worth risking my life for, but the one thing all those love stories had in common was just that—they were stories.
As the hostess led us to a table with a view of the mountains in the distance, I tightened my grip on Andrew’s hand. This could work. If we both went into it with eyes wide open, we could have the kind of marriage other people dreamed about. The kind where we were true partners in every sense of the word. I imagined he’d have some requirements for the bedroom. We could work that out. It’s not like I didn’t enjoy being with a man, even if I didn’t enjoy it as much as a night spent alone with Magic Mick.
“Frannie?” Andrew’s voice pulled me out of the future I’d been planning down to the minute detail in my head.
“I’m sorry. What did you ask me?” I leaned forward, giving him my undivided attention.
“I was wondering if you prefer red or white wine tonight?” He broke eye contact to scan the narrow wine list. “They’ve got a sauvignon blanc from New Zealand that I’ve had before, or if you prefer red, there’s an interesting blend from Napa.”
“I’d be happy with either.” I smiled and moved on to open my menu. He had more knowledge about wine in his little finger than I had in my whole head. It’s not that I didn’t like wine, I just didn’t have strong feelings either way. The most I’d ever spent on a bottle of wine cost less than a ticket to the movies, and that was for Charice’s birthday.
“Let’s go with the red. It would probably pair nicely with the duck or one of the steaks they have on the menu.” Andrew closed his menu and reached across the table for my hand. “What are you in the mood for tonight?”
“Hmm. Not the duck. I’ll probably get the ribeye.” I would have been just as happy with a lettuce-wrapped burger from Pappy’s, but it was nice to be spoiled for a change.
When the server returned, Andrew ordered for both of us. I told myself it was very polite of him to handle that, but a tiny part of me didn’t care for someone else speaking on my behalf, even for something as insignificant as to how I liked my steak. He’d ordered it medium, but I’d had to step in and say I preferred it medium-rare. If he wanted to order for me, maybe he should have asked how I wanted my steak cooked first.
While we sipped on the wine he’d selected, Andrew turned the conversation toward the topic of the upcoming wedding. With a week to go, it was all anyone in town could talk about. Cole Bishop was the first in the current generation of management at the distillery to tie the knot. Andrew said he’d been in the same dorm as Cole their freshman year of college, so when Cole heard he’d moved to Beaver Bluff, he extended an invite to the wedding.
I’d been wondering how the two of them knew each other. Out of all of Evan’s brothers, Cole was the one who seemed most likely to be able to see beyond the differences in the two families. I hoped his wedding might be the first step in repairing the generations-long feud that had ripped the town apart.
“Have all of your friends gotten married and settled down?” Andrew asked. “Seems like every time I check the mail, there’s another save the date card or invitation for a wedding.”
“I know what you mean. Most of my girlfriends from college are already celebrating their five-year anniversary and have at least one or two kids.” It felt good to commiserate with someone else close to my age, though if Andrew was in the same class as Cole, that meant he was a few years older than me. “I thought couples were waiting to get married, but I don’t know anyone over the age of thirty who hasn’t tied the knot.”
“Well, now you do.” Andrew let out an uncomfortable laugh as he reached for his wine.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean…”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m in good company. My cousin Davis isn’t even seeing anyone, and I know a couple of the Bishop brothers are at least as old as I am. Cole’s twin, for one. He and Davis are co-managers, right?”
“Vaughn.” I nodded. “He and Cole might look alike, but their personalities are pretty opposite from each other.” At least that’s what everyone around town said. I had never spent much time around Vaughn, but that was probably because he hardly ever left the distillery. The man was the epitome of a workaholic. I doubted he’d ever slow down enough to even date, much less take the time away from work for a relationship.
