Page 22 of Just the Tipsy
I snort, snapping a photo of Reese falling asleep in Waylon’s pocket.
“He sounds sassy,” I say.
“He’s most orange cat stereotypes in one cat. Both bold and not super bright.” He scoops up an orange kitten and rests him on the ground between us. “He’s great. All these cats are great.”
He scratches Reese on the top of her head while petting the orange kitten, a soft smile on his face.
I should have realized that seeing him in his element, with cute kittens, would do something to me. But it’s doinga lotto me. His size in contrast with how gentle he is, the way the kittens are so drawn to him…it’s almost too much to handle and honestly? Pretty damn rude for him to be this good-looking.
“Here’s their mom, who’ll be up for adoption once the kittens are weaned,” he says, gesturing to the mom cat, who’s laid out, purring inside the pen. “She’s about three years old and super sweet. Her foster mom says that she loves to take naps on your lap or in a sunbeam.”
“Momma cat?” Mrs. Stryker comes in, wearing jeans and a blue blouse, the same shade as the Stryker Liquor logo. The whole outfit looks incredibly expensive, even though the pieces are casual. “What perfect timing. Hi, hun.”
“Hey,” Waylon says, gently plucking the kittens off himself. Some complain, but others toddle back over to their mother.
Mrs. Stryker hugs Waylon and kisses him on the cheek first, before she moves onto Rose, then me.
“Hello there,” she says to me with a smile, studying me with her hands on my shoulders. I try to keep a reasonable amount of eye contact, but I’m not sure if I do a decent job. “So, what do you need me to say?”
“We wanted to get a little footage of you talking about the plans for the shelter and asking for help fundraising,” Rose says. “Bianca’s manning the camera.”
“Okay.” She looks around and gestures toward a seat. “I’ll get set up here.”
“Let me get the lighting right.” I grab the ring light and start to move it around, adjusting it until she’s in the best possible light.
“Thank you. I swear, everyone else has made me look as washed out as possible.” She crosses one leg over the other, then sits up a bit straighter and adjusts her hair.
“Can you give us a brief bit on the shelter and its goals?” Rose asks. “And how Stryker Liquors is involved?”
“Of course. You can hit record whenever.” Delia looks at the camera and fluffs her hair again. I give her a signal to go ahead. “Stryker Liquors has always been involved in helping animals in need. We already donate a percentage of the profits from the sales of Big Bubba Bourbon to our local animal fostering network, and now we’re putting those funds toward the Jepsen Animal Shelter. If you’d like to donate to the shelter, which will open in a few months, please visit the link in our bio. Or, visit our booth at the upcoming Jepsen Festival.”
She has the smooth, practiced composure of someone who’s done a lot of this before. I’m not surprised. Everything about her seems perfect and composed, like she’s never had a slip-up in her life.
Rose nods. “That was perfect.”
“One take.” Delia smiles. “Now what’s next?”
Rose looks over her notes. “Can you discuss the Stryker family’s involvement in local animal welfare?”
“I’d be happy to.” She looks over at Waylon. “Waylon, come talk about it with me.”
“I’m not great on camera,” he says, even though that’s a complete lie. “You’re great at it. We’ll be done faster if it’s just you.”
Delia sighs. “Eventually you’ll be the face of this shelter, sweetheart. People should get used to seeing you.”
“I got great footage of him and the kittens,” I say, looking between Waylon and his mother. He’s clearly not thrilled at the idea of being on camera anymore. If he doesn’t have to be, he shouldn’t be. “We’ll definitely post that.”
“Still.” Delia gets another stool and pats it. “Sit down, Waylon. Just a little short interview.”
They stare each other down, something silent passing between them that I can’t fully decipher. Whatever it is, it’s an old conflict that goes beyond just Delia asking him to participate in an interview.
Waylon sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Fine, we can make it fast.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Delia pats his leg. “You can start, hun.”
“Alright.” Waylon waits until I give him the signal that I’m recording. “Our family has always loved animals, especially dogs. Big Bubba Bourbon was named after a chocolate lab our family had when I was a kid.”
“And we’ve had a few Big Bubbas take up the mantle since,” Mrs. Stryker adds.
