Page 7 of Pour Decisions
Perrie is my best friend from college, who moved to Jepsen after we graduated. She’s the one who got me this job with the physical therapy clinic. To be honest, I would have called her first, but she has a four-month-old baby and she and herhusband have a small apartment. I don’t want to encroach on what little space they have either.
“Okay. I’ll send some places to you, just in case,” Mom says. “Text me if I can help.”
“Thanks. Talk to you later.”
I hang up and go inside to get some snacks for my own sanity.
After I move my car from the pump to a parking spot, I call every hotel within a somewhat reasonable distance for a room and come up without a single vacancy. I look into the few links Mom sends too. And even when I stretch my budget, there’sstillnothing. At least the last front desk person said everyone was in town for a conference over at Crescent Hill University, which makes sense.
I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth after the last spot on my list turns me down.
This is fine. I’m fine. I’ve survived worse and I can survive in my car for a night or two while I figure things out.
CHAPTER THREE
JD
I’ve livedin Jepsen all my life, but I’m still annoyed at how a simple outing in town can turn into a time suck when you run into people you know. And being a small town, you almost always run into someone you know.
If I were alone, this would be less of an issue. People who know me understand that I’m not going to stand around at chat. But my younger brother, Wes, feels the need to catch up with everyone he knows, which seems to be half of this damn café.
Maybe that’s why he made more in tips at the Copper Moon, the bar our family also owns. He got distracted sometimes, sure, but people liked his friendly, chatty nature. My bartending strategy was staying as polite and efficient as possible. People appreciated the quick service, even if I went out of my way to avoid conversation.
At least until Katrina came in on that random Tuesday afternoon. Usually the early afternoon shift was just semi-tipsy tourists coming off of the tour of the distillery. But she came in by herself and sat at the bar, flashing me a smile that struck me so stupid that I nearly dropped a glass. I couldn’t wrap my head around how anyone could be so beautiful outside a dream.
Whatever I managed to say in greeting made her laugh and wasn’t so heinously stupid that I drove her away. She kept coming back at that same awkward time until I asked her out. Everything was damn near perfect until I fucked it up.
It’s been three days since our last appointment and my nerves have been building and building ever since. I need to get it together before our appointment today.
I take a deep breath through my nose and glare at Wes across the diner to get him to hurry up. Does he really need to catch up with one of his middle school friends? We have shit to get done, and I need to get to the office.
Wes chats a bit more before he finally makes his way over. Bubba has been watching him also and finally stands up to get petted.
“Ready for a long day of work as the Stryker Liquor mascot, Bubbs?” Wes asks in a sing-song voice.
“His work as the brand ambassador, you mean,” I say.
I’m fully aware that it drives Wes crazy when I call Bubba the brand ambassador versus the mascot of Big Bubba Bourbon, a brand under our company’s umbrella. Brand ambassador suggests he actually does something to spread the word. Bubba mostly gets his picture taken for social media, gets cuddled all day, and eats snacks. Saying anything he does is “work” is absurd.
But seeing Wes’s annoyed face every time I correct him is too funny to stop—not that I laugh. It’s funny in my head, and I’m not planning on stopping any time soon.
“Sure, whatever. Brand ambassador,” Wes says, patting Bubba’s side.
“We have a lot to get through,” I say once he’s finished giving Bubba attention. “Like the possible renovation budget.”
“Not the gin company thing?” he asks, still petting Bubba.
I almost regret telling him about it. There’s an up-and-coming gin company based in Nashville called June that I happened to come across. I’m not big on gin, but I tasted theirs, and it’s stayed in my head ever since. We’re known for our moonshine and bourbon, but our master distillers aren’t as familiar with gin.
We’ve never acquired another company before, but it seems like it might be the right move. Their brand could mesh well with ours and provide more distribution for them without losing the essence of who they are. Plus, gin is faster to make, which is good for revenue.
I haven’t brought it up to Dad yet. He’s been pissy about big changes, and I don’t want to rock the boat at the moment. It’s another thing I’ll put on my agenda for after he retires.
“What about it? It’s just an idea that can wait.” I stop typing. “The bar renovation is more than an idea—it’s something that needs to be done.”
“You should tell Dad about it.” Wes shrugs and sips his coffee, wincing. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
“It’s always hot here.” I slide him the silver cup of creamer. “Dad’s not retired yet, so there’s not much of a point.”
