Page 18 of Bourbon Girl: part 4 of 6
As Jett pulled the bus into traffic and I launched into my opening spiel about Kentucky's bourbon heritage, I found myself stealing glances at his reflection in the mirror. The way he'd stepped in to support me, turning Teresa's humiliation into something almost charming, meant everything to me.
I shouldn't feel so happy about a simple gesture of solidarity. I shouldn't find myself looking forward to his casual teasing or feeling disappointed when he didn't notice changes in my appearance.
And I definitely shouldn't be analyzing the way his voice had harmonized with mine like we'd been singing together for years.
October 18, Saturday
rackingthe method of storing barrels on racks or rails in rickhouses
THE TOURbus rolled north toward Cincinnati, carrying a particularly boisterous group of bourbon enthusiasts. The Northern Kentucky Bourbon Festival sprawled across a series of tents and temporary stages near the Ohio River, with the Cincinnati skyline providing a dramatic backdrop. The autumn air carried the competing scents of barbecue smoke, funnel cake batter, and the oak-and-vanilla aromatics drifting from dozens of bourbon tastings.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I announced as Jett navigated the bus into the designated parking area, "welcome to one of the region's premier bourbon celebrations. You'll have three hours to explore tastings, seminars, and local vendors before we reconvene at four o'clock."
Jett caught my eye in the rearview mirror as the passengers disembarked, chattering excitedly about which distilleries to visit first. "That costume's getting a lot of attention," he said with an amused smile.
"That's the point," I replied, gathering my skirts to navigate the bus steps with dignity. "Authenticity sells the experience." But I acknowledged a little thrill at the compliment.
The festival grounds buzzed with activity. Vendors hawked everything from handcrafted copper mugs to bourbon-scented candles. A bluegrass band played on the main stage while families spread blankets on the grass, children running between the booths with sticky fingers and huge smiles.
I spotted Suzy near the funnel cake stand exactly where she'd promised to be, her silver-blonde hair catching the afternoon sunlight. She wore jeans and a Cincinnati Bengals sweatshirt, looking every inch the single professional enjoying her weekend.
"Bernadette!" she called out, then stopped short when she saw my outfit. Her expression shifted from surprise to outright delight. "Oh my God, look at you! You look like you stepped right out of a saloon!"
The barmaid costume was having its intended effect. Several festival-goers had already complimented me, and I'd fielded questions about which distillery I represented. The attention felt oddly empowering, as if the costume gave me permission to be more dramatic, more confident.
"I thought it would add atmosphere for the tourists," I explained, accepting Suzy's enthusiastic hug. "Professional authenticity."
"Well, it's working. You look fantastic." Suzy linked her arm through mine. "Come on, let's get funnel cakes and you can tell me what's been happening with your search."
We joined the line at the stand, the scent of hot oil and powdered sugar making my mouth water.
"There have been developments," I said, lowering my voice as we moved closer to the counter.
Suzy's eyes lit up with anticipation. "I'm listening."
I filled her in on meeting with Tom to tell him about my mom and my search, about his initial hesitation, then the call to meet for the DNA test.
As I talked, Suzy ordered two funnel cakes, extra powdered sugar, and we found an empty picnic table near the river.
"We should have the results in a couple of weeks," I said.
"So he definitely knew Ginger," Suzy mused, breaking off a piece of the crispy fried dough. "That's significant. And he seemed happy to remember her?"
"Very. He said they 'had good times' back in the day." I caught a falling piece of powdered sugar before it landed on my costume. I gave a little laugh. "The question is how good those times were, and whether they were good enough to result in me."
Suzy nodded thoughtfully, her gaze drifting across the festival grounds. "I've been wracking my brain since our last conversation, trying to remember more details about Ginger's 'Bourbon Man.' The timing would be right—and Tom would've been the right age."
"What else do you remember about Bourbon Man?"
"He was charming, definitely. Good-looking in that outdoorsy way some women find irresistible. And he knew bourbon—not just drinking it, but the business side. That would fit with Tom's agricultural background." She paused, studying my face. "The physical resemblance isn't strong, but then again, you look more like your mother anyway."
We strolled through the festival, weaving between booths selling bourbon-themed merchandise and local crafts. The costume continued to draw attention, and I found myself slipping into character, answering questions about bourbon history with theatrical flair that seemed to delight the tourists.
"You're really in your element," Suzy observed as we paused near a demonstration of barrel-making techniques. "And speaking of elements, your bus driver friend seems pretty taken with you."
I followed her gaze to where Jett stood near the craft beer tent, chatting with a vendor about local honey varietals. He'd changed out of his usual polo shirt into a dark blue button-down that emphasized his shoulders, and several women at nearby tables were clearly appreciating the view.
"He's cute," Suzy continued with a knowing smile. "You two make a good couple."
