Page 23 of Bourbon Girl: part 4 of 6
For the finishing touch, I placed a mason jar of wildflowers on each table—a simple arrangement of goldenrod, purple asters, and the last of the season's black-eyed Susans Jett had gathered from the edges of his property. The flowers added a rustic elegance that tied the whole aesthetic together.
We stood at the tent's entrance, surveying the spread we'd created. The autumn sunlight filtered through the white canvas, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. The farm stretched out behind us—a lush backdrop of rolling meadows, distant hills painted in fall colors, and the orderly rows of white hive boxes that represented Jett's life's work.
"Thank you," Jett said quietly, his voice carrying genuine gratitude. "I never could have pulled this together without your help."
"You would've figured it out," I said, but I was touched by his appreciation.
There was something in the way he looked at me then—a warmth that seemed to have nothing to do with gratitude and everything to do with something deeper. The moment stretched between us, and I felt my heart begin to race.
Then the crunch of gravel announced the arrival of the first guests, and the spell was broken.
A rental car pulled up beside the farmhouse, and my stomach dropped as I recognized the figure emerging from the driver's seat.
"Surprise!" Naomi called out, waving as she approached the tent. She wore a burgundy sweater dress that hugged her slender curves, and tall boots. "I wouldn't miss your first event, Sweetie!"
Jett's face lit up with obvious pleasure. "I can't believe you came all the way back for this."
"Are you kidding? This is exactly the kind of authentic local experience my readers want to hear about." She kissed his mouth with the casual intimacy of someone who'd earned that privilege, then looked around the tent with obvious admiration. "This setup is gorgeous. Very rustic chic."
"Bernadette helped," Jett said, as if he'd just remembered I was there.
"Hello, Naomi," I managed, forcing a smile. "Great to see you again."
But even as I said the words, I was already stepping back, making space for her natural assumption of the hostess role beside Jett. More cars were arriving—actual paying customers who had come to experience Jett's honey-tasting event—andI busied myself greeting them, checking names against the reservation list, and making myself useful in the way that kept me occupied and invisible.
As the event got underway and I watched Naomi seamlessly slide into position next to Jett, playing the role of co-host with the confidence of someone who belonged there, I felt the familiar ache of being on the outside looking in. They moved together naturally, her hand occasionally touching his arm as she laughed at something he said, both of them glowing with the satisfaction of a successful venture.
I slipped away from the tent without saying goodbye, climbing into my van with the intention of driving back to the campground. But as I sat there with the engine running, a stray honeybee landed on my hand resting on the open window.
The bee moved slowly, made lazy by the cooler October weather. Its wings caught the afternoon light as it crawled across my knuckles, and for a moment, I was too fascinated to be afraid. Then it lifted its abdomen and stung me.
"Ouch!" I jerked my hand back, watching the bee fly away while the sharp pain spread across my skin.
I frowned, rubbing the growing welt. Message received. Even Jett's bees were telling me I didn't belong here.
October 24, Friday
angel's sharethe portion of bourbon lost to evaporation during barrel aging
THE TOURbus rattled to a stop outside the strip mall office, and I could already see Teresa waiting in the parking lot, her signature clipboard clutched against her chest like armor. She wore a particularly vibrant shade of coral today that seemed to glow against the morning overcast, and there was something about her posture that suggested she'd been planning whatever fresh torment awaited me.
"Here we go," Jett muttered under his breath as he opened the bus door.
Teresa climbed aboard with theatrical flourish, her smile so bright it could have powered the entire bus. "Good morning, my dear performers! I have wonderful news—we've decided to implement another one of Bernadette's brilliant suggestions."
My stomach dropped. I'd made so many offhand comments about improving the tours that I couldn't immediately recall which particular idea she was about to weaponize against me.
"Since you mentioned making the historical lectures more engaging," Teresa continued, settling into the front seat and opening her clipboard with ceremony, "we want you to fully embrace your barmaid character. We're talking full theatrical presentation—historical brogue, maybe throw in some cockney or Irish accent here and there. Really transport our customers back to the frontier days!"
I stared at her, understanding that this was designed to humiliate me. Teresa had seized on my suggestion about costumes and twisted it into something that would make melook ridiculous in front of paying customers. The barmaid outfit was one thing—it was actually quite flattering and authentic-looking. But performing in dialect? That was pure sabotage.
"You want me to speak in character for the entire tour?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.
"Absolutely! Think of yourself as a living history lesson. Our customers will feel like they've been transported to a real 1800s saloon!" Teresa's pen was already poised above her clipboard, ready to document my inevitable failure.
I glanced back at Jett in the rearview mirror and caught his slight nod of encouragement. Whatever Teresa was plotting, I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
"Well then," I said, standing and adjusting my leather corset with deliberate theater, "if it's authenticity ye be wantin', then authenticity ye shall have."
