Page 34 of Pour Decisions
“You’ll drink it, and you’ll like it,” he said, his voice vibrating through my entire body thanks to his proximity. “Or you can leave.”
“You can’t make me.”
“I own this building, you little shit,” Owen snarled. “That’s the least of the things I can make you do.”
Fuck, this was going to be a long meal.
“Blech,” Brie said from down the table as she sipped her glass of cab. “Too dry.”
“Excuse you, young lady,” my father said. “I worked very hard to perfect that blend.”
“Should’ve tried harder,” she said under her breath, but Dad still heard her.
“Watch it, Brie,” he said. “Take one more shot at my prized possession and I’ll take your bakery away.”
Brie gasped theatrically, knowing both that the Cabernet recipe was far from his most prized possession and that he didn’t have the power to take away the bakery—that residedwith Amara.
“You can’t do that, Daddy,” she said cheekily, sticking her tongue out, “and you know it.”
“I can damn sure try.”
“You do, old man,” Brie started, “and you’ll never taste my baklava again.”
My dad slammed his fist into his chest as though he’d been fatally wounded. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Brie tipped her nose in the air. “Fuck around and find out.”
“Brie!” Mom scolded as the rest of the table broke into a fit of laughter.
God, I loved these people—except Alfie. Even on the bad days when I wasn’t entirely sure where I fit in the grand scheme of things, I knew I belongedhere. Knew how much they all loved and rooted for me. Understood in a bone-deep way how much our parents had given us with this life and this family. In my sisters, they’d given me everything.
My laughter cut off abruptly as Owen’s hand closed around my knee, and my gaze flew to his. The look on his face—joy edged with pain. My nerves were alight, practically singing under his touch, but I only cared about him.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just…missing my own family.”
My heart melted into my stomach, and I placed my hand atop his, squeezing. “You can have mine whenever you want.”
His face softened, the tightness around his eyes smoothing away. “I’ll be taking you up on that.”
“I hope you do.”
I said a lot more in those four words than I’d ever intended, and I waited for fear to paralyze my body.
Only, it never came. A sense of rightness settled on my bones at the thought of sharing these people with him, of welcoming him into the family.
“Just one condition, Whiskey,” he said, lips twisting into the hint of a smirk, his ocean eyes twinkling.
“What’s that?”
“Get rid of Alfie.”
I tipped my head back and laughed.
Dinner was delicious, as I expected, though I seemed to spend more time on my phone than I did enjoying each new course. Truly, though, none of it felt like work. I loved content creation, and I was damn good at it. It was immensely satisfying to have someone like Owen, who didn’t owe me anything outside of our partnership and didn’t really take anything regarding social media marketing seriously, to recognize that about me. At first, it felt like he was only throwing me a bone, and I wanted to argue with him that he was doing fine on his own. But after he’d given me access to the social accounts—he’d been the one managing them himself for years, with sporadic help from random employees—I understood there was definitely room for improvement. So I was making it my mission to take things to the next level. Owen and I could become a dynamic duo, taking the Traverse City nightlife and restaurant scene by storm. Him, with the face and the name, and me with the marketing chops.
In the month since we’d started working together, I’d cometo enjoy my time with him. More than I cared to admit, which was dangerous. Something buzzed in the air between us whenever he was within my orbit—or maybe that was simply wishful thinking. Maybe I was assigning more meaning to his general friendliness and bone deep desire to take care of those around him.
