Page 29 of Bourbon Girl: part 5 of 6
But was there? The venom in Dylan's voice, the disgust on his face—that wasn't confusion. That was genuine loathing. He thought I was a con artist, a gold-digger, someone trying to destroy his family for personal gain.
"The tour group will be done soon," Jett said quietly. "You want to sit in the bus?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice. He walked me to the bus steps, his presence solid and grounding. I climbed aboard and sank into a seat, finally letting the tears fall.
November 27, Thursday
vanillinssweet, vanilla-like compounds extracted from the oak during aging
THE ONEYcamper smelled of turkey and corn pudding. Tracy had insisted I join them for Thanksgiving dinner the moment she'd learned I had nowhere else to go, and now I sat squeezed around their tiny table with Tracy, Lou, Poppy, and Clinton, feeling both grateful and slightly out of place.
"Pass the sweet potato casserole," Clinton requested, already on his second helping of everything. "Tracy, you outdid yourself this year."
Tracy waved him off, but her pleasure was obvious. "Bernadette, have some more green beans. You need to build your strength back up after that horrible poisoning."
I accepted another spoonful, touched by her mothering. The Oneys had welcomed me without hesitation, treating me like family despite knowing me only a few months.
We talked about everything and nothing—bourbon industry gossip, Clinton's latest dating disaster, Poppy's plans to redecorate the campground office. Normal conversation, the kind families have over holiday meals. For a few hours, I could pretend I belonged somewhere.
But after the meal ended and the dishes were cleared, I made my excuses. "You all should have some family time. I'll head back to my van."
"You don't have to leave," Tracy protested.
"I know. But I want to. Thank you for everything—this was wonderful."
Poppy hugged me tightly. "You're always welcome here."
I walked back to my van as dusk settled over the campground, carrying a care package of leftovers Tracy hadforced into my hands. The picnic table beside my van beckoned, and I settled there with the book I'd been trying to finish for weeks. Wrapped in a blanket, the November air was cold but bearable, and the solitude felt necessary after the warmth of company.
I'd read maybe three pages when footsteps approached across the gravel.
"Thought I might find you out here."
Jett appeared carrying two plates, each holding a generous slice of pecan pie. He set one in front of me without asking permission, then settled onto the opposite bench.
"Your family kicked you out already?" I asked, managing a small smile.
"Yeah. Brought you dessert." He gestured to the pie. "I'm sorry about Keith Banyon. You could've joined us," he said gently. "My grandmother would've loved meeting you."
"I appreciate that. Really. But I didn't want to intrude on your family time." I paused, then asked what I'd been wondering. "Was Naomi there?"
"No, she's in California. Research trip for another article." He picked up his fork. "Been gone about a week."
I nodded, processing that information. Part of me felt relieved—sharing Thanksgiving with Jett and his girlfriend would have been awkward. Another part felt guilty for the relief.
"The Oneys were good to me," I said, redirecting. "They've been good friends since I arrived. I'm lucky to have them."
"They're good people." Jett took a bite of pie. "But this is better with milk."
I laughed despite everything. "You're right." I stood and retrieved a half-gallon from my tiny fridge, along with two plastic cups. "Very fancy."
We ate companionably, the pecan pie sweet and rich, the milk cold and perfect. The campground was quiet, mostresidents either traveling or inside their warm campers. Stars began appearing in the darkening sky.
"This is nice," Jett said after a while. "Peaceful."
"Yeah." I savored another bite of pie, storing this moment away—simple and uncomplicated, just two friends sharing dessert on Thanksgiving.
I should tell him about Arizona. About leaving in January. About the acceptance letter that represented my escape from Kentucky's complications. But looking at him across the picnic table, his face relaxed in the fading light, I couldn't bring myself to shatter the peace.
