Page 12 of Bourbon Girl: part 5 of 6
No choice now but to wait.
November 12, Wednesday
maturationthe chemical and physical changes that occur in bourbon during aging
THE TOURbus crunched over Goldenrod's gravel parking lot, and my stomach twisted into a knot. I'd timed this visit carefully, coordinating with Clinton Oney to meet during his lunch break while my group explored the tasting room. Anything to avoid another confrontation with Dylan.
"I'll meet you all inside," I announced to the retired teachers from Indiana, gesturing toward the entrance. "Feel free to browse the gift shop. The tasting will begin in about fifteen minutes."
They filed off the bus, chattering about the last of the autumn foliage and commenting on Goldenrod's charming architecture. I waited until they disappeared through the heavy wooden doors before descending the steps, scanning for Clinton.
He emerged from around the corner of the building, waving when he spotted me. His Angel's Envy sweater looked crisp despite the chilly November air, and his expression carried its usual mix of friendliness and subtle amusement.
"Bernadette Waters, in the flesh." He grinned as he approached. "Or should I say, in the costume?"
I glanced down at my barmaid outfit, heat creeping up my neck. "It's part of the job."
"Oh, I'm not criticizing. You wear it well." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I have to say, Poppy thinks you'd look good in anything. That girl cannot stop singing your praises."
The mention of Poppy brought an involuntary smile to my face. "I adore her."
"The feeling is mutual, trust me. She talks about you like you're her long-lost sister." Clinton gestured toward a path leading away from the distillery. "Shall we walk? I've got about twenty minutes before I need to head back."
We strolled along the gravel path, past carefully maintained landscaping that showed signs of the approaching winter. Dried seed pods hung from ornamental grasses, and the flower beds had been cut back.
"So," Clinton said, his tone becoming more serious. "You wanted to know more about Goldenrod."
I nodded, choosing my words carefully. "You mentioned before that they could be in financial trouble."
Clinton slowed his pace, hands shoved in his pockets. "What I'm about to tell you is secondhand information—bourbon industry gossip, essentially. But it comes from reliable sources."
"I understand."
"Goldenrod is on the brink of bankruptcy." He delivered the news matter-of-factly, without drama. "Has been for about six months, maybe longer. The boutique distillery market is incredibly competitive, and they made some expensive expansion decisions that didn't pan out."
My chest tightened. I thought about the elegant tasting room, the carefully restored barn, the premium branding. All of it hiding desperation underneath.
"How bad is it?"
"Bad enough that Jessica Biggs has been quietly shopping for silent investors." Clinton kept his voice low despite the privacy of our location. "She's reached out to several wealthy bourbon enthusiasts, some out-of-state venture capital firms. Trying to secure funding without having to take out more loans or mortgage their property."
Jessica Biggs, the philanthropist with her name on hospital wings was now scrambling to save the family business.
"Does anyone know?" I asked. "Outside the industry?"
"They've kept it remarkably quiet. The Biggs family is excellent at maintaining appearances." Clinton shot me a sideways glance. "Which is why Dylan's situation is so complicated. He and his sister are inheriting a sinking ship, basically. Though I'm guessing that won't affect your relationship with him?"
I exhaled slowly, watching my breath fog in the cold air. "No. There are other… obstacles."
He stopped walking, turning to face me directly. "It's none of my business what's going on between you two, but Dylan seems like a genuinely good guy caught in a difficult position."
"I appreciate that," I said quietly.
We walked back toward the distillery in companionable silence. The tour group would be finishing their tasting soon, ready to board the bus and continue to the next stop.
"Thanks for meeting with me," I said as we approached the parking lot. "And for the information about Goldenrod."
"Anytime." Clinton paused. "Bernadette? Whatever you're dealing with, I hope it works out."
