Page 14 of A Little Twist
I don’t have time to engage with her. I was thirteen when I came to her house, as grown as I would ever be. I simply call out a goodbye as I continue out the door to the strains of her speech about common decency and foul language.
Luckily, I haven’t been around much this month to hear all her judgments and disapproving opinions on Britt moving in with Aiden before the wedding and “living in sin.” I have no idea what I’ll do after tomorrow.
Of course, my job hunt has been on hold as I’ve spent the bulk of this month planning the wedding. Alex said I could use his business account to order all the tables and place settings and plants and lights and everything. It’s ultimately all the property of Stone Cold anyway, and it’ll be packed up and stored on-site for the next event when we’re done.
Five minutes later, I’m driving on the narrow, two-lane highway a mile outside of town where the distillery sits on ten acres of undeveloped country. It’s a really beautiful drive, with the tall grass blowing in the sea breeze, the bright sun climbing higher in a baby-blue sky.
We’re close enough to the coast, between Kiawah Island and Hilton Head, and tourists who know anything about bourbon often make a special trip to sample the famous, Stone Cold single-barrel reserve. I’ve been impressed by how many visitors a week they get.
I’ve also been impressed by how hard Alex works. He’s either meeting with advertisers and liquor influencers, which is a thing—who knew?—or crunching numbers or checking batches or talking to suppliers or greeting guests and serving as bartender while he explains the process.
I really had no idea how much work went into making something like this successful. I always thought it was just alcohol. How hard do you have to sell it? Apparently, the answer is pretty hard if you want to be the very best on the market.
His Tesla is in his reserved spot, and my stomach tightens when I see it. As much as I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to forget the night he drove me home, touching his face, looking into his smoky hazel eyes.
It was the second time that day he’d looked at me like he wanted to devour me. The first was in Britt’s apartment when I caught him fresh out of the shower, and I couldn’t deny the blaze of desire it sent racing to my toes.
It’s going to work out for you, Cass.The slight rasp in his low voice made me want to kiss him. The unspoken invitation in his gaze made me want to straddle his lap and indulge my fantasy from earlier in the day.
Somehow, I managed to walk away. The last time I was in a similar situation with him, sixteen years ago, I didn’t walk away. He was the cutest boy in town, and I’d noticed him my first day here, standing in the Pack-n-Save, holding an Icee. It made me think living with my aunt might not be so bad after all.
He’d watched me, and I might have added a little extra swish in my step for his benefit. Then after that day at the beach, he completely turned on me. A wall came down between us, and he acted like nothing had even happened, like I hadn’t even kissed him.
Worse, he acted like we weren’t even friends.
I decided that’s what I got for giving away free kisses, and he’d be waiting a long time before he got another one, no matter how supportive he might sound.Fool me once…
Shaking these silly, childish thoughts aside, I leave the box on my passenger’s seat—it’s for tonight anyway—and hop out of my old gray Subaru Outback, Roger. Best car for the money, and also the easiest to work on, not that it ever needs it.
Alex is around here somewhere, but I head straight for the kitchen. I’ve got a cake to bake and decorate, sixty place settings to arrange, since we didn’t cut the twenty extra guests, and assembly workers to direct this afternoon setting up the stages and the lights and the sound system.
That’ll just leave the flower delivery in the morning, and we’ll be all set to roll. My breath tightens in my lungs. We’re so close. It’s going to be so beautiful, but now I have to calm down and focus on the cake.
Stepping into the huge, walk-in storage closet, I find the giant canister of cake flour I carried over earlier this week. Baking powder and baking soda up next, butter, cinnamon, dark brown sugar, cream cheese, buttermilk, and a carton of eggs.
Setting my portable Bluetooth speaker on the metal counter, I pull up my favorite Haim playlist and start dragging out the measuring cups, parchment paper, cake stand, and bowls to the opening drum beats of “The Steps.” The guitar chords ring out, and my hips start to sway along with my ponytail.
My sweater is off, and I’m up to my elbows in cake flour belting out the words to the song as I beat in the eggs. Shimmying my shoulders, I toss my ponytail as I prep the magic—my special snickerdoodle filling.
I don’t know how much time has passed. I’m singing along with Haim’s first hit “Forever,” when I feel a presence behind me. I’ve never really been mystical like Britt’s family, but it’s like I have some sort of sixth sense for him.
Glancing over my shoulder, I bite my bottom lip instinctively when I see Alex Stone leaning against the door frame watching me. He’s casual today in jeans and a dark-green Henley that hugs his broad shoulders and muscled arms, which are crossed over his defined chest. The dark scruff on his cheeks is a little thicker, and a smile lifts the corner of his sexy mouth.
Jeez Louise.I turn back quickly to what I’m doing, so I don’t blush like an idiot, managing a casual, “Hey, there!”
“She sings, she bakes…” His low voice is fire in my veins as he walks into the kitchen. “Andshe dances.”
“You were spying on me again.” My voice is calm, playful even.
“You were singing again.” He stands on the opposite side of the large, metal table where I’m combining brown sugar, flour, and cinnamon for the swirl. “Not Broadway this time, but I like it.”
“It’s impossible not to like Haim.” I give the filling a final stir, and it’s ready to be added to the batter.
“Who’s Haim?” He walks around the table separating us to the long one behind me where the six pans holding the cake batter are waiting.
“A sister group out of Los Angeles. They open for Taylor Swift sometimes on the West Coast.” He looks at me blankly, and I exhale a little laugh. “They’re amazing.”
“You’re amazing.”