Bourbon summer, p.1
Bourbon Summer, page 1
BOURBON SUMMER
A Bourbon Canyon Novel
WALKER ROSE
LE Publishing
Copyright © 2024 by Walker Rose
Editing by Razor Sharp Editing
Proofreading by Fairy Proofmother Proofreading, Deaton Author Services, and Judy’s Proofreading
Cover art by Okay Creations
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.
Created with Vellum
When my former best friend invites me to her wedding—to my ex-boyfriend—I panic and blurt out that I have a plus-one. Worse, I say it’s my boss. And he hears every word.
Tenor Bailey is one of the owners of Copper Summit, the bourbon distillery where I work. Let’s just say announcing we’re “dating” isn’t the kind of thing that earns employee-of-the-year honors. But to my surprise, Tenor agrees to play along. Now we’re selling our very fake relationship to this tight-knit small town—and trying not to blur the lines in the process.
Fake dating Tenor comes with unexpected perks: home-cooked meals from his mama, picture-perfect picnics, and sleepovers—in his guest room. Except for that one time I had too much bourbon and ended up in his bed. Oops.
The more time we spend together, the more I wish this wasn’t all pretend. But Tenor’s been hurt before, and he’s convinced love isn’t in the cards for him. By the time our bourbon summer ends, I’m afraid my very real feelings will leave me with a broken heart.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Walker Rose
CHAPTER ONE
Ruby
It was Friday night, and I had a mandarin bourbon smash in front of me and a semi-crowded bar behind me. The goblet glass was pretty, filled with ice, muddled mandarin, bourbon, orange liqueur, and bitters. It looked like a hard orange creamsicle. Perfect for summer. Only I wasn’t drinking it; I was photographing it.
I swiped to a different undertone on my phone and clicked. Then clicked again. I took a few more shots. Then I put a mandarin next to the glass and went through another round of shots.
“Need a model, Ruby?” one of the regulars called from a few tables away.
I smiled over my shoulder. “I can’t afford you, Jason.” The older farmer was in his forties, but his kids were my age, in their midtwenties, and he treated me like I was one of their lifelong friends when I’d only met his girls once.
“I’d cut Copper Summit a deal.”
I laughed, but inside, I sighed. I’d been suggesting more candid photo shoots. Less-formal sessions, preferably with Baileys involved. After all, the family owned and ran Copper Summit Bourbon Distillery.
But Junie’s the face of Copper Summit was the response I’d gotten from my boss the two times I’d brought up using others for more informal social media posts.
Junie Kinkade had been the face of Copper Summit since she was old enough to legally work for a spirits company. She was also a wildly popular country singer, which helped drive sales. Her audience loved what she loved, and she loved Copper Summit bourbon.
But . . . the brand could do with a refresh. At least online.
I wrapped up my photo shoot and took the mandarin bourbon smash to Jason’s table. “On the house.”
His mouth dropped open. If there was one thing Jason loved, it was trying all the new cocktails. “Thank you, Ruby. You’re one in a million.”
No, I was not. Not at all. Just ask any of my exes. “You’re welcome.”
I went back behind the bar. Instead of using my phone to stalk the social media accounts of Copper Summit’s competitors, I used the tablet we took payments on. I looked more official and less like I was fucking around online while working. But really, I was working while working.
Outside of my day job at the distillery, I picked up a couple of evening shifts each week in the tasting room to give the illusion I had a social life. I laughed with regulars and tourists, and then I drove back to Bozeman and my empty apartment. No one had to know that if I hadn’t been working, I’d have been home in bed, scrolling through my phone or reading a book like I did the other five nights of the week.
Movement beyond the front wall-to-wall windows caught my eye. I did a double take.
No.
Not tonight. Copper Summit was my safe space. I got to have a career I loved, one that fit my wallflower lifestyle, and I got to have a social life on the nights I worked the bar.
This environment was a judgment-free zone. So why the hell was my ex-boyfriend in the parking lot, my ex–best friend in tow?
That man had judged the hell out of me.
Oh no. They were walking in.
My heart rate crept up. No, no, no.
Brock Gibson had always mocked my social media marketing position with Copper Summit. Now I was also bartending—which I loved—but no doubt he’d act like I’d hit my head on each rung on the way down the corporate ladder. His words ran through my head, as fresh as the day he’d said them.
I just want more, Ruby. I don’t want to watch the world go by, and you’re always buried in your phone. Or in a book. And when we go out, you complain. We can’t keep trying to mine a well that’s gone dry. The pitying look he’d given me when he’d said that was still crystal clear in my head. Probably because I relived that humiliating breakup conversation every day since it had happened.
I kept telling myself that at least this time he hadn’t given me the I need a break convo. Or the it’s not you, it’s me cliché he’d given me the time before that. This time, he had said it was most definitely me.
He hadn’t been the first guy to dump me for similar reasons.
They were almost to the door. When had Brock and Cara Simonson started going out? Right after our breakup? Had she been the reason for his sudden disinterest in me? Did they giggle about how unexciting I was? How predictable?
I was frozen, my gaze glued to the big picture windows that lined the exterior wall of the distillery. Brock and Cara. Cara and Brock. In my workplace. The two people who had made me feel the worst about myself. Brock opened the door for her.
Please go into the main distillery.
They wouldn’t. It was almost eight in the evening and the distillery had been closed for two hours. Only the bar was open this late on a Friday night.
Cara smiled wide at him, flinging her long, glossy blond hair over her shoulder. She mouthed thank you and blew him a kiss. My stomach churned. They looked like they were perfect for each other.
Brock entered behind Cara, a big, indulgent smile in place. He used to aim that grin my way. But when his gaze landed on me, his expression morphed into shock. Cara was laughing and pointing to an open table close to the counter when she noticed his expression. She followed his gaze right to me.
My breath stalled. I did not want to do this, but I was the employee. It was my job to greet them. “Welcome to Copper Summit,” I said woodenly, smoothing my hands over my bright-yellow skirt. I’d paired it with black, chunky shoes. The white socks went with the white dress shirt I’d tied at my waist. The sleeves were rolled up. The tag had called it a boyfriend shirt and I had bought it just for that. A boyfriend shirt for the tragically single girl.
I looked like a school kid compared to Cara and her wide-legged gray slacks and magenta blouse with a goddamn ruffle that should look ridiculous and not sophisticated.
Her smile didn’t fade. It grew broader. The gleam in her eyes turned predatory. Or was it the glow of the neon signs for Copper Summit bourbon on the wall next to her?
“Oh my god!” Her rich voice carried across the din. “Ruby Casteel? It’s been forever.”
People stopped chatting and watched us. Did they see a train wreck about to happen? Was I the stranded motorist who couldn’t move her car off the tracks while they gaped at the locomotive bearing down on her?
“How are you?” That voice. That high-pitched tone. That nasal whine. Her casual yet hurtful comments in school threatened to pour back.
Like when I’d gotten a knit sweater I loved with my own money. Ruby, that color really washes you out, but I guess with your skin tone you don’t have many options.
Or when I’d debated trying a sport. Yeah, you shouldn’t go out for volleyball. Riding the bench is just a waste of time.
Then there was the morning I’d worked for an hour on my hair to impress a boy in history class. That natural curl in your hair could be so cute.
She blinked at me, waiting for a reply. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was actually happy to see me. But I remembered how she used to smile when we met up at the playground versus when we passed in the hall in middle school.
“Cara, hi. I’m well,” I managed to squeak out. “Hi, Brock.”
She threaded her arm around my ex. “Ohmigod. Do you two know each other?”
I tilted my head and waited for his answer. No way was I telling Cara I was that man’s ex. She either knew or she was going to find out from him. I’d learned long ago that it was better to keep my mouth shut around Cara Simonson.
Brock nuzzled her hair. “Remember, I told you about her,” he murmured. He pinned me with his bright blue gaze. “Hi, Rubes.”
I hated that nickname. My dad called me Rubes and I tolerated it from him. Otherwise, it sounded too close to “Pubes” and Cara had thought that was hilarious, calling me Pubes for all of eighth grade.
Before I could correct him, Cara gasped. “That Ruby? I had no idea.” She laughed. “Small world. I never see you around, but you were always a wallflower.”
Brock nodded, and irritation sparked in my gut. I was not a— Eh, yes I was.
I had never been the life of the party. I’d have to go to a party first, and I wasn’t the fun-loving, innately sexy girl who got invited to such things. Cara was the one who loved gatherings, and she’d never extended the invitation to me.
As if to punctuate my unspoken thought, Brock wrapped an arm around Cara and tucked her into his side. He used to complain I was too short and he felt like I was sniffing his armpit. Cara was taller. They could bang foreheads for all I cared.
“I thought you worked at the Bozeman location,” Brock said.
Cara rubbed her hand across his chest. The two of them were sickly sweet, sweeter even than the huckleberry syrup I used for cocktails.
“I do. I took on some hours at the bar because it’s fun.” And so I could afford more books.
“Oh!” Cara stuffed a finger toward me. “You’re the social media girl.”
Brock had likely not been complimentary when describing my job. Had they had a good laugh at my expense?
“Yep.” It was social media management, but I wouldn’t elaborate. The only people I needed to justify my job to were the Baileys, and I respected them a hell of a lot more than these two. One Bailey in particular. His face had become the heroes in the stories I read. Especially the romances.
Especially the dirty romances.
“What can I get you two to drink?” I asked before I could blush. Wouldn’t want them thinking it was because I was embarrassed about my job.
“Isn’t this a tasting room?” Brock asked, his mouth turned down as he eyed the tables and the large windows that viewed the lobby.
“It functions as one yes, during the day. The Baileys have taken to calling it a cocktail bar so tourists know they can do more than sample in the evenings. But tasting room and bar are interchangeable for us.” I snagged a laminated sheet from under the bar and plopped it in front of them, anxious to serve them and move on. “Here’s a menu if you want some ideas.”
Cara forgot the table she’d initially been interested in and slid onto a stool. “Ruby.” Her expert pout had only gotten shinier and puffier. “It’s been forever. We used to be such good friends.”
We had been. Then her family had gotten money, moved out of the apartment building I was raised in, and Cara had found herself some friends with clothing and hairstyles that matched hers. She no longer wanted to talk books, didn’t care about Percy Jackson or Katniss, and definitely wasn’t interested in discussing film adaptations and how they never lived up to the book.
“It’s a busy night,” I lied. Everyone was taken care of, and a brief scan showed all the drinks were at least half-full. Damn. “What would you like?”
“A mojito,” she drawled. “It’s the perfect summer drink.” Her wide smile returned. “Don’t you think? This place has mojitos, right? I know it’s in the boondocks, but I’m optimistic.”
My right eye twitched. It only did that when I’d been staring at a screen for too long, which was most days, but Cara stressed me just as much. “So FYI, mojitos tend to be rum-based drinks, but I can make you a Copper Summit version with our original line of bourbon.”
She laughed, a sharp, cutting sound. “Isn’t a mojito a mojito?”
“This is a bourbon distillery,” I said.
Brock bristled, more defensive over Cara than he’d ever been for me. “She said she’d like a mojito.”
“I’m just trying to highlight the difference, so there’re no surprises.” I attempted the same megawatt smile Cara had displayed. “Predictability is a good thing in a bar.”
He flinched and looked away.
Cara’s gaze sharpened as if she sensed the dig. “I guess I can’t expect much excitement in a town as small as Bourbon Canyon.” She put her chin in her hand. “Do you live here, Rubes?”
Some days, it felt like there was more for me in this little town than where I’d been born and raised. I pinched off the longing before it could ignite. “No. I’m still in Bozeman.” I grabbed a bottle of Copper Summit Original and started on the mojito. “What can I make you to drink?” I asked Brock. The sooner I served them, the sooner they’d leave. I hoped.
“I’ll just take a bourbon. Neat.” He straightened like I was going to challenge him.
I didn’t. He hated whiskey. If he thought he could gut through a glass of plain bourbon in front of his girlfriend, who was I to argue? It was a chance to squeeze some joy out of the night.
I slid the mojito in front of Cara and poured the drink for Brock.
She took a sip and frowned. Then she shrugged and smacked her lips. I was about to scoot out from around the bar when she asked, “What have you been up to since graduation?”
Why did she want to visit? For most of high school, she’d pretended I didn’t exist. “School and then work. You?”
“Mm.” She sucked more of the drink down. “Same. I’m working for my parents’ real estate company now.”
A thread of envy wound around my heart. Cara had walked into her family’s company. And Brock probably still worked as a project manager for his dad’s construction company.
My mom had toiled away at three jobs trying to keep us afloat while I’d been growing up. Now, she worked as a remote bookkeeper and had spent her time since I’d graduated catching up on everything she’d missed after becoming a teen mom.
“What a wonderful opportunity.” There. I’d been the bigger person. I saw my exit in the conversation and went for it. I was about to duck out from behind the bar when Cara put her left hand out.
A knot in my gut cinched so tight I almost doubled over. A giant square diamond sparkled under the bar lights. How had I missed that monster ring? Well, she had been pasted to Brock since they’d walked in.
Brock had never bought me jewelry. No guy had.
No guy had bought me anything.
“We’re getting married.” She sang the last word.
“Congratulations.” The envy had returned. I didn’t want Brock, but why did a superficial person who bodysurfed on others’ feelings get to be spoiled? “Excuse me. I need to check on the other customers.”
I distracted myself from all the old feelings of inadequacy Brock and Cara exposed with orders and refills. While I was adding a splash of ginger beer to a bourbon mule, Brock took a sip of his drink and sputtered.
I gestured to my cheek. “Gotta shut off this part of your nose, remember?”
After I’d gotten the job with the Bozeman location of Copper Summit, I’d bought several bottles to try. I’d tackled them like I had a semester final. I had been filled with excitement and ideas to promote the product. Unlike Brock, I had been through a tasting session at the distillery. I could sip and enjoy the flavors playing over my taste buds. Brock had nearly swallowed his tongue and snorted bourbon out his nose.
Annoyance crossed his face. “A good bourbon wouldn’t do that.”
I refrained from rolling my eyes and brought the drink I’d prepared to Jason.
“Thanks, Ruby,” he said. His gaze narrowed on me. “Everything okay?”
My face was hot. Embarrassment. Irritation. Frustration. The night had started out so well. My skin showed all my emotions. I didn’t tan well and flushed easily. “I’m good. Just getting a little warm.”
