Marie was a pastry chef, and she and Brenna had bonded right away. As they were talking she looked up Marie’s shop online and was so impressed with her work. “I can’t believe we haven’t used you for our weddings before.”
“Same,” Marie said. “I’d love to create something for you.”
“I’m going to pass your name on to Honor,” Brenna said. “She books all the vendors. I know she’ll want to give you a call and come by your shop.”
Marie beamed a smile. “I’d be thrilled. Or I can bake a few things and bring them by.”
“Even better. We love pastries.” Total bonus. Vendors came and went and you could never have enough on your list. Honor would be thrilled, especially if Marie’s pastries were awesome. Brenna just knew they would be.
They ate a smorgasbord of food and side dishes, including the fish that had been caught earlier. Brenna filled up on grilled pineapple, multiple salads and the most amazing fall-off-the-bone ribs she’d ever tasted.
“Sue, these are amazing,” she said as they all piled into the kitchen and crowded around the table.
“Thanks. I’ve been working on the recipe for that sauce for years.”
“A recipe she refuses to share with even me,” Andi said, shooting her girlfriend a look.
Sue laughed. “Hey, some things need to remain a secret.”
“Agreed,” Finn said, tossing another clean bone onto his discard pile. “It’s like whiskey. Once you perfect a method, and it tastes damn good, you can’t tell everyone how you got there.”
Sue pointed at Finn. “Exactly. And that whiskey you brought is outstanding, by the way. Tell no one how you did it.”
Brenna caught the look of pride on Finn’s face. It was the same look she had whenever someone complimented Bellini wines. Of course his whiskey making was a hobby, even though her dad had given him an entire section of the warehouse to make it.
She wasn’t a whiskey kind of woman, preferring the more subtle flavors of wine. Oh, sure, she dabbled occasionally in liquor, but she always came back to the Bellini brand.
Plus, whiskey was just so . . . complicated. Then again, she’d never shown any interest in what Finn was doing in that warehouse. Nor had she ever tasted what he was concocting, figuring he was only playing around. Which he’d been doing for over ten years, well before he was legally allowed to do so. But he’d been doing it under her father’s direction, and she was busy enough doing her own thing, so why should she care?
But after dinner and cleanup, they sat outside where Dave had set up torches to keep the bugs away, and Finn poured whiskey for those wanting a taste.
“I’ll have some,” she said as he walked around.
He arched a brow. “You. Want some whiskey.”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because you don’t like it?”
“Typically not, but I thought I might try it tonight.”
He crouched down to pour some into a small glass for her. “Well. This will be a first.”
He took a seat next to her and she thought he’d watch her, but he turned to talk to Will instead. She took a sip, instantly surprised by the smooth flavor with a hint of vanilla, making her go back for another taste, and then another.
When he turned back to her, she smiled at him. “Finn. This is exceptional.”
“Thanks. It’ll get better once it ages longer. This one has aged for five years. Ten to twelve is ideal.”
“Do you have some that have been aging that long?”
He nodded. “I have some nearly hitting ten, but I don’t know about the flavor profiles. I hadn’t yet perfected my formula and technique back then.”
“But you have now.”
“Yeah. A better brewing system as well, thanks to your dad.”
She held out her cup and he poured more in. She took a couple more sips to make sure of the flavor. It held.
“You want to be a whiskey maker.”
He shrugged. “It’s a passion, for sure. So, maybe. Someday. When I get all the right tools.”
She’d had no clue. But she liked that he had a hobby he enjoyed.
They wrapped up about midnight and everyone packed up and said their good-byes.
“This was so much fun,” Brenna said to Dave and Sabra. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“Anytime,” Sabra said. “Thanks for bringing the wine. It was fabulous as always.”
When they got back to the house, Brenna tucked her bags inside the door while Finn quietly called for Murphy, who bounded outside and ran off to sniff every blade of grass on the front lawn.
“Want to come to my place?” he asked, moving in to sweep his fingers down her arm, making her tingle all over. “I feel like we didn’t get to spend much alone time together today.”
“I’d love to come to your place. Be alone with you. Talk.”
His brow rose. “Talk, huh? Got some things on your mind?”
“Maybe.”
“We can talk.” He opened the truck door, then whistled for Murphy, who came bounding out of the darkness and hopped right into the truck.
Brenna laughed. “Ready to go, isn’t he?”
“He’s a smart dog.”
He started up the truck and they got in, Murphy sticking his head between them from the back seat. Brenna reached over to pet him.
“Did you have a good day, Murphy?” she asked.
“Knowing your dad and how much he loves dogs, he probably had a blast,” Finn said.
Brenna quirked her lips. “No doubt.”
They headed down the road toward his place.
“Tell me about your whiskey.”
He looked over at her. “What about it?”
“What do you like about making it?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. I guess it relaxes me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not work.”
She leaned her head back against the truck’s headrest. “I feel the same way about making wine. It’s never felt like work to me. Watching the grapes grow, caring for them, knowing the exact right time to pick them and then nurturing them as they go through the process of fermentation, aging and bottling, realizing that I’m creating something that will taste amazing . . .”
“It’s a kick, right?”
She turned her head to look at him and smiled. “Yes, it really is. It’s the same for you?”