She laughed. “Because she loves you.”
He waved his hand at her in dismissal and went back to walking the lanes.
“Bye, Daddy,” she said.
“Addio, bambina mia.”
She smiled.
She was about to head into the main house and get a cold drink when she saw the door open to Finn’s warehouse where he made his whiskey. Murphy was asleep outside in the shade. She hadn’t seen Finn all day, which wasn’t unusual since they were both busy, but she was curious, so she walked that way.
When she walked through the doors, she stopped, blinked and looked around, not believing what she saw.
He had an entire distillery in here, not some layman’s half-assed whiskey-making apparatus, but a still and barrels and a fermentation station. It looked professional as hell. Granted, it wasn’t a huge operation, but it was still an operation.
What. The. Hell?
She walked in and found him crouched down over a still, reading temperatures and writing notes.
“What the hell is going on here?”
He looked up at her. “Uh, whiskey making?”
“I can see that. Where did all this stuff come from?”
He stood and looked down at her. “Stores, mostly.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You’re being deliberately evasive and you know exactly what I’m asking.”
“I bought it. Well, your dad and I did. He’s invested in my whiskey business.”
Unbelievable. She crossed her arms. “Oh, so now you have a whiskey business.”
He gave her a smile, which only irritated her more. “Not yet. But someday.”
There was that word again. Someday. Which meant nothing when one was talking about what looked like a sizable investment in equipment. “How much did all of this cost?”
“Why do you care? Your father likes my whiskey. If I recall, you liked it, too.”
“I did, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Doesn’t mean what?” He turned to face her. “That you think I could sell it? That I could do something that’s worthwhile with it? That only the great Brenna Bellini could make a sellable consumable product that people will like?”
He was twisting her words. “That’s not at all what I meant.”
“Then tell me what’s wrong with me making whiskey.”
He was mad. She could see it on his face. “I just . . . I . . .”
He waited, while she tried to form an explanation for why she felt so twisted up inside. Maybe it was because she hadn’t bothered to show any interest in his whiskey making before. Maybe it was because she felt a little jealous that her father had invested in this without telling her. Before now it had always been her and her dad making magic together with wine.
Now it was Finn and her dad and whiskey?
“I don’t know. I just don’t like it.”
“What is it that you don’t like, Brenna? The whiskey, the fact that your dad invested in it? Or is it me?”
Her head was pounding and she couldn’t answer him, not when he was looking at her with concern and maybe a little hurt in his eyes.
“I don’t know. I have to go.”
She turned and left the building, heading straight for the house. She went in through the back door, grateful not to see anyone as she headed down the hall. She’d almost made it to the stairs when she ran straight into her sisters.
“Oh, hey,” Erin said. “Ooh, you look hot.”
“Have you been at the vineyards?” Honor asked. “It’s like a million degrees outside this afternoon.”
“You want some ice water?” Erin asked.
“No. I don’t want anything other than to be left alone.” She circled around them and up the stairs to her room and shut the door. She paced back and forth, realizing all that did was keep her in her own head, and she didn’t like the thoughts there. She stripped off her clothes, wound up her hair and got in the shower to wash off the dirt and sweat from the vineyard. Once she got out, she climbed into shorts and a tank top and flopped onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
What was wrong with her? Why did she jump all over Finn about the whiskey?
She heard a knock on the door and didn’t even have to ask to know who it was.
“Come in.”
“We brought you some ice water,” Honor said, carrying a glass as she came in. “You looked awfully heated when you first came in.”
“At least you showered,” Erin said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “Because you were heated both physically and emotionally.”
Brenna pushed herself up to sit, taking the glass Honor handed her. “Thanks. I’m sorry. I was in a mood.”
“I’ll say,” Erin said. “What’s up?”
“I had a fight with Finn.”
“Uh-oh.” Honor pulled up the chair next to the bed. “Tell us about it.”
“It was stupid. I was stupid. I said stupid things.”
Erin looked to Honor, then at Brenna. “Well now we really want to hear about it.”
Brenna couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course you do.”
Erin shrugged. “Hey, I’ve acted like an ass on my fair share of occasions. It’s only fair you get a turn.”
“That’s true,” Honor said, and when Erin shot her a look, she gave her an innocent shrug. “What? It is true.”
“It is,” Brenna said. “But this time it was me. Did you all know that Finn is making whiskey in his warehouse?”
“Yes,” Honor said.
Erin nodded. “Of course. What did you think he was doing out there? Making pizza?”
“Well, no. I knew he dabbled, and that Dad let him build that big building. But there’s a whole manufacturing facility in there now. A still and barrels and pipes and fermentation and everything.”
“Brenna,” Honor said. “Haven’t you ever been in there?”
“Well, no.”
“You did know Dad invested in Finn’s whiskey production, right?” Erin asked.
Apparently she was the only one who didn’t know that. “Uh, no, I did not. And that’s what I laid into him about.”
Honor shot her a look of concern. “Oh, Brenna, why?”
And wasn’t that the question of the day? “I don’t know. I guess it was the surprise of seeing all the equipment. I thought he was just playing around with a home still, and I expected something . . . smaller. I had no idea he had a whole potential business going.”