Page 72 of Whiskey Proposal

Warm gin trickling into my mouth, with a hint of lavender and a lot of Lane, flashes through my head. The heat flushing my cheeks has nothing to do with the alcohol. “Yes, some of them. I’m not a big drinker.”

“None of us are, and we’ll never pressure you. It’s fun for our family, and a way of life, but it’s not for everyone.”

“Foster House makes a stellar product, but it’s always been the story behind it that draws me in.”

Her brows lift, but she grins. “Yes. And if you know Myles, you’d be really surprised he let that much out.”

“He’s very curated.” I stir the ice cubes in my drink. “So much so that I didn’t realize I hadn’t researched his brothers until I faced Lane and thought Myles looked way younger than in his pictures.”

Her laughter carries on the breeze. “Myles is quite protective, and he’ll take your statement as a high compliment.” She studies me. “Have you caught up on your research now?”

“I’m getting there.” I chew the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know much about Cruz.” I know way more than I thought I ever would about Lane.

“You’re not married to Cruz though.”

I laugh. “Elodie would probably have something to say about that.”

She grins. “She’ll follow through. She’s quiet, but I think she’s scrappy.”

My gaze goes to the shop. “That’s what Lane calls me.”

“It fits. I didn’t expect he would be happy with a wilting flower.”

“Oh, we’re not together together.” At Wynter’s arched brow, I nod.

She swallows what’s left in her tasting glass. “Yes, of course. The trust.”

Her voice is just aloof enough to amp up my defensiveness. She doesn’t believe me, but what else do I say? I spent the night in Lane’s bed. I had sex with him on his desk. But it’s still not serious. All this ends in divorce.

I trace the lip of the glass.

“Would you mind . . .” Wynter starts slowly and there isn’t much I’d mind. She’s a gorgeous woman with an amazing home that she’s welcomed me into, when I’m the girl who might’ve kept Lane from it all. “Would you mind telling me about your holiday campaign?”

Since I already pitched it, I don’t mind. I’d like to get paid for my insight and my ideas, but Wynter’s opened her home to me. I outline what I think has been missing from their holiday marketing. A sense of belonging. “I was drawn to Foster House in Denver because it’s such a well-respected company, but the whole house concept invites a person in.”

She smiles. “His goal is to go further than skin deep.”

I nod. “For so long, the ads have all said that it’s not the spirits that bring people together, it’s just there for the celebration.” Pausing, I think about the rest. I gathered my courage to present to who I thought would be Myles and ended up telling it all to Lane. He’s invested deeply in the company, but he’s still one spot removed. Wynter was a foster kid. The Baileys adopted her, but Foster House’s message is for people like her. For people like me. “The last couple of years, it’s been different. A subtle shift that no one’s probably noticed.”

“But you did. Why is that?”

She has to know what I pitched: A return to the original message. Didn’t Lane tell her? “I don’t have much for family.” The back of my throat burns. “So I guess the idea of belonging and connection appeals to me, and it’s more noticeable during the holidays when I’m only celebrating with Brooks and Hillary. I think Foster House should go back to making a toast to that concept instead of being the reason for the toast. It’s gotten backward.”

Wynter switches out her tasting cup for another bourbon, the strongest one we sampled. Appreciation lights her eyes as she works the liquid over her tongue. “Myles thinks you’re absolutely right.”

“He does?”

“Is that a surprise?” There’s genuine curiosity in her question. “That he wouldn’t be the first person to know what you’re talking about?”

“I didn’t think Lane had talked to him.”

She swirls her almost-empty glass. “Those guys don’t have secrets, especially not when it comes to something that’s best for the company. I’m hoping you’ll consider working for Foster House Gold.”

“Foster House Gold?”

Shock crosses her face. “Oh shit.” She puts her fingers to her mouth. “Crap. Lane hasn’t discussed it with you?” She squeezes her eyes shut. “He’s probably gotta talk to the others.”

Has he? Will he? Or would he rather not work with me at all? So much for belonging. Indignation tastes sour on my tongue. “Don’t worry. I’m still chugging forward no matter what. Do you do work for them?” I ask lightly, hoping she won’t see the hurt inside me, or realize that I know the answer. I just want to move on. “Or just Foster House Gold?”