Her temples had begun to pulse. He’d died of a heart attack less than twenty-four hours later. Thankfully, they’d made their peace, but the knowledge of that argument being one of their last conversations sat in her gut like lead.
Channeling the upset that thinking about her father had caused, she opened the company’s most recent bank statement. They had enough to call the service engineer out, but not enough to buy a new still. That would require the insurance or a loan.
The phone weighed heavy in her hand. She hated making phone calls. Hated the way they asked questions she didn’t have the answer to, making her feel inept.
Just get it done, Em!
She dialed the number and made the call, hanging up quickly once she’d arranged for an engineer to come.
Not feeling remotely sociable, she debated messaging Connor to let him know something had come up at the distillery and she couldn’t make it. But the idea of doing that made her feel even worse. Connor had been the one little spark of joy that had made her feel human again.
As she considered, a message popped up on her screen from Ali.
Wear the green dress…makes your boobs look good! Have fun. Ax
It made her laugh, and maudlin thoughts weren’t going to achieve anything. Emerson set a timer for an hour and threw herself into the weekly distillery orders.
And when the sixty minutes were done, she intended to drive home and get dressed up, promising herself that once she’d left the building, she’d do everything she could to find the old Emerson and have fun.
With Connor Finch.
Connor sat at the bar and sipped on ice water. Tonight was about getting to know Emerson as a woman, not as a Dyer. He knew his reasons were complex. Sure, he was curious about the family that had the ability to send his father into a spiral of despair. But he was also curious about the playful, witty woman he’d sparred with. In his mind, he managed to compartmentalize the two.
Catching sight of himself in the mirror that hung behind the bar, he straightened the collar of his black shirt. He’d offered to pick Emerson up, but she’d been adamant about meeting him there. She’d dismissed his chivalrous attempts with a simple No, thank you, and he admired her straight-talking ways.
When the door finally opened and Emerson walked in, his gut relaxed. For some reason, he’d been nervous she was going to bail, and he was sure it was some throwback from his father’s conditioning that anything with the name Dyer attached to it was incredibly unreliable. It was almost as if he expected her to let him down right off the bat.
She wore a sundress in dark green, with thin straps and a skirt that flowed just above her knees. Long, gold earrings reached her toned shoulders. Connor watched as the greeter pointed in Connor’s direction.
A momentary tug of guilt fluttered through him at the deceit of knowing a lot more about her than she knew about him. When her eyes found his, her smile was so genuine and bright it almost burned, and for a second, he felt like confessing.
“Hey, Connor.” She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, a kiss so brief he wondered if he imagined the contact of her lips against his skin.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” he said, pulling out the bar stool next to his. “Please, take a seat that isn’t mine.”
Emerson laughed. “I thought we agreed that technically the seat was ours.”
“Well, you are more than welcome to come sit on my lap and share this one,” he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I think I’d have to know you a lot better before I try that. I don’t just sit on anyone’s lap.” Emerson threw her denim jacket over the back of the stool and climbed up.
Connor tried to be a gentleman, but his eyes still travelled the length of her legs as her dress hitched up her thighs. He fought the urge to follow its path with his fingers to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.
“I’ve been looking forward to this since you suggested it. Have you eaten here before?” she asked, looking around the restaurant.
“I have, and I can highly recommend the All-In Burger, or the tuna if you like it rare. What can I get you to drink?” The bartender walked toward them. “Gin?”
Emerson looked along the modest gin selection before scrunching her nose slightly. “I’d love a cosmopolitan, and would you mind switching the triple sec for Cointreau and keep the lime juice to a little shy of half an ounce please?”
Gins he represented were on the shelf, and it bothered him a little that she hadn’t seemed to find any of them appealing. Not that he was mad at her, more that for the first time in his life, he was aware of just where his products stood in the quality pecking order.
He ordered a beer for himself. “You know your way around your cocktails,” he said in admiration. “What’s the secret with the Cointreau?”
“Triple sec can be…sharp. And since bars tend to use a lot of cheaper, really sharp limes, it can be too much. But switch it out for Cointreau and it’s smoother. More nuanced. There’s a hint of delicious orange that comes through.”
Connor couldn’t help but watch her mouth as she spoke. She was wearing a deceptively nude gloss, and he wondered what it would taste like, what she would taste like without it. He turned his stool to face her properly.
“How was your week?” he asked.
“A masterclass in how to keep your head just above water. I graduated as an expert.”
Connor leaned forward and took the hand that was in her lap, relieved when she clasped her fingers around his. “Some weeks are like that, I guess.”
Emerson shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve only been doing this for two months, but it’s a steep learning curve.”
Her
