"I'm going over to Scotland to work in a couple of his distilleries." She'd met Sean more than a decade ago after she'd left college life behind. She'd been making A's in all her classes, but the whole learn-shit-through-books thing really hadn't jelled with her. So she'd decided that rather than learn about Lord Byron and Robert Burns and Robert Louis Stevenson and so many other Scottish poets from some grad student standing in for a professor in Austin, she'd fly to the source and learn as much as she could on her own.
She'd formally dropped out on a Friday, and the following Monday she boarded a plane with a backpack, a phone, a credit card, and absolutely no agenda whatsoever. It had been heaven. She'd explored the cities and towns, she'd talked to locals, she'd read poetry on a bench in Edinburgh Castle. She'd crashed in hostels and made friends with other students.
Best of all, she'd met Sean. He'd lent her twenty pounds when her credit card had been declined, and when she'd paid him back the following day, he'd used the money to buy her a variety of Scotch whiskies for her to taste. She'd known a bit about spirits--she'd played around with distilling in college--but back then she'd mostly been a wine girl. But with Sean, she'd discovered not only a taste for Scotch, but that she had an excellent palate. So good, in fact, that Sean had offered her a summer job in his distillery in the Highlands.
She'd taken it, on the condition that he understood it wasn't permanent. She'd come to Scotland to explore, and that's what she'd intended to do. But she hadn't been averse to taking a job to fund a few further adventures.
She'd ended up in his bed with the same caveats. Her trip to the Highlands was all about fun, and a good time was all she'd been looking for.
After two months, she'd learned more than she ever expected about Scotch and quite a bit more about having fun in bed.
Elena's brow furrowed. "So, is there something going on between you two?"
"Definitely no." Back in the day, Sean O'Reilly's thick Scottish brogue had tickled her senses, making her think of hot men in kilts and the seductive historical romances that had helped her survive those horrible years before Mom and Dad had adopted her and Matthew. They'd shared good times in bed and an interest in fine whisky, but that had been all. He'd been her tasty morsel years ago, but Selma made it a point to never look back. Why would she when the world was filled with such a variety of delicious opportunities?
"Does he know that?"
Selma laughed. "Duh. Have you ever known me to be coy? Besides, he told me he's engaged to a local girl. But he assures me that I won't lack for hunky Scottish companionship."
Elena rolled her eyes. "Highlanders and what's under their kilts aside, why on earth are you going all the way to Scotland to work in a distillery when you own an up-and-coming one right here?"
"Well, yeah, that's kind of the rest of it. I'm selling Free-Tail."
Elena almost knocked over her glass. "You're selling Free-Tail? Now? You're on the brink of breaking out. Restaurants in over a dozen states stock your bourbon. Why on earth would you do that?"
"Exactly my question."
The deep voice came from the opposite side of the cavernous bar, and Selma twisted in her chair to see Tyree Johnson eating up the floor as he crossed to them in long, measured strides. A tall man with a shaved head, a neatly trimmed beard, and skin as dark as Elena's, Tyree seemed to fill the room. His broad chest and shoulders would have been intimidating were it not for the genuine kindness that seemed to roll off him.
"Tell me I'm hearing things."
"You're not," she said firmly. "This is the best decision. My decision."
She watched as his eyes met Elena's. For two people who hadn't even met until a few months ago, they shared a lot of the same mannerisms, not to mention similar features. But what made Selma smile as the two shared a glance was the deep affection she saw in Tyree's eyes. This time last year, he hadn't even known he had a daughter. Now, just the expression on his face revealed how much he adored her. Not to mention Elena's mother, Eva, with whom he'd fallen in love all over again after a separation of more than twenty years.
If she weren't so flustered about both their negative reactions to her new life plan, Selma would actually be feeling a little gooey at the moment.
As it was, she felt on pins and needles. Like she had to justify her decisions. Which, of course, she didn't. But apparently she was going to anyway, because she tapped the table top for their attention. "Hey," she said when they looked at her. "Don't bring me down, okay? I know what I'm doing, and I'm ecstatic about this offer. I'm going to make a ton of money on the sale, the brand I built will live on, and I'll have the freedom to do cool things. Like go work for a few months in Scotland. Then maybe work in a winery in France. Or take painting lessons. Or learn to sail in Monaco and practice my French in Nice. The whole world becomes my playground. How is that a bad thing?"
For a moment, Tyree said nothing. Then he pulled a chair over from a nearby two-top. As he sat, he rested his hand on hers, his big palm completely covering her smaller one. "It's not," he said. "And I'm glad to hear that you've thought this out."
"I have," she said, probably a little defensively. "I never expected Free-Tail to grow so big so fast. I'd always assumed I'd have the freedom to walk away for a few months, take long vacations, all that kind of thing."
Tyree nodded slowly. "Makes sense. At the same time, it's a testament to your talent that it has grown so fast. You've built the distillery into something to be proud of."
"And I am proud of it. Just like you're proud of The Fix." She looked around the bar, with its rustic Texas interior. The cavernous main room that played host to dozens of strategically placed tables. The long bar and the wall of glass shelves that displayed an array of sparkling bottles filled with liquor, including bottles from her own distillery.
Tyree had renovated the property and opened The Fix on Sixth about six years ago, and the place was really turning into an Austin staple. Selma knew it had been touch and go for a while, but now that the bar was running a bi-weekly calendar guy contest, she was pretty sure they were firmly in the black. She hoped so; she loved the bar and would hate to see it close its doors.
And to be brutally honest, once she sold her distillery and moved to Scotland, Selma knew she'd miss this place. But that didn't mean she wanted to be locked to it anymore than she wanted to be locked to her own business.
"You did an amazing thing here," she told Tyree. "You wanted to save this place so badly, and you managed to pull it off in a big way." Recently, the bar had run into financial trouble. The calendar contest had been part of an overall plan to turn the bar's financials around.
"We're not quite there yet," he said. "But I think we're on track."
"I'm sure you are," Selma said. "And after fighting so hard for what you built, I can see why you think I'm nuts. But I'm not ready to settle down yet. Not with a man or a career." She lifted a shoulder. "I'm a leaf on the wind, and I want to see where the breeze takes me next. Besides," she added with a smug smile, "the offer is from a huge publicly traded company that owns a lot of labels. They're going to keep my brand alive and pay me really well."
For a second, she thought Tyree might argue, but then he nodded. "Fair enough."