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Shit.
    I was tipsy, on his booze. This had not
been a good plan. This had definitely been in the bottom ten of my
plans. He was going to blow his stack, and with all the alcohol in my
system I was definitely going to cry.
    I almost fled back into the woods
myself.
    But then I saw his face. It had a
hangdog look, remorseful and rueful. His shoulders were hunched,
almost as if he were expecting a blow, and his feet dragged slightly
along the ground, like a little boy knowing he was about to be
punished.
    He stopped just in front of me and
scuffed his feet along the ground. “I’m sorry.”
    Even with the clues of his facial
expression and posture, I had been expecting any words but those.
“What?”
    “I know you didn’t mean to
hurt me,” he said, meeting my eyes. “I was using that as
an excuse to take this all out on you.” He rubbed the back of
his neck, roughly, almost as if he were punishing himself. “I
just hate the idea I’m letting all my employees down, all the
stockholders. And I hate that I’m ruining the family name.”
    Tears started in my eyes and I stood,
wavering slightly as the earth did a slow, stately waltz around me.
    Hunter caught me, his arms around my
waist, his strong hands on the small of my back.
    I could feel the heat of his hands
through the fabric of the borrowed shirt I was wearing.
    I could smell him, bourbon and vanilla
and soap and sweet clean sweat. His arm was only inches from my mouth
and I wanted to lick along his skin.
    Danger, danger, danger!
    I leaned away from him, away from all
that tempting skin. I didn’t quite break his hold, though.
Instead, I struggled through my lust to try to explain myself: “The
company, iss—it’s more than jussa—jussa—just
a name. It’s the choices you made. The, you know. Ideas. Chuck
and all those douches might’ve won control, but you could, you
know. Start someshing—something fresh.”
    Somehow my hand had found its way onto
his arm and was stroking it. Somehow even now that I had noticed, I
couldn’t stop doing it.
    I sighed softly. “You could build
something of your own again.”
    He shook his head. “Like what?
They have the bourbon recipes and brand.”
    I opened my mouth, and realized I
didn’t have anything to say. It did seem pretty hopeless.
    I took a swig of his drink instead. His
eyes followed the neck of the bottle as it pressed against my lips.
    “Now that’s a good idea,”
Hunter said with a small smile. He settled himself onto the grass,
tugging me gently down with him and grabbing a bottle of his own. He
removed his arms from around my waist to do so, and I missed them
instantly. But to reach the bottle he had to put his arm around my
shoulders, his weight pressing against my back for just a second. It
was heaven.
    He popped the cap and for a few minutes
we drank in an oddly companionable silence, our hands not quite
touching each other on the grass. I savored his company and this
strange new peace that seemed to have fallen over us like the softest
of clouds, and I savored the taste of the mystery drink; each bottle
seemed to have a slightly different flavor, and this one had strong
overtones of burnt sugar and apple.
    “What is this stuff, anyway?”
I finally asked.
    “Bourbon beer,” Hunter said
after swallowing. “I’ve been experimenting with it for a
few years.”
    I frowned, puzzled. “And what
exactly is bourbon beer?”
    “What it sounds like,” he
said. “Beer brewed in bourbon barrels. Doesn’t affect the
alcohol content, but gives it a real complex, full-bodied flavor.”
He shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Well, it does to me
anyway.”
    A high-intensity halogen lightbulb went
off in my head. I grabbed his hand. “Oh my God! This is it!”
    Hunter looked perplexed. “This is
what?”
    I wanted to leap up and swing him
around and around, I was so happy. “This is the new product!”
    Hunter had been staring down at where
my hand was touching his—and yes, that expression on his