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I start to blush again. “Fifteen-year or higher?”
    He chuckles as if he’s on to me. “I only have the fifteen-year at present. Neat, I presume.”
    “It’s a travesty to have it any other way.”
    “Good. I see we have one less thing to argue about.” He disappears toward what I assume is the kitchen until I see a light flicker on and catch a glimpse of the slightly beat up, homey-looking country-style cupboards that confirm my presumption.
    “So how did you come to live in this house?” I call, hearing a cupboard door open, followed by the tinkling of glasses. I’m not terribly good with silence when I’m nervous. Fight or flight? More like flirt or flight. Ha.
    “It’s been in my father’s family a long time but has been unused since my grandmother passed five years ago. My father wanted the property cared for, so here I am.” I hear a bottle being unstoppered.
    “Are you going to fix it up to sell or something?” I hear the scotch being poured and then the water running briefly. Ah, the magical drop of water to open the flavor of the whisky.
    “Hardly. This property must remain in the family. And so I am here as caretaker for a while at least.” He hands me a Glencairn whisky glass—perfect for enhancing the nose of the whisky—and sits down beside me. With Dalwhinnie in our hands, we both fall into an uneasy silence.
    I inhale the complex aromas of cake and Christmas blended with floral earthiness. As usual with a fine scotch I find myself imagining what it would be like to walk along a heather-covered highland or linger beside a loch in the summer breeze, a castle ruin in the distance.
    I know I’m idealizing Scotland. And I’m probably smiling in some sort of ridiculous schoolgirl daydream kind of way. Shit.
    “What are you thinking?” Jorge breaks into my reverie.
    Without looking at him, and not really thinking before I speak, I answer. “Daydreaming about Scotland.” Oh, shit. Why didn’t my mouth catch up with my internal swearing faster? He’s going to think I’m a total moron.
    “Hmm. It is a beautiful country. Have you ever been?” Amazingly, he sounds interested and not turned off.
    “No.” I’m sure he hears the longing sadness in my voice.
    “Pity. You should.”
    “Perhaps you can take me someday.” I hear his sharp intake of breath and realize what I just said. Oh, triple shit, or whatever I’m up to now. Completely sobered from daydreaming, I try to cover. “I mean, if you are ever going back to visit your parents sometime and I can afford a trip, you can point me to the right places. The inside scoop or something.” That was totally lame so I change the subject. “So, about that secret?” Might as well get to the reason I’m here, which isn’t drinking scotch or planning a trip to Scotland with a man I barely know.
    “Yes, that.” He hesitates, and he’s looking away when I finally bring my gaze up to his. I stare into the side of his face, until he finally plunges in. “My family has a, uh, unique background.” He pauses again.
    After a good ten seconds that feels like forever, I can’t contain myself. “Oh, just blurt it out already. It’s easier to just rip the Band-Aid off.”
    He looks at me finally, a faint smile playing about his lips.
    I hold his gaze. No chickening out now. And I need to know this for my own sanity if nothing else . Something about this encounter needs to lead to sanity.
    “Yes, I suppose it is. But you must understand; this isn’t something I share lightly with people.”
    “Oh, yeah, I totally go around telling people I talk to animals.” I roll my eyes.
    “Well, there are some pretty famous pet psychics. It’s not all that weird.” Jorge grins at me.
    “Yes, I’m sure everyone at my office would totally still want to work with me if I told them I’m a pet psychic.”
    He shrugs. “Hey, it probably pays well.”
    “Yes, I’m sure it does, but my ability isn’t for sale. Are you trying to distract me?” I