The Whiskey Effect: A Small-Town Standalone Romantic Comedy Read online

  “Please, you know he won’t.”

  The bartender turned two-week boyfriend from five years ago is a good man. Or at least, he was back then. While I’m sure he’s going to have about a thousand questions—starting with, why in the hell didn’t you tell me I had a kid?—I know he won't rip her a new one. At least not the way she’s worried he will.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “He’s going to be pissed. There’s no doubt about that, but I will be seriously surprised if he yells at you. And if he does, I’ll kick his beautiful ass.”

  “Beautiful ass?” Her eyebrow arches, and a smile tugs at her lips.

  “Don’t deny it. You’ve been up and personal with that ass.”

  She laughs. “It is beautiful—or was.”

  “I never considered that. What if his ass is no longer beautiful? What if—gasp—he shaved his beard?”

  Lena throws her head back, one hand going to her stomach as she laughs. “I think I’ll manage.”

  “Yeah, you will.” I wink and take a drink. “What are we watching?” I grab the remote and hit play. Thomas Beaudoin pops on screen, and I roll my eyes. “Seriously, Lena? The Spirit of Christmas? It’s May!”

  Totally unashamed, she shrugs. “I like the story.”

  “More like you want to get it on with the ghost.”

  “I mean—look at him.”

  I turn my focus to the TV as he reaches up to put the tree topper on the top of the Christmas tree Kate brought for him.

  This is honestly my favorite Christmas movie too. Typically, it makes me near swoon with the romance and connection between the two characters. Plus, I majorly connect with Kate and her inability to love.

  But now, as they hold hands and stare at the twinkling lights, I feel nothing.

  And that worries me.

  What if I’ve literally screwed myself out of feeling anything?

  I may not be ready to settle down, but I’m not ready to stop having fun—am I?

  Can’t Braid This Hair

  Leo

  “Fuck, man.” I set my end of the table down and wipe the sweat from my cheek.

  “It’s not that heavy,” my brother, Rex, insists.

  “That’s a load of horse shit, and you know it.” I study the solid mahogany table my brother recently crafted for his new wife and their new dining room. It’s beautiful craftsmanship and one of the reasons my brother is a sought-after contractor here in his small town.

  “I don’t half-ass things.”

  “That’s true.” I chuckle and reach down to grab my end of the table. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you’d built it in your garage or let me load it on my trailer.”

  “I didn’t want to risk it getting damaged. With the baby coming, Megan has been, well, a perfectionist.”

  “Good save,” I mutter as we carry the table through the large bay doors on the back of their house. Rex built it with the help of me, my buddy Graham, and a handful of individual contractors. Took us nearly a year, but we got it done just in time for their first baby—a little girl named after our late sister—Stella, to arrive.

  “Right there, perfect!” Megan exclaims as we set the table down in their dining room. She rushes forward and runs her fingers over the smooth wood. Tears fill her eyes, and she turns to my brother. “This is absolutely gorgeous, baby.”

  He smiles, and I can’t help but feel pride at how happy my baby brother looks. “You really like it?”

  “I love it. I don’t think I could love any piece of furniture more than I love this.” She presses a hand to her incredibly swollen stomach. Eyes widening, she claps her hands. “Oh! One more thing.” Turning, she runs into the kitchen and grabs a high chair with pink and black squares on the seat.

  Pulling it over to the table, she rolls it up to the side and stands back. “It’s so perfect. Can’t you picture her there?”

  “I can,” Rex says, pressing a kiss to Megan’s hair.

  “Same. She’s going to be beautiful,” I offer.

  Megan turns to me and holds out an arm. With a smile, I walk over, and she wraps her free arm around my waist, the other around my brother. We’ve known her since we were all kids, and even though she’s a year older than my brother, they’ve been crazy about each other since they realized there was something to be crazy about.

  After losing our sister, I wasn’t sure Rex would ever be the same, happy guy. I clench my jaw, not wanting to taint this moment with the horrible thoughts of the past. I spent eight years running from them, deployment after deployment, and none of it worked.

  Now that I’m finally doing okay—I don’t want to risk falling back down that rabbit hole.

  “Want a beer?” Rex asks, and I nod. “Iced tea?” he asks Megan.

  “Nah, I’m okay.” Getting up on her tiptoes, she kisses him loudly. “I’m going to go lie down for a bit. This girl won’t stop moving.”

  “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Enjoy your afternoon. Thanks so much for helping, Leo.”

  “Anytime.”

  She leaves the room, and I follow Rex into their kitchen. Copper-infused granite covers the counters, the hardwood floors hand scraped. After helping him lay them, and scrape the damn things by hand, I have decided I will never be able to go into flooring.

  It was a bitch.

  “Here you go.” Rex hands me a Sam Adams and grabs one for himself before heading out to the patio.

  We sit on the floral patio furniture I helped him and Megan set up last week. “The house looks great.”

  “Thanks,” Rex says, taking a drink. “I’ve got two more shifts before my vacation starts, and I’m ready to finish up the final touches.”

  “What do you have left?”

  “Not much, some minor touch-up painting in the nursery. And I want to fix a few tiles in the shower that aren’t perfectly straight.”

  I chuckle. Rex has always been a perfectionist. I’m pretty sure he was the only football player in high school to have his gear perfectly organized in his locker.

  “How’s mom?” he asks, and my chest tightens.

  “She’s good. You should go see her.”

  “I can’t be anywhere around dad. You know that.”

  I nod. I do know that. I’ve broken up more than a few fights between him and my dad over the last eight years. One from which I bear permanent scars. “He can’t blame you forever.”

  Rex swallows hard. “He can’t blame me any more than I still blame myself. But it’s been nearly a decade, so I don’t expect his grudge to ease up anytime soon.”

  I take a drink from my beer as memories come flooding back despite my earlier thought to keep it all under wraps. Rex had snuck out to go pick our little sister—Stella—up from a party. She’d been drunk, and he’d gone to get her so she wouldn’t drive. But on the way home, they’d been T-boned by a drunk driver.

  She’d been killed on impact, and Rex was nearly paralyzed.

  Shit, I still remember exactly where I was when I got the call. My commanding officer had pulled a bunch of strings to get me home for her funeral.

  My throat tightens. Stella had been such a light and daddy’s perfect princess. He’s never gotten over it and blames Rex.

  “He needs someone to blame, and like I’ve said a thousand times, it can be me if that makes it easier for him.”

  I don’t argue. There’s not a single thing I could say that I haven’t already voiced. “Stella would have loved this view,” I say, looking out over the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

  “She would have.”

  “She also would be so excited about baby Stella. Can you imagine?”

  Rex chuckles. “It was Megan’s idea to name her after her aunt.”

  “Well, her aunt would appreciate that.”

  “I think so too.”

  We drink in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the taste of the liquid paired with the beautiful view and the feel of a soft breeze after a long day of
hauling furniture in from Rex’s shop.

  “When are you going to settle down?” Rex asks, his question taking me off guard.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When are you going to find yourself more than a fling?” he asks again with a grin. “Baby Stella could use a cousin.”

  “Slow your roll there,” I say with a laugh. “I haven’t even met anyone yet.”

  “You need to get on it. You’re not getting any younger.”

  “You sound like Grandma.”

  “Well, she’s right.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know, man. Maybe someday, but I’m not looking for anything serious.”

  “When was the last time you went on a date?”

  “What the hell is this? Sleepover conversation? My hair’s too short for you to braid.”

  Rex chuckles and shakes his head. “Defensive, I see.”

  “Not defensive. Just not interested in hashing out my love life. You’re over here living the dream. Beautiful wife, kid on the way, and I’m—well—I’m just not quite there yet.”

  “I can’t wait until someone comes around and knocks you on your ass.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.” I down the rest of my beer and push to my feet. “I’ve got to get home and feed the horses. See you next week?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Love ya, man.”

  “You too. Drive safe.”

  I head back through the house, passing by the new table, and let myself out the front door to my truck.

  After climbing inside and turning the key, I withdraw my phone and stare down at it. I could easily make a call, have myself some company tonight—I shake my head and toss it into my cup holder.

  I’d rather sit at home.

  Pulling out of the drive, I think back over my past relationships. Failure after failure, I have honestly just grown tired of ending up with someone who just doesn’t feel right. And unfortunately, in my small town of Whitefish, Montana, you can’t breathe on someone without there being rumors of marriage and a baby in a baby carriage.

  I don’t have time to field that shit right now. Not the time or the patience.

  If I found someone who interested me on more than a physical level—maybe—but not now.

  Hell, maybe not even ever. I lean forward and crank up the volume on my stereo. Country music blares in my cab, and I make my way down the highway toward Whitefish, hoping the tune will block out my thoughts for the half an hour it’s going to take me to get home.

  Good Advice

  Claudia

  “Mom! I’m here!” I call as I step into my mom’s floral shop the next day.

  “Back here, honey!” she calls out, and I weave my way through fragrant blooms in all shades of colors toward the walk-in cooler behind her checkout counter.

  Nearly bumping my hip into a table hidden beneath a giant bouquet, I finally make it to the back. My mother’s dream was always to have her own floral shop. She’d worked her ass off, and when she met my dad—he had the means to make it happen for her so she didn’t have to work four jobs anymore.

  He’d purchased it for her, given her the dream and me, then bailed. After that, she’d nearly lost it. Lena’s parents stepped in and helped her out, loaning her the money she needed to get the loan out of his name so the bank wouldn’t take it.

  Business is booming now, though, and my mom made her last payment to Lena’s dad three years ago.

  “Hey, sweetie!” She looks up from the arrangement she’s working on, the bright red hair I’d inherited tied up on top of her head, curls going in all different directions.

  Her face is makeup-free, as it always is. I smile. My mom is beautiful, and seeing her so happy— “Hey, Mom.”

  “How are you doing?” She gets to her feet and comes over to wrap her arms around me. She smells like flowers—roses, to be exact—and I inhale. It’s soothing to me, the perfume of the beautiful blooms.

  “I’m good.” I pull back, and she wipes her hands on the front of her overalls.

  “How’d your date go last night?” she asks as she grabs her clippers and starts snipping the bottoms of lilies.

  “He was nice, but no zing.”

  She looks at me, lips pursing. “Honey, please don’t let my bad luck with men deter you.”

  “Mom, that’s not it.” Although, I know it probably has something to do with it. Seeing the woman I admire most in this world continuously steamrolled by douchebag after douchebag, let’s just say it didn’t inspire a whole lot of confidence that I could find something meaningful.

  She cocks her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. “Then what was wrong with him? I thought you genuinely liked this one.”

  “I had high hopes for him. But unfortunately, those hopes fell flat on their ass when he opened his mouth.” I shake my head. “That sounds bad. He was very nice, just not interesting. At all.”

  She chuckles, shaking her head sadly. “Kid, you’re going to end up like me if you’re not careful.”

  “I don’t see a downside.”

  She smiles sadly as she sticks a lily into the bouquet she’s working on. The white of the petals contrasts beautifully with the green foliage and bright red roses. “I’m alone, Claudia, and that gets lonely.”

  Reaching over, I squeeze her hand lightly. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe one day, I’ll get to make your bouquet.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  She finishes the final touches and carries it into the cooler, leaving it in the front of the glass display case before walking back out to me. “How’s Lena?”

  “Nervous, but I imagine she’ll be relieved when this is all over.”

  “You’ll call me when she lets you know how it went?”

  “Of course. And, about that. It’s actually why I’m here.”

  “What is it, honey?”

  “I’m going to go with her, stay for the rest of the month, and make sure she gets settled.”

  Mom smiles, but I can see a small hint of sadness in the green depths. “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan.”

  “I know we’ll miss our weekly dinners for a couple weeks—”

  “Claudia, I am perfectly capable of being alone. Besides, if I get lonely, I’ll just go see Jeanie and Lee.” Her casual mention of Lena’s parents makes me feel a bit better, but I can't keep the guilt from weighing on me. I hate that she’s alone. That she hasn’t been able to find someone to love her like she deserves.

  “All right, I’ll be back before the end of the month.”

  “Great. Is Becca excited about meeting her father?”

  “Lena hasn’t told her that’s why we’re going.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrug. “She’s worried Graham won’t want to see her, and she doesn’t want to get Becca’s hopes up.”

  My mom nods knowingly. “I understand that fear completely. Seeing that kind of heartbreak on your little one’s face—” she trails off and reaches up to cup my cheek like she used to do when I was a child. “It’s painful.”

  I know her thoughts are drifting back to the day she told me my dad was never coming home, and I swallow hard, the heaviness in my chest something I’ve grown accustomed to whenever I think about him.

  I’m still angry. Even now that I’m nearing thirty and he’s been gone since I was five.

  “Do you want some tea?” My mom walks over to her door and flips the sign, letting people know she’s closed for lunch.

  “That would be awesome.” I follow her up some stairs and into the apartment above the shop. I spent most of my life inside the walls of this tiny studio. She’s redone it since I moved out, getting rid of my small twin bed and the screen she put up separating my room from the rest of the apartment.

  “Hey, that’s new.” I gesture to an easel in the corner. An unpainted canvas sits on top, a tray of paints perched on a TV tray beside it.

  “Oh,” she says with a smile. “I started taking an art class on
Wednesdays.”

  “I didn’t know you liked to paint.”

  “I never did before. But I figured I have time. Why not?”

  I smile. “Good for you, Mom.”

  “What about you? Done anything for yourself lately?”

  “You mean other than go on a mess of terrible dating app dates?”

  She chuckles. “I’m telling you, honey, it may work for some people, but us Petersons have never had much luck finding love online.”

  Shrugging, I say, “Can’t hurt to try, not like I’m having much luck outside of it.”

  “I told you to go work at a coffee shop or something, get out of your apartment. You’ll meet someone.”

  Despite her horrible luck, my mom’s a romantic at heart. She’s a believer in all things romance—from roses to good wine, champagne to love at first sight—she wants it all, and I want it for her.

  I just don’t think it's for me. The thought of trusting someone that much, of handing over the key to my destruction, there’s just something about it that makes me squeamish. “That only works in rom-coms and romance novels.”

  “They had to get the idea from somewhere.”

  I chuckle. “Will you take care of Tony for me while I’m gone? He gets lonely.” My cat—a rescue I’ve had for about two years—is the most social of all cats. I’m convinced. He can't stand to be anywhere I’m not, and the fluff butt even follows me into the bathroom where he sits just outside my shower, waiting for me to finish.

  “Of course. Did you want to bring him here or do you want me to come to your apartment?”

  “I can bring him by later. That way, you don’t have to drive over, and you’ll both have someone to talk to.”

  “I’m not getting an animal,” she says, narrowing her gaze on my face.

  “I think it would be so good for you.”

  “Nope. I don’t want to have to deal with it when they’re gone.”

  “But you get to love them when they’re here.”

  “I get my heart broken enough without adding a pet to the mix.”

  “You’re missing out.”

  “I love Tony, isn’t that enough?”