Taste of Commitment (Whisky and Risky #2)

20. Taylor

Taylor

Soft, white powder flows from where I tap the sifter, covering a layer of cake in sugar.

“Did your mom teach you how to bake?”

“My best friend’s mom, actually.”

“How nice.” Isla watches me from where she works beside me, flouring the countertops.

“You’ve been running this kitchen for a while now?”

“Since I met Adam.” Her eyes take on a daydreaming look. “His gran ran the kitchen since they built the place, and I worked here with her every day after school when Adam and I started dating.” The sense of family around the entire property is palpable. I hate that more and more, I find myself forgetting that I’m not actually from here, that I’m not really part of this family, the way they so easily make me believe I am. “I’ve made the place my own over the years, adding a bookshelf and changing some paint here and there. My kid’s artwork,” she adds pointing to drawings tucked into the windows of a hutch in the corner. “And my hope is each new generation will continue to add their own personal touch along the way. ”

My chest swells and aches. Vivid memories crash into me, and clear as day I see my eight-year-old self, two dirty blonde braids hanging down my back, and Mrs. Sanchez pulling up a stool beside her at the counter. Visions of assembling sandwiches and learning how to dice an onion come flooding back and I have to fight back against the wave of nostalgia that burns my throat now.

“I’ve noticed Liv in here with you often. It’s nice that you get to share this with her,” I say, moving closer to help her roll out her cookie dough.

“It is. But it’s not her passion and as crazy as it sounds—because I love my children dearly.” She gives me a pointed look over the rim of her glasses. “I hope she won’t stay around much longer.”

My head tilts as one eyebrow peaks. “I can understand not wanting Knox in here.” We share a smile. “But why Liv?”

Isla’s shaky hand slides a basket of cookie cutters in front of me. “My Olivia just doesn’t have the heart for it. She hangs around because I need the help,” she says, holding up her swollen hands. “Some days are better than others, weather depending, and I’ve got the fancy gadgets to help, but there are still times I need help.” I listen intently to her every word as I continue to cut out flower-shaped cookies. “I’m grateful to have her around to help now, but she’s not a little girl anymore, and soon, I’ll need to start looking to hire someone to take over the kitchen for me. She doesn’t have the same passion I’ve always had in here, and I would never want my children doing something that they aren’t a hundred percent passionate about.”

I keep my eyes laser-focused on the task in front of me for fear of what will happen if I look at her. I don’t know what it’s like to have a mother like Isla, a woman who loves you so fiercely and unconditionally that she would always put your needs, wants, and desires before her own. But I do know what it’s like to be in the kitchen with someone like her. I fight the burning in my eyes unaware of how badly I needed this. I had forgotten how much I missed this feeling. Being in the kitchen with Mrs. Sanchez, as young as when I was missing my two front teeth, had always been my safe space. As I grew older, the kitchen was the place that gave me my peace and calm, my sense of belonging. In there, I was okay. I could get lost in creation and forget the worries and fears that I spent my days masking. Those memories with Mrs. Sanchez, and now of helping Isla in any way I can, are what fill me with the most purpose. I reroll a scrap of dough that I messed up and blink back the emotion trying to slip through my waterline.

“It shows.” My voice betrays me, cracking ever so slightly and I clear my throat before pressing the cookie cutter into the dough again. “I mean, look at Knox. You clearly encouraged him to do what he wanted, and he was incredibly successful.”

“Well, Knox is a different kind of animal. Nothing short of a cruise ship could have stopped that boy.” I choke on a laugh and finally bring myself to look at her. The warmth of her eyes matches her smile when she talks about him. “I’ll admit, I was worried about him after his injury. Before he left he was always the friendly, big, loud, guy. The life of any party. If at times a bit obnoxious.” She rolls her eyes with a playful smile. “But when he came home—he was a shell of himself. He seemed so lost, and I feared his entire identity was wrapped up in that sport.” She shakes her head as if releasing a memory. “Even though we were, and still are, so proud of him, he is so much more than rugby. But I know my son, and he wouldn’t hear any of that.”

I think about how he shut down the other day in the bar after—potentially accidentally—telling me he felt like ‘nothing’ and she’s right. I don’t see Knox as the type you could just sprinkle some nice words at and he takes them and believes them. But I’ve also seen that big, fun, playful guy she seems to remember.

“You said you were worried.” I drop the cookie cutters in the sink and lean my hip against the counter. “Are you not anymore?”

She moves closer to me and covers my hand with her own. She gives the world's lightest squeeze, a stark contrast to her deep eyes when she smiles at me and says, “He seems to be finding his way back to himself.”

I don’t want to pull my hand out from under hers, but the burning sensation behind my eyes is threatening to break free. I bite my cheek, keeping my gaze locked on where our hands meet.

“You’re a wonderful mom, Isla.”

She lets go of my hand and my chest skips a beat when she quickly wraps me into a hug. I stand stiff for a moment before I wrap my arms around her, being careful not to squeeze her too tightly. Her clean scent, mixed with a hint of rosemary and light coffee beans, makes it difficult to swallow. There is something so overwhelming about a mother’s hug. Even though she isn’t my own mom, it still makes me feel wanted. I pull in a deep breath, trying to hold on to this moment just a second longer. One lone tear slips down my cheek and I quickly bat it away before pulling back.

“And you’re just wonderful, Taylor.” I swallow hard before Olivia bounces into the kitchen.

“Hey! I wanted to see if you want to get ready together?”

Her mom rubs my arm before stepping back. “Go on, I’ve got the rest of this.”

“Are you sure? ”

“Yes, yes. Go, we’ll see you down there later.”

I give her an appreciative nod before heading upstairs.

“My brother is going to fall over dead when he sees you.” I roll my shoulders back and puff my chest a little higher at Olivia’s words. The body-hugging, floor-length, emerald green, strappy dress I found the other day in a neighboring town seemed more fitting for an award show than a small-town wedding, but it was either this or my sweatpants, so what was a girl to do? “Ugh.” Liv runs a hand down her perfectly pressed, baby pink, silk dress. As far as bridesmaid dresses go, it's one of the most beautiful ones I’ve ever seen. “I wish I looked like you.”

I stop midway down the stairs, grabbing her arm. “Olivia Talullah Browning.” Her head physically rears back. “Was I way off?”

“It’s Nora,” she says, with a small giggle.

“Right. Olivia Nora Browning, you are stunning.” I grab both her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. “Always remember that beauty is subjective and it’s about learning to feel like your best self. Once you master that, you’ll have so much confidence, that you’ll have to start selling it at the local farmers’ market because nothing is sexier than a person with confidence.”

Her eyes light up as her smile and chin lift and I give her a curt nod.

We exit the main house and Liv leads us to one of the barns out back. Warm lighting reflects from the vintage wall sconces lining either side of the walls, while fold-out wooden chairs are placed in rows with purple and pink peonies adorning the ends. Past the altar, the back of the barn wall has been replaced with one massive glass window. When I see the rolling green hills with the sun beginning to set in the valley of the two largest peaks, I understand the design choice.

I feel Liv stiffen next to me and follow her gaze over to where Liam leans against the barn door talking to a tall woman with Little Mermaid hair.

“What’s he doing here?” I lift my chin in his direction, and she rolls her eyes as she faces me, turning her back to where he stands.

“He’s friends with Sophie. They all went to primary school together, and Liam booked Max’s band at The Saloon . That’s how he and Sophie met." She looks back at Liam and scoffs.

“You don’t seem happy to see him.”

“Well, he’s a bit of a gowl.” I twist my head, looking at her. “Annoying,” she clarifies.

“Ahh.” As if Liam can sense us talking about him he does a quick look over his shoulder and then a double take. His lips move in hushed words with the woman before she nods and walks off. It’s amazing Liv doesn’t burst into flames next to me with how hard his burning gaze is on her. He saunters over with one hand in his suit pocket, the other pressing down his tie.

“Olivia Browning, you look…” His blue eyes widen as he tracks them up and down her body with zero shame and he lets out a low whistle.

I cover my giggle with the backs of my fingers and he holds out his hands for her. She ignores his gesture and looks at me.

“I have to go help my dad start ushering people to their seats. Will you be alright for a bit?”

“I’ll—” I freeze when a familiar warmth trickles up my neck, lifting every hair in its wake. I nod my head more times than necessary before I recover. “Yeah, I’ll be good.”

I flick my hands in her direction, shooing them away. Olivia begrudgingly loops her arm through Liam’s elbow, and they take off.

I steady my breathing before turning around, but it doesn’t do shit when I spot Knox standing across the barn in his immaculate black tux, tailored perfectly to his sculpted body. His eyes bore into mine and all the breath is knocked out of my lungs.

My ankles feel weak with every step I take, but I have a feeling it has everything to do with the man a few feet ahead of me and less to do with the four-inch heels. I walk across the room, but the closer I get to him, the farther I feel from reality. My chest thrums like an angry drum, beating harder and harder, my skin heats and it takes maximum effort to make myself appear nonchalant.

“Well, fancy running into you here,” he says with his signature cocky smile.

“You clean up nice, Browning.”

“I was going to say something way more inappropriate.” His head dips until his forehead hovers just above mine. “But, back at ‘ya, Nova.”

My eyelids close on a flutter, and his lips press to the side of my head, stealing my breath once again. My whole body aches to close the six inches of space between us, and his scent washes over me. Immediately, I’m transported back to that hot tub with him, and I’m lit up from within as the feeling of his warmth consumes me.

“Let’s get you to your seat.” His rough hand engulfs mine, and he leads the way .

The ceremony was surprisingly emotional, considering that I didn’t know Max, and I had only met Sophie briefly a few nights ago. The officiant spoke some words about how marriage isn’t just finding the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, but rather, it’s about finding the person you can’t spend a moment of your life without. I nervously picked an invisible hair from my dress and tried to tune out any other words that would make my throat burn, but the rough calluses on Knox’s palm slid over my fidgeting fingers, and I straightened in my seat, eyes forward. When the groom took her hand in his and vowed to always be more than just a lover, but a true confidant and a companion through life with her, ‘Whether here in this town or together on tour,’ he had said before promising to stand beside her and love her anywhere—that was possibly the only sentiment that could have choked me up the way it did.

I lost Knox in the shuffle over to the barn next door where the reception is being held, and as I watch everyone on the dance floor, I have a hard time figuring out how this town closes at 7:00 with the way most of these people are partying.

“Fancy a drink, Sweetheart?”

A tall, muscular man with tattoos covering every square inch of visible skin, smiles down at me with bright, white teeth. “Shameful, the most beautiful woman in the room is sitting over here by herself.” His accent is so thick, I have to replay the words over a few times before fully understanding him. “What’s your name, beautiful?” he asks, extending a full glass of champagne to me. I eye him up and down, he’s tall and almost as muscular as Knox. What the actual hell is in the water here? I open my mouth, and his black-inked forearm snakes around the back of my chair as he sits across from me.

“That’s Tatertot, and don’t look at her again, Knox already claimed her.” Liam approaches, flashing his own white smile and digging a hand into the stranger's shoulder.

“Now, now Liam, Knox hasn’t peed on me yet.” My southern bell accent is rusty but it will suffice. “Let’s see what this one’s got.” I tilt my head, batting my lashes at the tattooed giant.

He looks back and forth between me and Liam a few times before dropping his head with a defeated sigh and standing again. “It was nice to meet you, but hey, when KB fucks it up, you call me first.” His thumb and pinky make a phone to his ear as he points at me walking backward. I thankfully don’t have to explain that there’s nothing to fuck up between us. We’re just… what? Friends? Friends who flirt and apparently hook up? I throw back the flute of champagne, praying the bubbles will settle the unknown that's rapidly fluttering through my stomach.

The boys take off to the dance floor where the entire room surrounds them. A hundred people, young, old, and in between, are magnetized by their infectious energy, including a reluctant Liv. I can’t tell if she’s only lying to me or trying to lie to herself, but I don’t miss the way she and Liam steal sneaky glances at one another. I make a mental note to check in with her later.

A familiar calloused hand rubs across my bare back and the lightness in my head has nothing to do with the champagne. Long. thick fingers clasp around the nape of my neck and the pit of my stomach ruptures as my body physically responds to the warmth of the man behind me. I drop my head back onto his corded forearm and I’m barely able to suppress a moan as I take in the man looking down at me.

“Let’s dance, Nova.”

The opening notes of Feels Like Home by Chantel Kreviazuk fill the barn as Knox pulls my body flush against his. There’s a lightness in my chest where the rest of my body is vibrating. I’ve never felt more excited while simultaneously feeling so safe than I do wrapped up in these arms. I don’t want to even consider the possibilities of what that means.

“It was a nice ceremony,” I say, against his chest.

“Was it?”

My lips twitch. “You were there.”

“I couldn’t pay attention to anything except you.” If his arms weren’t wrapped around me like a vice, I’m not sure I would trust myself enough to stay standing. I don’t dare lift my head and show off the bright red tinge I know my pale face is showing. “This dress is really doing something to me, Nova.”

Knox has made it abundantly clear that he’s going to flirt with me. He’s not shy about anything—I wish I could say I hate that, but unfortunately, it only makes me more drawn to him. I only wonder if he’s so open and okay with this because he knows I’m leaving.

“I knew it would but I didn’t expect it to have the same effect on your buddy.” I throw my thumb over my shoulder and Knox’s eyes follow.

“Who?” Is his jaw flexing?

“I’m not sure what his name was. He was nice, though. Harmless.” I slide my hand back in his and resume our dance.

“Did you tell him you were my date?”

“I told him we were friends,” I lie, hoping he’ll confirm or clarify what he thinks we are.

I immediately regret it, though, when he pulls back slightly. It’s like watching a storm cloud roll in over a perfect autumn morning, the way his usual caramel-colored eyes darken.

“Come with me.”