“Um, it’s fun.” She chewed her lip all the way back to the highway. “Is…is the place where we’re going really nice? I feel bad about your dress shirt.”
“I guess you’ll find out.” I couldn’t even meet her worried eyes. I could tell she thought maybe I really was a caveman and I was going to wear a shirt that said MOTHER TRUCKER into a fancy restaurant, but I loved the look on her face too much to tell her the truth.
I loved everything about her.
• • •
She saw the sign before we actually arrived. I knew right when she figured it out because she gasped, clapped her hands, and stomped her feet. “Journeyman!”
I grinned. “You guessed it.”
“I love it! I’m excited!” She slapped my shoulder. “You should have told me!”
“I like surprises. And I don’t get to give them much.”
We pulled into the parking lot a few minutes after six, and Jillian was bouncing up and down in the front seat like—well, like a birthday girl. I think she was glad when I threw my jacket on over my new t-shirt, although she was too nice to say so.
We went into the distillery and took the tour, admiring the former factory’s nineteenth century maple floors, the brass, stainless steel and oak equipment, and the passion and precision with which the makers created their product. Later we sat at the concrete bar tasting whiskey and marveling that the original owner of the factory, who’d made his fortune manufacturing featherbone corsets, had been a prohibitionist. We raised our glasses.
“To EK Warren, misguided fool,” I said. “Although I think you’d look good in a corset.”
She laughed and we tipped back the shots. “Ah, that’s good,” she said. “I like that sign over there—I’d rather be someone’s shot of whiskey than everyone’s cup of tea.”
I looked where she was pointing. “I like that too.” Dropping a kiss on her shoulder, I added, “You’re my shot of whiskey, cup of tea, slice of pie and scoop of ice cream.”
She gave me a coy smile. “I thought you didn’t eat ice cream.”
I whispered in her ear. “I do when it’s yours.”
The expression on her face was better than a million dollars. Making her happy felt so fucking good.
• • •
We shared the crisp pork belly appetizer, a plate of roasted vegetables, and the whiskey barbecue chicken, and we drank a little more whiskey than we probably should have. Every time she looked at my shirt, she burst out laughing, and I threatened to wear it the first time I met her parents—or better yet, buy the one about the dirty girl.
“I am dirty,” she whispered as we wandered through the parking lot, hand in hand. “I can’t believe I did that in the car. I’ve never done that before.”
“Good.” I walked her to the passenger side of my car and backed her into it. “A car virgin. I like it.” I kissed her, finally. It felt like I’d been waiting all day.
“A car virgin,” she said, her hands running up my chest inside my jacket. “But not a closet virgin.”
“Nope.” I kissed my way down her neck. “I took care of that when I had the chance.”
“Did you ever do it in a closet with anyone else?”
I picked my head up and tried to think.
“You don’t know?”
“I was not a well-behaved or responsible person for many years, Jillian. If you want the real answer, I have to think.”
She shook her head. “OK, forget it. I liked what you were doing before better.”
“Me too.” I put my lips and tongue on her throat again, tasting her sweetness—vanilla tonight. And something flowery. Lavender? “You smell so fucking good. I have to get my mouth on all of you.”
“No argument here. Where are we staying tonight?”
“A bed and breakfast. It’s not far.”
“A bed and breakfast!” She took my face in her hands and kissed me. “You’re so mother trucking romantic, I can’t stand it. Let’s go.”
• • •
We pulled up at the bed and breakfast, a big nineteenth century Victorian home that was called A Night to Remember.
Jillian giggled at the sign hanging out front. “I like the name.”
“That’s why I chose it.”
She got out of the car and admired the house while I went to the back and unloaded our bags. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “When do you think it was built?”
I studied it for a moment. It was dark, but I could make out the lines and materials well enough. “Probably the eighteen seventies.” My knowledge of historical architecture wasn’t all that comprehensive, but because of the area where I lived and worked, I did have some familiarity with different Victorian styles. This one was French-inspired, with a mansard roof and shutters on the windows, its bricks painted a light yellow.
“I love it.” She threw her arms around me. “This is so nice, Levi. No one’s ever given me such a great birthday surprise.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go in.”
The owners of the house, Bob and Jenny, a couple in retirement age with matching pear-shaped bodies and welcoming smiles, greeted us at the door as if they’d been waiting for us. It was my first inclination that this might not be quite as private as I’d like. Here we were entering this lovely old home, the owners graciously giving us a tour, inviting us to sit on the antique furniture, sip cordials in the parlor, or drink tea off grandmother’s china, and all I could think of was taking Jillian upstairs and spanking ass her before fucking her senseless.