Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(69)

Logan nodded, and my stomach was a mess of nerves as I made my way across the room, like I was about to steal a car instead of talk to my boyfriend.

My boyfriend.

An audible sigh left my chest at that, and I shook my head, giggling to myself and looking back over my shoulder to see if Logan was following. I stopped short, frowning when I saw he’d been pulled aside by the other tour guides. They shoved him toward the dance floor, relentless, and he laughed and laughed, but his eyes were sad when they met mine.

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

I smiled, waving him off and letting him know it was okay.

Maybe I wouldn’t get time alone with him at the party, but I’d have him all to myself when it was all over.

That was enough for me.

Chris and I made another drive by at the peppermint champagne table before we were back on the dance floor, too — on the opposite side of where Logan was. We exchanged glances now and then, shared a smile or two, and all the while, I counted down the minutes until the party would be over and I would be in his arms again.

“If I could have everyone’s attention, please,” my father said when the next song died out. Everyone on the dance floor turned to face the makeshift stage, where he stood behind a podium with a microphone, smiling and beaming out at his employees. Mom stood beside him, both of them dressed in pearly white — Dad in a tux, Mom in a gown — looking like the Groom and Bride or like the King and Queen, themselves.

I would have rolled my eyes if I wasn’t in such a good mood.

As it was, Chris and I gathered in the middle of the dance floor with everyone else, holding our glasses out when a server came around to refill champagne glasses. That meant a toast was coming, and if I knew my father, he’d be toasting to how successful the distillery was this year.

AKA — how successful he was this year.

“Mrs. Scooter and I would like to sincerely thank each and every one of you for attending tonight,” he said, putting an arm around Mom as they swept their eyes over the crowd. “This is the twenty-seventh year that we’ve had the Christmas Eve party — a tradition that my grandparents started that I’m happy to keep alive today.”

There was a light applause, and my mom squeezed Dad’s arm. I swore I saw him getting choked up, which was laughable — considering him and grandpa were fighting about almost everything up to the very day he passed away.

Dad went on to talk about how well the distillery had done, talking about new partnerships and advances. The entire room was abuzz when he revealed that my brother, Malcolm, had secured us a sixty-second advertisement during the upcoming Super Bowl. Dad said there would be filming happening at the distillery, because they wanted to show the faces that made America’s favorite whiskey come to life.

I zoned out a bit after that, sipping my champagne that I was supposed to be saving for the toast while my eyes scanned the room for Logan. I found him over to my left, closer to the stage than I was, surrounded by his mother and two brothers. Noah wasn’t there this year, since he was visiting the mayor’s daughter in Utah. It looked a little strange, seeing the family without one of the brothers — like a puzzle with one piece missing right in the center.

Logan must have sensed me watching him, because he took a sip of his whiskey, casually glancing around until he found me, too. He smiled, tilting his glass toward me, and I tilted mine.

With just our eyes, we had an entire conversation in that moment.

You look beautiful, he said.

I can’t wait to get you home, I said.

Soon, he said.

Soon, I echoed.

Then, my father asked my uncle to join him on stage, and the applause pulled both of our gazes back to the front.

It was always my father who had the charm to bedazzle a crowd. Uncle Mac, on the other hand, always looked like he was perturbed, like he was biding his time until he could be alone again. He gave an awkward smile at the applause, standing next to my father with rosy cheeks and a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“As you all know, my little brother has been instrumental in this distillery’s success since our father passed away. It was his idea to implement a tour department — an initiative that continues to pull visitors in from across the country and the world every single day.”

There was another roll of applause, and Chris nudged me. “That initiative has also brought a plethora of gay tourists into Buck’s,” he said, wagging his brows and taking a sip of his champagne. “Thank you, Mac.”

I chuckled, nudging him back as my father went on about all of my uncle’s accomplishments. I was tempted to zone out again, to see if I could eye-fuck Logan from across the room a while longer, when I heard my name called.

Applause started again, but I stood there frozen, confused, wondering what I had missed. Chris cleared his throat, nudging me forward before he began clapping around his champagne glass, too.

I smiled, cheeks heating as I made my way to the stage. One of the pew boys helped me up the stairs, and then I was standing next to my mother, facing practically the entire town of Stratford. I found Logan, and his comforting smile anchored me, steadying me as my father beamed at me from the podium.

“We’ve been trying for a long time to get our daughter, Mallory, to take her role at the distillery. But, as many of you know, she is a colorful bird who likes to fly her own course.”

There were a few chuckles, and I forced a smile, despite the fact that I wanted to roll my eyes at the backhanded compliment.