Kaden shrugged. After the bartender set her drink in front of her, Kaden raised his glass.

“My dad died,” he said, matter-of-fact.

She frowned but lifted her glass all the same. “Sorry for your loss.”

Kaden nodded and threw back his drink as if it were a shot. The bourbon hit his tongue like sweet honey, burning just a little at the back of his throat on the way down. It left his mouth with a hint of smoke and wood, but his head was already reeling.

It was like he was right back in Yarrow, before the abuse. Before the lies. Nostalgia mixed with a bit of hope.

He pressed his palms to the countertop. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

“I love this stuff,” the woman said, and Kaden glanced over to find her sipping it slowly, the way he should have. “Wish I could afford the family reserve, but the four-year gets the job done. Takes me back to my wedding day—without any of the bad that came after. At least, not until the next morning when I wake up hung over and alone, and the memory of the car accident hits me all over again.” She threw back the rest of her drink.

When she held up the empty glass, the bartender crossed over to them and lifted the bottle. “Another?”

She nodded. He raised the bottle in Kaden’s direction, and Kaden nodded, too. The label read Jesse. Rather than calling their bourbons by year, or by harvest, the Bonners named them. Kaden always thought it was pretentious.

“Sorry,” the woman said as she nursed her second round. “You didn’t come here for my sob story. It’s just… today would’ve been our anniversary.”

Kaden stared into his empty glass and felt like a complete ass for trying to brush her off.

“I’d say I get it, but I can’t imagine losing your husband is anything like losing your father,” Kaden said.

She took another sip. “Sorry again about your dad.”

It wasn’t worth explaining why he was anything but sorry. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“I spiraled after my husband died.” She looked down at her hands, then back up into Kaden’s eyes. “I guess I’m still spiraling. Sometimes I wish I could give up all my memories of him.”

“Even the good ones?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe then I’d finally be at peace, you know?”

“Just forget it all,” he said, more to himself than her, thinking of his father, his manipulative mother, his younger brother who got all the bad parts of both their parents. His chest warmed as the words left his mouth, like he’d swallowed another glass of bourbon, the burn sharp and heady.