I assumed she’d planned to take off like a lost lamb who finally identified the danger she was in, but instead, she went over to my bar.

Curious, I returned the box to the desk. “You feel like a drink?” I joined her, and she glanced at me over her shoulder.

“It’s four in the afternoon.”

I smiled. “There’s never a wrong time for whiskey.”

“You sound like my father.” She snapped her attention back to the bar and wasted no time reaching for a bottle on the top shelf: Legacy Ridge, my favorite bourbon.

I did my best not to check out her ass in those fitted jeans in the process.

I failed.

Her ass was perfect.

She caught me looking. Of course she did.

A shy smile touched her face as she handed me the bottle, fully facing me.

And that smile was . . . everything. It was also painfully familiar. Why? “This one’s a collector’s edition,” I finally managed to say. “I’m saving it for a special occasion.”

“I suppose a mother seeking forgiveness for her son yet again doesn’t qualify as special?” She set her hand on my forearm, and it was electric, that’s what that was the moment she touched me.

I dropped my eyes to her hand. “Sounds like a perfect occasion to me.”

“No, save it for someone else. I’m not much of a drinker.” She retracted her hand, giving me back the breath in my lungs and the ability for my heart to beat again. “You have exquisite taste to own that bottle, though.”

“The brand was recommended to me a long time ago.” Damn the knot in my throat. “It stuck with me.”

“May I ask by whom?” There was a sweet innocence to her question, and something told me this was an answer I didn’t want to get wrong.

I cleared my throat. “A stranger.” I closed my eyes when memories of my past unfolded in my mind, whether I wanted them to or not, becoming a damn tornado, working hard to wreck my composure.

Aruba. Seventeen years ago, as of this month. On leave from the Navy. There’d been a woman with the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen (maybe until now). She’d told me to go for the Legacy Ridge instead of the Maker’s Mark I’d ordered, and it’d been my go-to ever since.

She’d been the only woman I’d ever felt anything for and developed an attachment to.

“It’s my dad’s brand. He owns Legacy Ridge.”

My eyes flashed open in surprise. The unspoken words sat uncomfortably between us as she bit her lip.

Shock fell like a curtain, making it hard to see anything but the past, which was now standing squarely before me in the form of this woman.

No. No fuckin’ way. It can’t be you. You can’t be her.