“Don’t worry—I’ve got you, Ginger.” He pulled her upright and grinned. He’d been more relaxed the past few days. Lighter, somehow. And he’d stopped pressuring her about sneaking around. He held up a bottle. “The liquor distributor gave Bridget a bargain on some bottles of this new liqueur, so I snagged some for us. It’s an apple spice brandy.” He set the bottle on the table, keeping one arm around her waist. “He’s trying to get us to order a case or two before fall. I told him this area is more focused on grapes than apples in September, but we do have orchards up north, so it could work.”

He finally noticed the jukebox. “Whoa. That thing is awesome. Are you rebuilding it?”

“Yes. The customer found it in the corner of an old barn, and it was sitting there for a very long time. Long enough for mice to make multiple nests inside.”

Mike opened the bottle of brandy while Zoey brought down the cups. The stuff had a real kick to it, but it was delicious. She cleaned out more of the jukebox parts, jotting an inventory and taking lots of photos with her phone so she’d know how to reassemble it later. Mike kept splashing more brandy in their cups. He told her about the auto race that past weekend and how much fun he’d had with his old college pals.

She waited for him to say something about how much he wanted her to meet them, like he usually did, but he never mentioned it. Maybe he really had accepted her request to lie low for now. Or maybe the glow of their little affair was wearing off and he was getting ready to let her go. She looked over at him, suddenly fearful.

“What?” he asked, spreading his hands wide. “Why do you suddenly look like you want to skewer me?”

She couldn’t ask him why he was doing exactly what she’d asked him to do—stop pressuring her. She held up the plastic cup. She was a little surprised the sides hadn’t melted from the strength of the brandy.

“I’m mad at you because you brought this alcohol here on a night when I thought I’d get some actual work done.” She blinked after taking another swallow. “This stuff is wicked strong, but I can’t stop drinking it.”

Mike drank from his cup, blowing out a breath after he swallowed. “It is strong. But damn, that apple kick is fun, isn’t it?” He splashed more in both their cups, then squinted at the label. “Holy shit—this stuff’s almost 120 proof. No wonder we’re feelin’ it.” He grinned. “But I don’t have to drive anywhere tonight, do I?”