Bourbon Bet
By DK Marie

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The Bourbon Bet

Chapter One

Rosalia 

I run my hand along the spine of the limited-edition romance novel. Tonight’s book club is going to be so excited to see these. Setting it atop the others at my checkout counter, I accidentally bump a stack of monthly statements tucked beneath a framed photo. Both clatter to the floor. From the glass frame now resting at my feet, Dad and I smile up at me from the opening day of my bookstore. His proud grin beneath the “Novel Idea” sign he’d carved himself is as wide as mine.

 The old brass bell we’d hung over the door to my store clangs. I set the dropped items on a shelf behind the counter and look toward the entrance. The world goes quiet like I’ve just opened a new book, and my pulse races like it wants to get  to the good parts. This always happens when I see Sebastian Blackstone.

“Are you here for book club?” I joke, tapping the illustrated cover of a couple embracing.

His sporadic visits began days after my grand opening almost a year ago, and are always a treat. And not only because his looks rival my book-boyfriends, but because he’s interesting. Each time, he leaves with something unexpected I’ve recommended. Last month’s selection is tonight’s romance book club pick.

I stifle a laugh at the image of him in his custom three-piece suit and shiny Oxfords sitting in a folding plastic chair, sipping coffee from one of my chipped mugs. The man runs the largest bourbon distillery in Kentucky, and his family owns most of the state, including the building I’m leasing. Men like him frequent exclusive clubs for the privileged few, not indie book clubs.

 “I did enjoy the small-town romance you suggested,” he says, his full lips pulling into a smile, revealing a dangerous dimple. “But I haven’t read much fiction lately.” 

No way! He actually read the romance novel I recommended. I thought he was being polite buying it. Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m way too pleased. But who can blame me? He’s Kentucky royalty and movie star handsome, and took the time to read one of my book suggestions. And a romance novel.

“I—” My hand collides with a small stack of books on the counter, toppling them. Kneeling, I gather the scattered novels. 

We reach for the same book, and our fingers touch. A current races up my arm. I glance up and catch him staring. Those eyes, the color of expensive bourbon, hold mine with an intensity that makes me forget how to breathe. 

“Ms. Rosalia!” shouts a child, startling me. I nearly fall on my butt. Sebastian hands me the book with a smile before turning to the young boy. 

Jake, one of the kids I tutor, barrels into me and wraps his arms around me. “I just finished that shark book. Do you have more? Do you like sharks, mister?” he asks Sebastian.

“This is Mr. Blackstone—”

“Are we back to that, Ms. Manchester?” asks Sebastian, his right brow quirks. Why is it so sexy?

“Sebastian,” I correct, then ruffle Jake’s hair. “This little guy is an amazing reader who loves adventure stories.” 

The seven-year-old steps forward, holding out a hand. I look at his mom and see her proud smile. “I’m Jake. I love to read because of Ms. Rosalia. She makes it fun.”

A flush of warmth fills me at the little guy’s praise. They remind me of why I pour so much of myself into my fledgling bookstore and its community outreach, even in months when the budget is tight. “He’s in my reading program,” I explain.

Sebastian nods, then crouches slightly and shakes the small boy’s hand. The movement highlights his jawline, defined and sharp in profile. “What kind of adventures do you like to read about?” he asks.

“Sharks and dinosaurs and space!” Jake beams.

“A man of excellent taste,” Sebastian says with a nod that makes the little guy stand taller.

“Those are good subjects. Let’s see if I have some.” I lead them to the special shelf of donated books I reserve for my reading program students. As he carefully browses the titles, I glance at Sebastian, who’s hunched down, talking about books with Jake. And his mom is watching Sebastian with open appreciation. I can’t blame her. 

I also can’t help cataloging the scene. The way Jake lights up when an adult takes his interests seriously, and how his mom relaxes seeing her son so engaged. It’s the kind of genuine connection I love reading about, where people surprise each other by caring about the small things. These are the moments that make the best stories, the ones where everyone discovers something unexpected about themselves.

A few minutes later, their arms are laden with books from the donation section, and Jake and his mother say their goodbyes. After they leave, I turn to Sebastian. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

His eyes meet mine, and I swear there’s a flicker of something deeper than mere politeness, maybe a hint of admiration, perhaps even attraction, shines in them. The man is unfairly gorgeous, with a presence that fills the entire bookstore. And yet, there’s a gentleness I don’t expect from someone so powerful.

“I believe you were about to recommend some books to me,” he says.

Book recommendations are my jam, and I rub my hands together, turning and walking backward toward the fiction section. Keeping my gaze on Sebastian, I say, “Are you in the mood for horror? There’s an amazing one I just read from a local author. There’s a haunted house, which I know is overdone, but not that way she does it,” I gush, then close my mouth.

I’m about to start babbling. He always makes me nervous and excited, turning me into someone who knocks things over and can’t stop talking

“It still surprises me—your love for romance and horror,” he says, amusement dancing across his features.

Picking up the haunted house book from the nearby shelf, I hand it to him. “I’ve read somewhere that there’s a thin line between love and hate. Pain and pleasure.” 

As soon as the words leave my mouth, a wave of heat washes over me, turning into a full-body blush. I sound like a flirt. Or a weirdo.

I need to shut up around this too-handsome and intriguing man.

He chuckles. “That’s true. But today, I’m looking for a travel book for Thailand. Oh, and a fun beach read.”

A gentle flutter stirs in my chest, awakening a dormant wanderlust. One day I’m going to travel, and more than just inside an amazing story.

“Sounds like you have an adventure in your future,” I say, walking us to the travel shelf.  One day, when the store is more established and the business loan isn’t eating so much of my income, I’ll travel too.

“I wish. I’m getting them for my nomad sister, Lillianna. She’s currently in Australia for another few weeks. After that, she’s heading to Thailand. She’s not big on touristy ‘hot spots,’ but if you have a book about unique travel, she’ll love it.”

Bending to the bottom shelf, I grab a travel guide that comes highly recommended by a sweet retired couple who frequent my bookstore and adore the author’s worldly perspectives. I hand him the book. “Having siblings must be wonderful. I’ve always wanted them,” I sigh. Some people are so lucky.

“It depends on the sibling.” He laughs, but it holds a slight edge.

I get the sense there’s tension, but family businesses are complicated. And since I hate when people nose in my business, I don’t ask him to elaborate. Instead, I study his profile while he’s busy reading the back of the book. His thick, slightly wavy black hair is styled to perfection, and my fingers itch to mess it up, to see what it would look like rumpled from sleep—or something more interesting.

Settle down, woman. I need to stop lusting after the poor man who just wants to get a few books for his sister. Putting on my professional hat, I ask, “Are there any books you’ll be getting for yourself today?”

His face relaxes, and his other dimple makes an appearance. Double whoa. “Don’t think poorly of me,” he says. “With the Derby only a little over seven weeks away, there’s no time for fun fiction.”

“How could I think less of you? Even super busy, you came here to get books for your sister. You’re a good brother,” I tell him as we leave behind the shelves for the checkout counter.

“Or maybe I’m using it as an excuse to see you.” He gives me another heart-stopping grin.

A tingle of excitement dances along my skin. “A-are you?”

“Possibly.”

His unexpected flirting makes me daring. “Then even better. For me,” I reply. Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I hold his gaze, secretly thrilled by my audacity. I’ve never been this forward with anyone, let alone someone who looks like him.

And Sebastian Blackstone is definitely something to look at. His eyes seem to darken, and he leans slightly closer. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Instead of my monthly drop-ins, maybe we could actually sit down and talk books properly sometime. There’s a new coffee place on Main that I’ve been meaning to try. I’ll be back in the city on Monday and Tuesday. Are you free on either of those days?”

My heart cartwheels in my chest. Is Sebastian Blackstone really asking me on a date? Monday is usually perfect since the store is closed, but I promised Grandma Rose I’d help with her garden project. Not that I’ll be telling my gossip-loving grandma about this. She’d have it plastered all over social media.

“Yes,” I blurt before I can overthink it. “I’m free on Tuesday after six when my store closes.”  I’m writing myself into a plot I can’t control.

His smile widens. “Great. I’ll swing by around six?”

“Maybe…I close at five,” I manage, my voice surprisingly steady despite the butterflies in my stomach.

“Perfect, looking forward to it,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes me believe he means it.

I press my palm against my racing heart. Sebastian Blackstone asked me out. Me, the bookworm drowning in business loans while he commands an empire.

The monthly statements peek out from under the counter, the morning accounting I’ve been avoiding. Dad always said dreams were worth chasing, but he never mentioned how terrifying it would be when they start chasing you back.

Sebastian pauses at the counter, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as he glances around the store. “You know,” he says, “I’ve always wondered, what made you choose this particular location? Whiskey Row isn’t the most obvious spot for a bookstore, but it works so well.”

I follow his gaze, seeing my little sanctuary through his eyes: the mismatched furniture I’ve collected and refinished, the hand-painted signs that took me three tries to get right, and the cozy reading nook I created in the corner with cushions I found at a thrift store and recovered myself. I’m proud of what I’ve built from nothing, even as my attention snags on every imperfection. From the slight wobble in the display table to the way the paint doesn’t quite match on the trim I touched up last month. What if he sees all the places where I’ve cut corners, where my dreams are held together with determination and discount supplies?

“It chose me,” I admit, self-conscious about how the modest space compares to what he must be used to. “When I came across the ‘For Lease’ sign online and then saw it in person, it felt right.”

The way he’s really listening shows he’s genuinely curious about my little world. Nodding, he glances around the store again, making no move toward the door.  He surprises me with how much he seems to actually care. 

Spending my teenage years as the scholarship kid at the private school where my mom taught English and History, I’ve seen how the wealthy operate up close. The whispers, the exclusion, the constant reminder that I didn’t belong in their world. Even knowing real-life romances between different worlds like ours rarely end with a happily ever after, I’m still willing to see where this story goes.

Excerpt From: DK Marie. “Bourbon Bet”