“This bottle of whiskey? My great-granddad had it his whole life and never once brought himself to open it. Then he passed it down to my granddad, and he couldn’t do it either.”
“After that, it went to my dad. And guess what? Still didn’t touch it!”
“And now it’s landed with us. If we broke the bottle now, not only my great-granddad, but my granddad and my dad would all be rolling in their graves.”
Winona: “…”
She was mad, sure—but wasting this kind of whiskey? She couldn’t bring herself to do it.
This one glass? Worth a fortune.
And more than that, it was a collector’s edition. Didn’t matter how much money you had—couldn’t buy another one like it.
She frowned and took the glass Keaton handed her. He quickly clinked his glass against hers.
“Listen, today, that was my fault. Ms. Newsom, please, be the bigger person and don’t hold it against a lowly guy like me.”
Winona shot him a glare but took a sip.
Keaton asked, “Well? How is it?”
Winona didn’t deny it. “It’s good. Really good.”
Keaton looked pleased. “Some people’s ancestors collected gold and jewels. Mine? They hoarded the best booze they could find.”
“If it’s a bottle that got passed down from my family, you can bet it’s top shelf. Relax and enjoy.”
With that, the tension between them eased, and they started drinking, glass after glass.
Halfway through, Keaton set down his glass and went over to the bed, propping up Winona’s pillow for her.
“Let’s not stand around. If you get tired, I’ll feel even guiltier. Come on, lie back. We’ll drink and chat. Let me fill you in about what happened today.”
Winona didn’t bother protesting. She wandered over, half-reclined against the pillow.
“So… you figured everything out?”
“Yeah.”
Keaton dragged over her vanity chair and sat beside the bed.


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