Seventeen
“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down and take a breath.”
Alastair guided Ruthie to a stool in the corner of the brewery kitchen. He moved the stainless steel bowl that overflowed with lush local collard greens, each leaf bigger than an elephant’s ear.
She plopped down on the stool, then burst into tears again. “I hate it when people tell me to calm down. I’m freaking out for a reason! A good one!”
“I’m sure you are, buttercup. But I’m afraid you’re going to burst a lung at this rate. Just stay right here, I’ll get you some water.”
“I don’t want water. I want alcohol. Strongest you have.”
He eyed her with caution. Ruthie asking for alcohol—that was a clear sign of danger. “I think Jessica left some Everclear here for her tinctures, but I don’t recommend—”
“Gimme,” she demanded. “Just
