My Three Aunts Decided I Was Too Handsome to Stay Single. I Had Twelve Months Before They Ran Out of Women in Kentucky

“Until next Christmas for what?” I asked.

Aunt Delphine folded her hands.

“We’ve been talking to our estate attorney,” she said calmly. “About the family trust.”

My stomach dropped.

The Boone family trust owns the distillery. The land, the rickhouses, the brand, the barrels aging in the dark that won’t be ready for another fifteen years. My three aunts are the trustees. I’m the beneficiary, and I run the business.

“We’re updating our wills,” said Aunt Ruby. “And the trust. And we want to know who’s going to carry on the Boone name.”

“I’m carrying it on,” I said. “I’m literally putting it on bottles.”

“On a person,” said Aunt Pearl. “Not on a bottle.”

I looked at them. Three tiny women in Christmas sweaters, staring at me like a jury.

“Are you threatening me with the family trust?”

“We would never,” said Aunt Delphine, sipping her coffee.

“We’re encouraging you,” said Aunt Ruby.

“Twenty-three dates,” said Aunt Pearl. “One a fortnight. We’ve already called most of them.”

I looked down at the list.

Number one was the new pastor’s sister. Number two was a dentist from Louisville. Number three just said “Darlene. You know Darlene.”

I did know Darlene. Everyone in Nelson County knows Darlene.

“Fine,” I said, because there is no other answer you can give three Kentucky aunts at Christmas. “I’ll go on your dates.”

They clapped like I’d won the Derby.