June 5, 1925

The inside of Daryl Dixon's house was as simple as the outside. He lit several gas lanterns and a fire in the fireplace in the living room, and the flames brought a warm golden glow to the house. Zora had become accustomed to the bright lights made possible by electricity, and she found the soft firelight almost charming.

Daryl had offered her dinner, which she graciously accepted, only then realizing how hungry she actually was. She excused herself to the washroom, grabbing a lantern to take with her as Daryl began skinning and gutting the two rabbits he had caught that evening. She didn't want to be present for the butchery that was currently underway in the kitchen. It made her feel squeamish, and she wanted to clean herself up anyway.

The washroom was small and cramped. Zora set the lantern down on the counter and looked at her reflection in the dirty old mirror. Her cheek was swollen and bruised, and her lip had been broken open by the impact of the butt of the handgun. She definitely looked a little worse for wear. She turned on the tap and used the cold water to wipe the dried blood away. Her father and George would be beyond upset when they saw her wounds. They were a bold reminder to herself as well that she shouldn't get ahead of herself in this business. Nine months without an incident had quickly changed, and it was because of her own stupidity throwing caution to the wind. She couldn't let it happen again.

Zora forced a smile at her reflection, the movement feeling stiff and unnatural. She tried to make herself appear copacetic and as normal as possible before grabbing the lantern and making her way back into the kitchen, where Daryl had thankfully finished butchering the rabbits. He was frying the meat in a heavy skillet over the wood stove in the kitchen, and a pot of potatoes were boiling atop the stove as well. Despite the gruesome image of Daryl skinning the rabbits, the meat smelled wonderful as it sizzled in the pan.

"Got anything to drink?" she asked. Daryl grunted in reply, reaching into one of the kitchen cabinets and pulling out a glass with a nod toward the sink. Zora tentatively took the glass from him and filled it with water, sipping cautiously. She studied him as he worked, but he seemed indifferent to her stare. He was definitely rough around the edges, but despite the dirt and grime and unkempt stubble across his face, he was attractive in a ruggedly handsome sort of way. He glanced up and met her gaze with a frown, and Zora quickly averted her eyes. She sighed, hopelessly wishing for a drink that wasn't water. She glanced back to Daryl and decided to take a chance. He didn't seem like a tee-totaler; if anything, he seemed the opposite.

"Got anything stronger to drink?" she asked.

He stopped and frowned at her, studying her as if trying to figure her out. After a few moments, he shrugged.

"Moonshine. But that's it. Nothin' you'd like."

Zora's face lit up. "No, that would be perfect."

Daryl studied her again in surprise. He bent down and opened one of the lower kitchen cabinets and pulled out a jar of clear liquid. He scooted the jar toward her on the counter and watched her with doubtful eyes as she gave herself a hefty pour. Zora lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, almost sighing in relief as the familiar burn made its way down her throat. However, she didn't feel like she had swallowed nothing but gasoline (a taste she had become quite accustomed to working at Walton's). The burn was still there, but there was something else, too. A delicate kind of flavor that she hadn't tasted in moonshine before. She took another sip, trying to decipher what it was.

"That's . . ." she trailed off, looking for the right word.

"Nasty?" Daryl offered. "I told you I don't have nothin' you'd like."

"On the contrary," Zora said. "This is actually quite good. There's a flavor in here I can't quite put my finger on, but it's wonderful."

"You slay me," Daryl scoffed.

"I'm not joking!" Zora took another sip. "This is different than any moonshine I've ever had. It actually has some complexity to the flavor. There's something here besides just the usual burn."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her, not convinced that she wasn't pulling his leg.

"It's a family recipe," he muttered. "We been makin' it this way for decades."

"So this special flavor I'm detecting is a secret then?" Zora asked with a sly smile.

Daryl grunted in reply, turning back to the food cooking on the stove. His eyes kept wandering back to Zora, almost suspiciously. She caught his gaze and huffed in mild annoyance.

"What?"

"How'd someone like you get to know about moonshine?" he asked.

She sighed. "I might as well be on the level with you. I work for a speakeasy. It's called Walton's Moonshine & Wine. I've had my fair share of shine," she said, deciding to tell him the partial truth. His eyebrows arched at her statement, but he said nothing. He grabbed two plates and began dishing food onto each of them, handing her a plate full of rabbit and potatoes. She took it graciously and followed him to the kitchen table with her glass of moonshine in hand, now half empty.

"Thanks for cooking," she said politely. Daryl nodded once and dug in, and Zora began delicately eating her own food. It was good. Surprisingly good. She took another sip of moonshine and felt the strength of the liquor numbing her and giving her body the buzz she had needed.

"You live here alone?" she asked Daryl.

He nodded. "Used to live with my brother, Merle. But he got locked up in the big house, so it's just me now."

"Locked up for what?" Zora shamelessly asked.

"He robbed a store in the next town over and shot the shopkeep."

"Oh." Zora turned back to her meal, wondering if she shouldn't have asked. She wondered if staying here was such a good idea, knowing what people out here were capable of. Daryl seemed to sense her discomfort.

"I ain't like my brother," he said. "Least not like that. Biggest crime I ever commit is makin' moonshine."

Zora flashed him a smile, but it felt stiff. She took another sip of the moonshine and let it warm her further, forcing her doubts out of her mind. Daryl didn't seem dangerous, but outward impressions weren't everything. They continued eating in awkward silence until the moonshine pushed Zora to be bold once more.

"How much moonshine do you make out here?"

Daryl's eyes narrowed as he considered her question. "Enough," he answered vaguely. "Got a still in the shed. It's a decent size, but it's old. It does the trick, though."

Zora took another sip of the moonshine, her glass now almost empty. Her body felt like it was humming, and her limbs felt loose and relaxed. It was exactly what she had needed after the evening's events.

"You ever sell your moonshine?" she asked.

Daryl shook his head. "Not really. Just to some neighbors round these parts."

"You could make some major dough with this stuff," she observed. "Quality moonshine is hard to come by."

Daryl grunted in response. He finished the food on his plate and turned his eyes back to her, his gaze studying her as he had often been doing.

"What do you do for this speakeasy you work for?" he asked. "You seem to know more 'bout this stuff than a woman should."

Zora ignored his remark about her gender and eyed him coyly. She knew she shouldn't spill the beans on her operation, but part of her wanted to. It was clear that Daryl Dixon didn't know much about city girls, especially flappers like herself, and she found herself wanting to put him in his place.

"If I tell you, you promise not to tell anyone?" she said, leaning forward. Daryl arched an eyebrow and shrugged.

"Yeah, okay. Sure."

"I smuggle hooch and deliver it to a couple of gin mills in the city."

Daryl's expression turned incredulous.

"That right?" he said doubtfully. "You screwy or somethin'? Why would I believe that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Zora countered. "You wanna know why I'm out here, no car and all beat up? I was picking up an order of shine and some teenagers pulled guns on me and jacked it. They took my car and left me on the side of the road. If it hadn't been for you, I would still be walking back to Atlanta!"

"But you're . . ."

"I'm what? A woman?" Zora hissed. "Being a woman isn't like it used to be. We can do a lot of the stuff men do, and sometimes, we do it better than the men."

Daryl snorted. "Clearly not smuggling, considering you were just robbed by teenagers."

"Hey, that's not fair," Zora whined. "I've been doing this for almost a year and this is the first time anything's gotten balled up."

Daryl shook his head at her in disbelief. She stared back at him defiantly and downed the last drops of moonshine in her glass. Times were certainly changing if women could be bootleggers. Daryl hadn't had much interaction with women in the past several years; he mostly kept to himself now that Merle was locked up. He'd heard talk of the way young women were behaving these days, but Zora Brown was his first encounter with such a woman. She was a bearcat, and she was throwing him for a loop.

"Show me your still," Zora demanded suddenly, standing from the table and swaying a bit. She steadied herself and eyed him expectantly. Daryl sighed and stood from the table. He grabbed one of the lanterns and led her out the back door and into the night. She followed him to the shed that the truck was parked in front of. He opened the door and held it for her with the lantern held high. She squeezed past him, catching his scent of sweat and earth as she passed by him.

The light from the lantern illuminated a large copper still. It had clearly seen better days and had been in use for quite some time, but it was a decent size, and clearly well made. She pressed a hand to the cool metal and turned back to face Daryl.

"Impressive," she said with a grin. He shrugged.

"I guess."

She glanced around the shed and noticed several crates in the corner. Before she could stop herself, she hurried over to them, examining their contents. Jars of moonshine. Lots of them.

"Would you ever consider selling some of your shine to me?" she asked bluntly.

Daryl looked startled by her question. He narrowed his eyes at her and moved closer, the light from the lantern illuminating more of the jars in the crates.

"Don't look like you got any money on you," he grunted.

"Well, no," Zora agreed a little sheepishly. "But I have it! At my apartment in the city. I can get it to you."

Daryl scoffed. "I'm not about to go sellin' anything to you without the money in front of me. I just met you. I got no reason to trust you."

"That's fair," Zora nodded. "But I could give you good money for all this. And I guarantee that the folks I supply will love it just as much as I do."

"Praisin' the recipe ain't gonna help you any."

"What else are you gonna do with all this?" she asked. "Let it sit out here forever?"

"Merle—my brother—used to make big batches. We just sip on 'em for a while. This'll last me a long while."

"Oh, please, you are not going to drink all this yourself," Zora argued with an eye roll.

Daryl was amused by her tenacity. He decided to humor her.

"Okay then. How much would you give me?"

She picked up one of the large jars as if determining its weight and value. "Couple of clams per jar. And you got a lot of jars, so that's some pretty decent cabbage."

"How do I know you're good for it?"

"If you're really interested, you could drive me home tomorrow. I'll show you the money before you give me the goods. And I'll give you money for gas. With that hayburner you've got parked out there, you'll need it."

Daryl sighed, considering the offer. To be honest, he had no real source of income. He and Merle had been living off of a pretty meager inheritance from their father, the only good thing the man had ever done for his sons. Daryl didn't need much; he hunted and grew his own food, stilled his own whiskey, and had his own well for water. But the inheritance money had started to run out. A little extra dough definitely wouldn't hurt, and Zora was right about the moonshine sitting forgotten in the shed. Finally, he nodded.

"Fine. You got yourself a deal."

She let out a little triumphant yelp and bounded forward to shake his hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Dixon."

He managed a half smile and shook her hand.

"C'mon," he said, turning to exit the shed. "We better get some sleep. You can have Merle's old room. Sheets are clean, but no one's been in there for a while. Probably be dusty."

"A little dust won't kill me," Zora grinned. She followed him into the house, and he led her up the stairs and pointed to a closed door.

"This is you," he said, handing her the lantern. "I'm across the hall if you need me."

He entered his own room and lit another lantern. He moved to close the door and saw Zora standing in the doorway of Merle's room about to do the same.

"Goodnight, Daryl," she said softly.

"Goodnight, Zora," he replied, closing the door.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Reviews are always appreciated! ;)