Chapter 7 #2
“I know. I was thinking we could do something similar to the Easy Drinking Ale you made this summer. Hannah gave me a bottle. Maybe with a couple of variations to make it more exciting…”
It’s obvious she knows her beer. She hasn’t been sitting around doing her nails, waiting for her daddy to hand her the keys.
“And then, I was thinking…” She splays her hands dramatically in the air, nearly knocking over a water glass.
“Weekly reveal parties for the new beers. Obviously the dark beers will have to come out later. It’ll be…
the publicity…it’ll be great. People will want to see what we’re doing. How do you feel about herbs?”
I laugh at her non sequitur. “Herbs in our organic beer, you mean?”
She taps my arm with her hand.
“Was that supposed to be a punch?” I ask, laughing harder.
She responds with a headshake, a few strands of her hair whipping around and catching me in the arm. “A nudge for a noodge. I was thinking herbs and fruit. I want something different. Something special.” She smiles again, her whole face lighting up. “I want those reveals to blow their minds.”
“I think we can come up with something.” I have about a hundred ideas for flavor combinations that BevCorp would never let me mass-produce.
Ideas that have been weighing down my brain.
Recipes I wrote years ago and have made only for myself and my friends.
Here’s my chance. “I’ve got a few different beers I’d like you to try.
As soon as possible. Which makes it pretty inconvenient that you’re wasted. ”
“I am not wasted,” she insists, frowning at me. “Would a wasted person be able to do this?”
She stands up, her posture perfect, and presses the bottom of her little booted foot to her inner thigh. My eyes track every movement, even as I stand up, preparing to catch her when she inevitably falls.
“And what, exactly, are you doing?” I ask.
“Tree pose,” she says with a frown, probably because she looks like a tree caught in a windstorm. “See, I can definitely do it. I practice every day.”
A second later, she topples.
“Timber,” I murmur as I catch her. For just a second, she’s pressed against me, warm and smelling of bad whiskey, and then she pulls away with a pouty look on her face.
“It’s the floor in here. Don’t tell Sharon, but it’s not level.”
It’s cute that she thinks Sharon gives half a shit about this place just because she works here. It makes me think that Briar could run the kind of business people do care about. Which is definitely what I should be thinking about, not the way my sister’s friend felt pressed up against me.
But my mind has never been very good at obeying anyone, myself included, and that’s exactly what I’m thinking about.
Then again, it’s been a long time since I’ve touched a woman—months and months. It was Margaret, Hannah’s other friend.
I shake off the memory as Briar resumes her seat and plants her elbows on the table, cradling her head in her hands.
“I might be a little tipsy,” she finally concedes as I sit across from her.
I lean back in my chair, watching her, feeling an unwelcome awareness. “Hannah’s making arrangements, you know. She says you should be at the tea shop at five, ready to make some decisions on staffing.”
Her eyes widen in alarm, and she lifts the coffee and takes a big sip. She sets it back down and stares at the mug as if it betrayed her. “It didn’t work.”
I laugh. “It’ll take more than a single sip. It’ll take time. We’ll walk in the cold too. That’ll help. We can head over to Silver Star so I can check out the equipment.”
“But you need to start working on the new beer.” She sounds a little panicked now, as if she’s beginning to realize her plan is impossible or sitting squarely on impossible’s doorstep.
“I do,” I agree. “And the first step is making sure we have the equipment and supplies I need. Your organic-only rule is going to make that harder.”
She idly taps her lips with her fingers but then sits up straighter, not even wobbling much anymore. “It’s staying organic.”
“Whatever the boss wants, the boss gets,” I say. If my gaze follows her fingers as they tap her lips again, at least she’s too tipsy to notice. “But we’ll need to work quickly. If everything’s in order, I’d like to get that beer fermenting today.”
“Today?”
“Today. Yesterday would have been preferable. Last week would have been even better.”
“I have plenty of barley and hops, but I don’t have a time machine.”
I grin at her. “More’s the pity. As for the other brews…
we can do a taste test of some of my small batches.
Maybe tomorrow afternoon.” Then I remember the whole Cormac-slash-Mick audition and swear under my breath.
It’s further proof I’ve got no business trying to be in a real band.
“Make that Wednesday. We’ll see what else we can get started. ”
“Oh no, Liam,” she gasps, her eyes going wide. “I forgot about your job. You need to quit. Do you think they’ll make you put in a two-week notice?”
She starts pulling on the straw-wrapper creation, which resembles a Chinese finger trap.
“It’s your lucky day,” I say. “I’ve already got that taken care of. I got fired this morning.”
She gapes at me, then glances around, making her recon attempt so obvious she would have gotten us iced if we were spies.
“What did you do?” she whispers.
“I hit on my boss.”
She leans forward a little. “You did?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He told me we could only be together if I wasn’t working for him anymore, so I said to hell with it. Fire me so we can be together.”
“Really?”
“No,” I say with a snort. “If I were gay, he’s the last man I’d go for. I walked out on him in the middle of a meeting so I could come here.”
She surprises me by reaching for my hand again, squeezing it, her eyes on mine. “You’re like Hannah. You use humor as a coping mechanism.”
“Did you learn that term in therapy?” I don’t move my hand, because I honestly don’t feel like it.
“Yes, but I didn’t like my therapist, and I don’t think she liked me either. Have you ever thought about that? How therapists must only pretend to like some of their patients?”
“Can’t say I’ve given it any thought, no.”
“I guess you wouldn’t care if your therapist didn’t like you,” she says dreamily, her fingers moving softly over mine as if I’m an animal she’s petting. “Because you don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“Wouldn’t go to a therapist,” I say. “Why talk when you can punch something instead?”
She gives me a slow smile that grows to encompass her whole face. “You think you’re such a tough guy, tough guy.”
“You still sound drunk, you know.”
“I know,” she agrees, her hand not budging from mine. “I want to go to that gym again. I really liked it when you helped me punch that bag.”
I should tell her no.
I should tell her it’s a bad idea for us to spend any time together outside of professional situations, but I saw what punching that bag did for her.
Even though she’s drunk, it’s still doing something for her now.
She worked up the confidence to fill that book with notes.
That’s something. It’s more than what she had last night.
I’ll figure out another way to keep my distance.
“All right. We’ll go again sometime,” I say noncommittally, finally pulling my hand away.
“Did you really lose your job?”
One corner of my mouth lifts up, as if it’s decided to cut ties with the other. “Yeah, Princess, I really did. I lost it for you, if you want to know the truth. I want to do this with you. You have me convinced.”
“But I haven’t even told you about the percentages yet!” she says, looking worried.
“Percentages?”
“I’m going to meet your old salary,” she says. “Our benefits plan sucks almost as much as the whiskey in this place—sorry, Sharon.” Sharon’s nowhere near us. “But I can offer you a percentage of the business. Ten percent.”
“Ten percent,” I repeat in disbelief.
This woman is nothing if not surprising.
“And, look, I totally realize it might be ten percent of nothing,” she says quickly, as if she thinks I’m objecting to the concept.
“My dad says you should never accept an offer like that, and he’d know.
He has that foolproof recipe for success, remember?
It’s engraved in maple, so it can’t be changed. ”
“That’s stupid. Recipes can always be improved.”
She grins at me, and I’m soaking in her smile as Sharon comes around with our bill.
“What do you say?” Briar asks, leaning forward. A lock of her long golden hair tumbles onto my arm, and it’s soft as silk. Smells like the hair band on my wrist too.
Speaking of…
I pluck the elastic on my wrist like it’s a guitar string, hesitating even though I’ve already decided. I decided the second Hannah asked for a favor.
“Honey, don’t keep us in suspense,” Sharon says to me, her hand on her hip. She doesn’t have the slightest idea what we’re talking about, but it’s obvious she’s been swept up in Briar’s tide.
Truth is, I feel swept away too. For the first time in a long while, I have no idea what next week is going to look like. Or next year. The future is a blank canvas.
Maybe it’ll end up looking like a drunk person decided they’re Picasso and attacked it with a brush. Or maybe it’ll end up looking rosy.
Either way, I’m more than ready to risk it all.
Even if I’m a lot more attracted to Briar Sterling than I’m willing to admit to anyone. Myself included.
“Like I said,” I tell Briar with a grin. “I got fired this morning. I’m all yours.”
Sharon looks a little put out by this big reveal. Like maybe she’s thinking Briar deserves better than an unemployed pirate look-alike.
But Briar squeals and jumps unsteadily to her feet before running around the table and hugging me again.
Dammit, I wish she’d stop doing that.