Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
brIAR
Great-Aunt Sky always says that positive thinking can create ripples in the real world.
So maybe I can think myself sober.
You’re sober, I tell myself silently as Liam and I walk toward Silver Star, his arm hovering just behind mine as if he’s ready to catch my potential fall again. Sober. So-ber.
My yoga teachers would have been ashamed of me for falling out of tree pose, which is one of the easiest balance poses. So easy a toddler could probably do it.
I can still feel Liam murmuring timber in my ear. He must have been smiling too—that smug, manly, I know better than you do Liam smile. Why, I’ll bet he’s doing it right now…
I turn abruptly to face him, nearly slipping on a slick patch of sidewalk.
“Yes?” he says dryly, and there it is. That horrible, beautiful smile.
“I knew you’d be smiling at me like that,” I say, only realizing after the words come out that I must sound like a psychopath.
“Would you prefer it if I frowned?” He tugs me out of the way so a couple of people with sour-lemon expressions can pass us.
“I don’t think so. You’re a bit scary when you frown.”
“I take that as a compliment,” he says, then wheels me around so I’m facing the right direction. I feel like a doll again, being set onto a path.
“Of course you do,” I mutter sulkily.
Somehow his arm ends up woven through mine, and since I’m still unsteady on my feet, I don’t complain.
You’re not drunk. You’re just slightly tipsy. It’ll pass. Everything passes. Think about a river flowing along. The water—
I stumble over a shriveled slice of pizza lying in the middle of the sidewalk.
“At least it wasn’t dogshit,” Liam reflects as we continue walking.
“That happened to me on a date when I was a teenager. I was looking into her eyes, the way Hannah said I was supposed to, and I stepped into dogshit in the middle of the sidewalk and slid and fell right onto my ass. She fell with me. Into the dogshit.”
I laugh in surprise. “Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugs, but I think I already know the answer. He’s trying to make me feel better about drinking myself silly on bad whiskey.
Warmth fills me, and I feel stronger. Though not more sober, if I’m being perfectly honest. I think I must have had three or four glasses of whiskey.
We walk in silence for another couple of minutes, passing a sad-looking Santa Claus, to whom I give a dollar, and a busker playing Christmas music. Then Liam surprises me by asking, “Do you like your father?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, shifting my head to look at him.
“Eyes forward, boss. Remember what happened to me on that date all those years ago. We learn from our mistakes.”
“Do we?” I ask with a bitter laugh.
You’d think I would have learned my lesson after Melly took my doll. But then Theresa and Jonah came along, proving I hadn’t.
“We do,” Liam says firmly, pausing on the sidewalk and meeting my gaze. “You’ve learned from them whether you realize it or not.”
“I don’t know if I agree with that,” I mumble, hugging myself against a sudden chill. “But to answer your question about my father…I don’t think he’s the kind of person people like.”
He gives me a knowing smile that makes me angry for reasons I couldn’t begin to guess at.
“I can tell what you’re thinking, and that’s not what I meant,” I say, exasperated. “He’s…impressive.” I wave a hand. “He’s got that recipe.”
He steers me to the edge of the sidewalk, close to the building storefront, so a group of people can pass us. I lean against the cool stone, and he leans right next to me, his big body blocking the wind.
“The recipe that never changes?” he says from several inches above my head. I wonder if I’d hear an echo if I leaned in and pressed my ear to his chest.
Looking up into his brown eyes, I say, “It’s a pretty good recipe. He’s made a lot of money using it.”
“Money’s not the only thing that matters.”
“It is to him.” I hesitate, remembering my father’s dinner invitation. “He wants to meet you.”
He smiles. “You’re already telling your parents about me?”
Startled, I nearly lose my balance, but I realize he’s just giving me a hard time. A Moroney family specialty, it seems. I guess it’s kind of nice that he feels he can adopt the same friendly, teasing dynamic that Hannah and I share.
“Yes. He wants you to come to dinner next Friday, but I’m going to make up some kind of excuse.”
“Oh no,” he says easily. “I’m definitely coming. I’ve got to see that recipe for myself.”
“You don’t want to come,” I gush.
“Why not? I hate cooking, and it sounds like I’m going to be pretty busy making beer. I’ll need a break.”
I remember that I have no idea what he’s doing for the holidays. What if he planned on taking a long vacation?
“Oh, no,” I say. “Are you celebrating Christmas?”
He gives me an incredulous look, hesitates, then says, “No.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling guilty now. “You should. Of course you should. What do you usually do?”
“It’s my favorite day to get drunk. So I’ll definitely be free for your family dinner.”
“You probably don’t want to meet my parents. My mother’s not the kind of person people like either.”
“That’s an interesting way of saying you don’t like them,” he remarks.
I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly cold down to my bones. “I didn’t say that. I wouldn’t say that. They’re my parents.”
“You didn’t ask them to be,” he points out. “They’re the ones who decided to have a kid.”
“I never thought of it that way.” I shiver, either from the thought or the chill breeze sneaking into my coat. “But I still don’t want you to come.”
“Which only makes me want to come more.” He nods in the direction of Silver Star, which is only a couple of blocks away now. “Let’s keep going. It’s cold out here.”
I doubt he’s cold, although it surprises me that he’d care that I might be.
Neither of us says much for the rest of the walk, but Liam catches my elbow a few times to keep me from slipping or bumping into someone. The places he’s touched are covered by my sweater and jacket, but the skin there practically buzzes with awareness.
When we reach Silver Star, a strange feeling tears through my chest. It’s a mixture of pride—it’s mine—and fear—because oh no, it’s mine—and the shameful memory of what happened here last night.
Liam gives my arm a gentle squeeze, startling me. My gaze meets his, and he smiles. “I’m not going to tell you it’s going to be okay. This situation will probably go tits up soon enough.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I mutter, all at once feeling sad and mostly sober.
“But you’re really going balls to the wall, Briar. I respect that.”
There he goes again, surprising me. I peer up into his eyes, a much deeper amber than the whiskey I spent my morning drinking, and I’m hit with a bolt of awareness of him as a man.
Not that I was totally oblivious to him before.
I’ve always known he’s big and strong, and that his features suit him.
His crooked nose is balanced by those big, brown eyes, and his short beard brings attention to his perfectly sculpted jawline.
His strong throat. And then there’s his hair, too red to be brown, too brown to be fully red.
No! a voice in my head shrieks. No men for a year!
And not this man, ever. Even if he weren’t already completely off limits because he’s both my employee and my best friend’s brother, there’s no way I’m blowing up my life, again, for a man who isn’t interested in a relationship.
Like Liam said, we have to learn from our mistakes, or at least try.
Amusement is dancing in his eyes again, almost as if he can hear the thoughts I would never give voice to.
“Thank you,” I say, trying to sound indifferent. “Now, come inside and see what you own ten percent of.”
His smile fills his eyes. “Which ten percent is mine? The bathroom? The basement? Details matter.”
“Would you like to bring out a tape measure?”
“Oh, there’s definitely no need for that, Princess,” he says with an easy grin that sends a shock wave through me.
I poke an accusatory finger into his chest. “Hannah warned me about your wily ways.”
He shrugs, a smile still playing on his lips. “Probably for the best.”
We’re quiet for a couple of minutes before he says, “You’re being more than generous, you know. Even if my share ends up being ten percent of nothing. I’d rather own ten percent of nothing than spend another year working at Big Catch.”
I squeak out another thank you, feeling self-conscious, and lead him toward the entrance of Silver Star—the door with the glass window I painted a sunburst on—just as Hannah comes bursting from around the opposite corner.
“There you are,” she says.
Liam and I exchange a glance.
“Which one of us are you talking to?” We say it at practically the same time. I’m tempted to laugh, but I feel metaphysically dizzy from everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, not to mention the fact that Hannah’s here at the brewery.
“We’ve been drinking in the bar next door, waiting for you to show up.”
“Is it five already?” I ask, glancing at my fitness watch, which informs me with a frowny face that I’m behind on my fitness goals. I flick it in annoyance.
“Who cares what time it is,” Hannah hisses, glaring at her brother. “You didn’t tell me you were going to taunt Frodo into firing you. Do you know how hard it is to act sad without any warning?”
“You work for a hobbit?” I ask in confusion.
Liam looks like he’s holding back a laugh.
“It’s not funny,” Hannah says, shoving his arm. “But good thinking, obviously.”
“What are you doing here?” He gives her a pointed look. “You should still be working.”
“I pretended to be emotionally distraught about my pain-in-the-ass brother, and Frodo gave me the rest of the afternoon off,” she says with a lift of her chin. “So what gives? Neither of you were answering your phones.”
“I asked Liam to meet me at the diner to discuss some…” I search for the correct word, my brain blipping—“percentages.”