Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
brIAR
After Nora, Dottie, and Otis leave, I expect Liam to retreat into himself again. I have calls to make, and the brewery is big enough that we don’t need to be in each other’s company. But he follows our guests to the door and stands beside me as they walk away. I feel him next to me, looming.
“Sit with me a minute,” he says.
“That didn’t sound like a question.”
“Wasn’t.” He studies me before adding, “I’m going to pour you a drink before we talk.”
Tension grips me. “So it’s that kind of talk.”
The grim line of his mouth confirms he’s about to unleash bad news. “Let me get you that drink.”
I grab his wrist before he can walk away. “I don’t want to be that person,” I explain, releasing him. “I don’t need something to prop me up for bad news. I want to be able to handle it. I can handle it.”
This time he gives me the same look he gave Nora earlier.
God, his respect feels good. I want to drink it down.
“Okay,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Let’s sit.”
We settle across from each other at one of the tasting room tables, and as he gets settled, his leg glances against mine again. I know he didn’t do it on purpose—he’s a big man with long, thick legs—but it lends to the feeling of intimacy.
Outside, people keep bustling past the brewery, peering in through the window and pausing to read Liam’s handwritten sign, but inside it’s cozy and warm and still smells of sage. We’re in a world all our own, tucked in together.
But I don’t have long to savor the feeling.
He brushes a hand over his short beard. “I’m just going to come out and say it.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
He smiles so briefly I could have imagined it, then gets to the point. “The brewery’s not organic. Based on what I’ve seen in the stockroom, it hasn’t been for a long while.”
His words ripple over me before stabbing in. I swear and then press my face into my hands, which is as close to burying it in the sand as I can manage right now.
“Yeah, pretty much,” he says.
I don’t even know where to begin. Neither does he, apparently. We settle into a stark silence, during which I don’t see anything except the orangish glow between my fingers. Then his chair screeches back, and his big, warm hand cups one of my shoulders.
He doesn’t speak. He just keeps his hand there, his fingers rotating slightly, caressing me. His heat seeps into me, becoming my own.
“My father,” I finally say. “He…do you think he knew?”
I certainly wouldn’t put it past Bubba to cut corners and maybe pocket the difference between organic and regular supplies.
“I don’t know. But I guess we’ll have plenty to talk about at dinner with your parents next week.”
I lift my face from my hands and peer up at him.
He slides his hand off my shoulder and caresses it down my upper arm, sending pulses of sensation through my sweater. His gaze holds me captive. His mouth, of course, lifts into a mischievous smile.
“You’re trouble,” I say softly, the word crackling between us. But the moment of levity vanishes as I’m hit with the weight of what that dinner with my father would actually be like. “He won’t appreciate being ambushed in his own home.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “If he’s done nothing wrong, it won’t be an ambush. Maybe he’ll want to take legal action against Bubba or kick his ass.”
I laugh at the image of my father trying to chase Bubba down. “That wouldn’t go very well for him. Maybe he can go boxing with you and Otis to get some practice first.”
“Yeah, I really cornered myself into that one,” he says with a chuckle. “But the kid’s got heart. He reminds me a little of my little brother.”
I try to smile, but it slides off my face like melting ice cream. “This is bad, Liam. If people find out…our business partners…”
“The optics wouldn’t be great. I figure we should just drop the messaging, and if anyone asks, we say we were having trouble sourcing all organic ingredients. We can always change course later. Were you planning on hiring someone to do PR?”
“I can’t afford it right now, but Hannah’s going to help me get the word out once we reopen. The band’s performance should help promote the New Year’s party. They have a lot of followers.”
I think of Melly…
“And there’s someone else,” I say. “She has a pretty big social media following, and she’s been freelancing for The Asheville Gazette. She’s going to do some coverage of the brewery, although… I don’t really trust her to be honest.”
“So let’s not talk to her. We shouldn’t invite someone you don’t trust to write about us,” he says, shifting in his chair, his leg touching mine again.
“It’s complicated.”
He leans back. “Run it past me. Every now and then I manage to solve a problem without punching my way out of it.”
A smile escapes me. “Let’s just say my dad’s making me give her access. It was one of the stipulations in his agreement for handing over the business.”
“And is that guy John the one who put this agreement together?”
“Yeah.” I rub my arms, suddenly cold. “He’s my godfather.”
“Condolences. That guy’s a real shithead.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “How do you know? You barely said anything to him. We were only there for five minutes.”
“I knew after two.”
“But how?”
“Will you believe me if I say it takes one to know one?”
“No, because you’re an asshole, not a shithead. There’s a difference.”
He gives me a crooked grin. “Oh, so you have an encyclopedia of bad behavior?”
“If I did, I definitely wouldn’t show it to you. You’d get ideas.”
“I don’t need any more ideas.”
Neither do I.
I can’t stop looking at him, soaking in the details of his smile and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he really gives into it.
I want to trail my fingers across the solidity of his arm to the larger expanse of solidity that is his chest. But I can’t.
So I grip the edge of the table, hoping the solidity of the wood beneath my fingertips will wake me up, the way a lost dreamer might pinch themselves.
I clear my throat, but it’s no more steadying than the table was. “Why’d you sign the contract so quickly if you don’t trust him?”
He gives a lazy shrug. “You looked at it. I trust you.”
“You do?”
A bigger smile spreads across his face. “Shit, did I make a mistake? Do you have designs on me, Briar?”
My heart beats a little faster, but I tell myself he’s just passively flirting again. Courting trouble, the way he likes.
“Yes. I have plenty of designs on your big brain.”
“Most women want me for my big—”
“Liam.”
“Just saying. It’s about time someone tried to take advantage of me. Do you have any idea how boring life is when no one tries to cross you?”
“No,” I say, my blood going cold. He’s joking, obviously, but the truth is, I don’t know. My whole life has been a carousel of different people who’ve used me and thrown me away.
“No, I don’t know,” I repeat, sadness humming through my words.
“That’s because you’re beautiful and kind.
” They’re soft words, but he says them fiercely, his jaw tight.
“There are people on this earth who take pleasure in controlling beautiful things. But beautiful doesn’t mean delicate.
Anyone stupid enough to try leashing a snow leopard deserves to lose a hand. ”
“You think I’m like a snow leopard?” I ask, stupefied.
“They were my favorite when I was a kid. I wanted to be a park ranger in Southeast Asia so I could watch them. I figured it would be the perfect job, not many people around, just animals. And animals are always honest, Briar. You do a dipshit thing, they give you a dipshit response. But if you put in the work and earn their respect, you’ll have earned something worth having. ”
“You want an animal’s respect, but you don’t care about being respected by people?”
“I never said that.” He reaches across the table, but his hand stops short in the center, lingering there, his fingertips tracing the veins of the wood. “I said I don’t care about being liked. That doesn’t mean I don’t want respect from the people I respect.”
“You’re too late, you know. I like you.”
He smiles softly. “You just got done telling me I’m an asshole.”
“I guess I like assholes.”
“Then you really need to have sharp teeth.”
“The better to bite you with?”
“You might want to stick to biting other people. The kid who bit me in kindergarten told me I taste terrible.”
I laugh, but it dries up in my throat. “Liam…” His name comes out quivery and wrong. “I’m not strong. I’m scared it’s all going to fall apart, and it’s going to be my fault. I don’t want to let everyone down.”
His hand finally finishes his journey across the table, and he takes my hand and layers our fingers together—each of his caressing each of mine.
“You’d be stupid not to be scared. It’s not going to be easy, Princess.
I won’t lie and tell you otherwise. You might lose.
But if you do, you’re going down with style.
You’re smart as hell, don’t forget that. ”
I gasp at the feel of him, but he’s not done yet.
Flexing his fingers against mine, he says, “You made more sense drunk than most people do sober. And you’re stronger than anyone gives you credit for.
You’re going to show them, Briar. You’re going to show them, and they’re never going to forget it. ”
“Liam,” I say, my heart hurting. “Otis is bringing the new hires for the tasting room tomorrow. What am I supposed to say to them? They’re giving up most of their holiday break to work for me, and I might only be able to employ them for a few weeks.”
“Definitely don’t tell them what you told me,” he jokes.
I reach across the table and shove his arm, then regret it, because it’s been so long since I’ve touched someone—really touched them—and he feels so good.
I expect him to get up, to walk away from me, because we both know he should, but instead he nods. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“There’s a computer in your office, right?”