Chapter 17 #2
There’s not much I can say to contest that. So I settle for brushing my hand against hers again, making it look like an accident.
“Liam,” she says, her voice trembling with meaning.
I let myself remember what it felt like to have her in my lap. What a fucking decadence that was.
“Briar. We’re breaking a very important rule.”
“Let’s not break any others,” she says with a smile.
But her lips are trembling a little, and I feel like a dick for having pointed out the obvious.
I feel like even more of a dick for making this so hard on both of us, constantly pushing the boundaries even though I know there’s a line we cannot cross again, no matter how much I want to take her hand and vault over it.
The door to the tasting room creaks, and more footsteps approach us.
Briar perks up. She’s obviously expecting Sorcha and a bunch of backup singers, but it’s Otis, scratching his head.
“Uh, guys, I think Sorcha just quit. I’m sorry, Briar. I swear I didn’t do anything. I offered her an Airhead, and she said it was the last straw and just walked out.” He hesitates. “Actually, maybe she thought I was calling her an airhead.”
I dart a look at Briar. “I should have put money on it.”
“Are you sure she’s gone for good?” she asks Otis, looking so sad about it, I’m tempted to run after Sorcha and convince her to come back.
He nods, obviously no happier about disappointing her than I am.
“All right.” I clap my hands. “Let’s get this going.”
She gives me a disbelieving look. “You’re going to lead this bar in song?”
A grin stretches across my face. “I’ll have you know my father, Hannah, Connor, and I were in a family band together. We were the quadruple threat of the farmers’ market. No one could go there without having to listen to us sing about dental hygiene and vegetables.”
Her laughter spurs me on. “I know. Hannah showed us the videos.”
“Then you know I was lead vocals for that one song about carrots. Do you doubt my ability to lead the crowd?”
“No, I really don’t doubt you. Or the carrots.” Her smile turns mischievous, as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. “But please feel free to prove to Otis and me why we shouldn’t.”
“What are we singing?” Otis asks, always game to do anything for Briar. He’s still got it bad for her.
Then again, I’m not one to talk.
I’m about to lead a bar full of half-drunk people in song to make a girl smile.
“Well?” Otis asks.
I evade his question by marching into the front room and coming to a stop next to the bar.
The tasting room is three-quarters full of people who seem to be in a competition to talk louder than one another. We’re all losing, as far as I can tell.
Constance left for her family cruise yesterday, but Ann’s here, happily wiping down the bar.
I glance back at Briar, who followed Otis and me out here, then give a wolf whistle.
Every eye in the place lands on me, except for Ann’s—which means her hearing aid is switched off again.
I almost laugh at the realization that I did this to myself on purpose.
“Salutations,” I say. “We’d like to invite you to join us in song. We’re trying to help our new beer reach peak fermentation in time to serve at our New Year’s Eve party next week. You all know about the New Year’s Eve party, right?”
“Yeah!” Otis shouts, joined by no one.
“Fantastic,” I continue. “So we’re going to sing ‘Champagne Supernova’ to the beer.”
People have started to chatter disinterestedly again, so I add, “And anyone who sings with us gets a free round of our delicious tropical IPA, on the house.”
We’ve all agreed it’s the least successful of Bubba’s brews, and the one we’d like to offer up first at the drink-us-dry party. His pale ale is also on the list, since we’ll hopefully have our own, as well as the overly sweet holiday ale.
Spontaneous applause erupts across the room.
I grin at Briar. “Two birds, one stone.”
She surprises me by reaching out and squeezing my hand before walking behind the bar to get the song queued up on the sound system.
We smile at each other as we sing along, our interwoven voices leading the charge.
Everyone joins in—even Ann, who looked up in astonishment and then started humming along.
I don’t hate it. Not even a little.
We’re belting out the last lyrics when the front door swings open, and my sister, Sophie, and Nora walk in, all of them pink-cheeked from the cold.
Hannah comes up to me after the last strains play, her coat still on and cold air wafting from her. “What kind of pod person are you, and what did you do to my brother?”
Laughing, Briar circles the bar to greet them. “We were singing to the beer. Liam said your dad used to do it.”
Hannah smiles at the memory, but I can see uneasiness in her eyes. I’m behaving like a lovesick schoolboy, and she knows it’s unusual for me.
Turning back toward Briar, Hannah says, “If you’ve resorted to singing, it’s a good thing Nora brought your backup plan, huh? We’ve got the kegs outside in her truck.”
“Backup plan?” I repeat, glancing at Briar.
Briar bites her bottom lip—a nervous tell of hers.
People are already lining up at the bar for their free beers, and Otis, who was all about this plan five minutes ago, seems to have withered and has a fixed smile on his face as he starts to fill cups with the IPA.
“It’s just in case,” Briar says, commanding my attention. Her tone is apologetic, her eyes pools of emotion.
“Oh.” I feel like she just dealt me a gut punch at the end of a boxing match. “You bought cider from Nora for the New Year’s Eve party.”
“We have to be prepared for anything.”
I nod, knowing she’s right. Briar’s got business smarts, always.
She has to look toward the future and do what’s best for everyone.
But it still burns. She told me she believed in me, and all along she had a backup plan lined up, which means she thinks I might fail.
Maybe she’s certain I will, and she’s been feeding me a bunch of bullshit.
Briar reaches for my arm across the bar, her gaze seeking mine. “It’s a good idea anyway. It’s a new release for The Ginger Station. We’re both going to have it on tap on New Year’s Eve, but they’re closing early.”
Anger spikes through me, and I pull away. “And you didn’t think that was relevant information for your brewer?”
My sister glares at me. “Maybe she thought you’d overreact for some mysterious reason.”
“I’m fine,” I say, sounding distinctly not fine. “You’re leaving for New York tonight?”
Hannah’s red curls bob with her nod. “I know you’re the one who sent me this sweatshirt, by the way.”
I force a smile. “It suits you.”
It’s a dark-green hoodie with Worst. Nanny. Ever. scrawled across the chest. We love giving each other a hard time, Hannah and I, but she knows how I feel. She was the best nanny ever to Ollie, same as she’s been the best sister ever to Connor and me.
I’m annoyed at myself for breaking my promise to her. But, dammit, it sucks that Briar went behind my back. I can feel her staring at me, silently begging me not to be mad, because she can’t stand it when people are upset with her.
Which really pisses me off, because part of me wants to make her feel better for having made me feel worse.
“I ordered your present,” Hannah says, nudging me with her fingertips. “You’re going to hate it.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Merry Christmas. Say hey to Travis and Ollie for me.”
“Don’t forget to call Dad.”
“I won’t.”
I know Hannah wants to say more. Maybe she’s tempted to issue another warning about her friends being off-limits, but she lets me walk away so I can help Otis, thank God.
Probably because he just spilled an entire pint of beer on a guy who’s almost as big as I am.
I slip behind the bar and take over for him, freeing him to run off to fetch the mop. I don’t look back at Briar until after I’ve poured the first beer, but she’s still staring at me, a worried expression on her face.
When I glance her way again a couple of minutes later, she’s exiting the brewery with Nora, my sister, and Sophie. They gather near the front window, though, probably overseeing the unloading of those kegs. I keep glancing outside, unable to stop myself, hoping for a glimpse of golden hair.
Five minutes later, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it and keep pouring. It buzzes again.
Nope.
A few minutes later, Dottie bustles back into the brewery with a big duffel bag. She rushes up to the bar with the urgency of a doctor treating an emergency room patient.
“You sang to it, didn’t you?” she asks, her voice full of excitement. “The energy in here has shifted. I can feel it.”
“So we don’t need the crystals?”
“Oh, crystals are always helpful, dear boy.” She pats my hand and then hurries into the back to get them positioned.
The line for free beer eventually peters out, and once everyone’s settled with their drinks, Otis gives a theatrical shudder. “Let’s never do that again.”
Ann pats him on the back. “I say that every time I go to Texas Roadhouse, honey, and I keep going back. I bet you’ll be singing your booty off again by the New Year, and if the good lord smiles on me, I’ll be singing with you. The energy of this place is making me feel young again.”
Otis and I both smile at her.
The elderly managers are, in their way, as much of a draw as the young women serving the beer.
But the real magnet is Briar.
I glance out the front windows again, but she’s long gone.
Dottie hasn’t come back either. I’m guessing the whole brewing area is going to be covered with those crystals, like little grenades waiting to break our feet or tumble down from shelves and hit us on the head.
But I’m just superstitious enough not to try and stop her. I need that beer to be ready in time, even more than I did earlier tonight. I told Briar I don’t care what anyone thinks, and usually that’s true, but I want to prove that I can deliver results.
Otis releases a long sigh. “I’m gonna go smoke a blunt,” he tells me. “Want to come?”
“No, man. I’m heading home in a minute, if y’all are good with handling this.”
“I’ll join you, sweetheart,” Ann tells Otis, and I laugh at the shocked look on his face.
“Miss Ann, I said I was going to—”
“Oh, I heard you. I had to turn my hearing aid on so I could hear those hooligans. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard them saying you’d promised them free beer.”
She gives me a censuring look that has no place on the face of a woman who works for scratch-off tickets and beer.
“We want to get rid of the tropical IPA,” I point out.
“It’s not so bad,” she says. “I mix it with pineapple juice in the evenings.” She nods at Otis. “Shall we?”
“But, Miss Ann—”
“I enjoy a little grass sometimes. Your grandma does too. You can tell me all about that dating app you kids are on.”
I huff a laugh. “He’s only interested in our dear leader.”
He shoots me a look of betrayal that makes me feel like an asshole—and, worse, a hypocrite.
“Oh, baby,” Ann says, smoothing a hand down his arm. “You got to change that tune. That woman’s looking for a wolf, not a lamb. But don’t you get down on yourself. There are plenty of women who’ll go for a full-grown sheep. My Rufus was a sheep everywhere but in the bedroom.”
The look on the kid’s face nearly makes me laugh, but then I check my phone and find a string of messages from Briar:
Please don’t be upset.
I was going to tell you.
I just didn’t want to mess with your focus. I know how hard you’ve been working.
I ignore them, not ready to answer her.
There are also a couple of texts from an unknown number:
Hello, Liam. This is Don Sterling. I do hope Briar passed along my invitation to dinner tomorrow evening.
What can I do to convince you to come?
I pause, staring at the messages, wondering what this jack-off’s game is. He’s going behind Briar’s back, obviously. Undermining her. Again.
I’m still pissed about the ginger beer, but there’s only one answer I can give him.
I won’t let her face him alone.