Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
LIAM
A man who brews beer learns how to be patient. It takes time for things to become more than just the components you’ve put in.
Briar could have easily turned her back on me. Her father gave her an easy out, but she didn’t take it.
I might have fought my feelings for her in the beginning, but I’m not fighting anymore. Instead, I’m going to fight for her—just like she fought for me after that article was published.
So, yeah, I will be going to dinner with her tonight, and every single night her parents demand her presence.
Even if she decides not to give me another chance, and I’m reduced to following her around like a lovesick idiot, I’m going to show up at their place every week.
I will not let her feel alone in that house ever again.
After I carry a keg into the tasting room, Otis waves me over. He’s tending bar with one of the Tinder girls while Ann carries on a conversation with a customer. Knowing her, she’s only hearing half of it.
“Did you tell Briar you were going to dinner?” Otis whispers conspiratorially as I set the keg down.
“Yup, and she was thrilled,” I tell him with a wink.
“She doesn’t know about our plans, does she?”
I lift a finger to my lips, warning him not to let it slip now.
The kid and I have become…friends, I guess you’d call it. I took him to the boxing gym with me earlier in the week, and even though he got the newcomer treatment, i.e. plenty of teasing, he liked it. So we’re going back next week.
I met up with Cormac last night, too, my unusual need for socialization driven by both my determination to stop obsessing about Briar and my fear of being around Hannah.
Because my sister knows me. She’ll take one look at my face and know that I’ve fucked her best friend. Hopefully, it will soften her to know that I’m also in love with Briar, but I’d prefer to tell her after I have a better idea of whether I still have a shot.
It’s a mark of my desperation that I actually told Cormac about the whole sorry situation—in two sentences, which is the extent of my ability to talk about this kind of shit with another man.
“I’m no good with women,” he responded. “I never know what to say. It’s always too much or not enough. The last woman I dated…I told her she was talking too loudly, and she threw a drink at me. But we were at an event at the library. She was talking too loudly.”
“What was she doing drinking in the library?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I never got a chance to ask follow-up questions.”
We both had a good laugh at that. He went on to admit he was uneasy about performing live with the band. While he’s had to present at a bunch of amateur inventor conventions, in those situations the focus was always on what he’d made, not on him.
I’m a little rusty with this friend business, but I patted him on the back and assured him he didn’t have much to worry about.
He’s the bass player, after all, and the audience doesn’t usually laser-focus on the bass.
I suggested he could just pretend he was still alone in his room, playing along to a recording.
Surprisingly, he seemed to find that comforting.
Like Otis, he offered to help me prove myself to Briar. He told me he has a “particular set of skills,” either purposefully or accidentally quoting Liam Neeson in Taken. Most of those skills are irrelevant to wooing a woman, but some of them will come in handy with my special project.
The other person I’ve spent time with over this past week is Dottie, mostly because she’s made it impossible to avoid her.
She started bringing in a special blend of tea for me every morning.
I could tell her until I’m blue in the face that I don’t actually like tea, and that any sane person prefers coffee as a caffeine agent, but she’ll still keep bringing it.
Every day, she sits me down and asks me how I’m feeling, as if she isn’t perfectly well aware that I’m not a person who enjoys talking about my feelings.
She’s also told me more about her relationship with Beau Buchanan.
I haven’t asked any questions, but every time we sit down together, she slides the conversation in that direction.
I might be hardheaded, but I’m not stupid.
I know what she’s not saying: it’s perfectly possible for two people to be together and work together.
I’m hoping she’s right.
With any luck, she’s been buttering up Briar too, because even though I’m a patient man, I’d prefer not to wait forever.
It’s a hard thing to miss a person who’s right in front of you, but here we are, and I do.
Still…she needs time to decide if I’m worth taking a leap for.
I know what that feels like too much to resent it.
I’ve spent years not wanting anyone to look twice at me.
Hell, I didn’t even want anyone to be nice to me.
Evening comes soon enough, and before I know it, I’m packing up my bag—this time I’ve got a six-pack of Bubba’s tropical IPA for the big man—and getting on my bike.
I’m on edge as I ride toward Briar’s place, recognizing that there’s a good chance she’ll already be gone. She could have had one of her old man’s town cars pick her up. Or driven there herself.
But when I reach her building, she’s waiting for me outside, and fuck me, I’m pleased to see she’s wearing my other coat against the chill. She’s also wearing pants tonight—dressy pants, but it seems like a middle finger to the dress code. I can get behind that all the way.
Neither of us says anything at first. We just exchange one of those looks that talks louder than words.
I tell her with my look that I want her; she tells me with hers that she knows but she’s still not ready.
As if we’ve settled something between us, she climbs onto my bike, and I hand her a second helmet from the case on the back.
“You have two?” she asks in an undertone, and I can practically hear her thinking I had to get one for all of the women I’ve given rides to.
I want there to be no misunderstandings, so I say, “I got it for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
She puts it on and then grasps my waist. I can feel her hands trembling slightly, so I settle my hand over one of hers for just a second—reassuring her that she’s not in this alone—and then start the bike up again.
When we get to the golden gates of Sterling Manor, Briar leans forward to announce herself over the intercom. I smile to myself, thinking it’ll be a fun surprise for her parents to see me walk in with her.
I park the bike in the drive, facing outward again in case we need a quick getaway. As we get off, I point up into the skeletal tree by the house. The lower half of the green dress she wore on the night of our last delightful family dinner is still billowing from the branch it got snagged on.
“Want me to get that for you?” I ask.
She smiles wryly. “You’d climb that tree if I asked you to?”
“I was the kid who always picked ‘dare’ in truth or dare.”
“Of course you were,” she says, leaning her shoulder against me slightly.
“Offer stands. If you want, I’ll get the bottom half of your dress back and wear it into dinner like a bandana.”
She pauses, studying me with a half-smile that looks more genuine, and that’s all the motivation I need to set off for the tree. I hear her calling my name through laughter as I stride up to the oak and start climbing.
I’m halfway up, the limbs straining under my weight, when I hear the front door opening. Alicia appears in the doorway, a look of horror written on her face. She’s wearing a light-blue dress covered in tiny stitched snowflakes. It’s probably high fashion, but the pattern is familiar.
I wave to her from my position in the tree. “Good evening. You look lovely, Mrs. Sterling. My nephew has those same pajamas.”
Briar’s nearly bent over with laughter, and I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t climb half a dozen trees to see her like this.
I glance up and, spotting my quarry, climb a little higher before I reach up and wrench the cloth free. After climbing back down a few feet, I jump the rest of the way, landing cleanly in a pile of leaves.
Alicia watches in unconcealed horror as I wrap the green fabric around my head like one of the kerchiefs I sometimes put on before working out. Honestly, I’d rather not wear it, but I’m committed to the bit.
“So, who’s hungry?” I say, joining Briar on the pathway leading to the door. “I could eat a truckload of chicken nuggets.”
Alicia slams the door in our faces, and a second later, I hear her shouting, “Don? Don! Don!”
“Huh.” I turn to Briar, rocking on my heels. “I don’t think she appreciated my help cleaning the tree. Maybe she liked it the way it was. It was kind of festive. People also like a little mystery, you know? Maybe your mom enjoyed answering questions about it.”
Briar’s still laughing, tears pooling in her eyes as she looks at me. “You…look…ridiculous.”
“Thank you.” I grin at her. “It looked better on you, though. Would you like to wear it instead?”
“No,” she says through laughter. “Take it off. They’ll—”
The door opens again, this time revealing both Briar’s parents, overdressed like last time. Don’s wearing a pair of dress pants and a blue button-down that matches the shade of Alicia’s pajamas dress.
“He’s a madman, Don,” Alicia says, pointing a quivering finger at me. “Look at him. He’s wearing a piece of Briar’s dress like some kind of cannibal.”
“Oh.” I tear it off and extend it toward her. “Did you want to keep it? I should have offered.”
She squeals and takes a step back.
“Okay, finders keepers.” I stuff it into my pocket and turn to Don. “Hey, good to see you again, man.”
He regards me impassively before turning to Briar. “You didn’t say you’d be bringing anyone.”
She stops laughing, which is a sin he’ll hopefully have to atone for in the afterlife. “I didn’t need to tell you. It’s in the contract. I’m allowed to invite a guest, and you’re allowed to do the same. Like you did last time.”
“That was generous of you,” I say, wanting very badly to punch him in the face. “Most guys don’t think to add a guest clause when they contractually obligate their kids to attend family dinners every Friday. But not you, Don, you’re a two-steps-ahead kind of guy.”
“You’d do well to remember that,” he warns, making it clear that while I might have been a source of amusement, I am now a pain in his ass.
“Cool. Well, unless we’re waiting for that woman you paid to torment Briar, we might as well go inside and eat. I doubt any of us will enjoy ourselves. I did bring beer, but the only ‘organic’ kind I had was Bubba’s, so that won’t be much of a bonus.”
“Get out of here, you punk,” Don says, his cheeks turning rosy. “You’re not welcome.” He turns to face Briar. “And you’re an even bigger fool than I thought. Didn’t you do enough to embarrass the family name when you were running around with that boy with all the girlfriends?”
Her face loses color. “Liam is here as my friend. He’s also the best brewer in town, and I’m lucky he agreed to work with me.”
Her father laughs humorlessly, resting his hands on his stomach. “You think I don’t know how people work? I know everything. The only reason he’d care this much is if he’s getting something out of it.”
I step between them, my blood boiling. “You heard your wife. And I’m guessing you also proofread the story that got retracted. I’m a madman.”
“Are you threatening me, boy?”
“No, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it. All I’m doing is stating facts. I’m a madman, and I think very highly of your daughter. So naturally, I’d be compelled to do whatever it takes to protect her. From anyone.”
He snorts in derision, looking past me. “I’ll give you one more chance, Briar. Come in to dinner and send your attack dog home.”
“I’m allowed to bring a guest,” she insists. “If you don’t want us here, then we’ll leave, but we’re either staying or going together.”
He glances at the metal gate protecting Sterling Manor from the riffraff, and it hits me.
“So you did invite her bully. Again,” I say.
His gaze snaps back to me as Briar breathes in a sharp inhale.
“Melanie and her father will be coming to dinner,” he says tightly, shifting his attention back to her. “There’s some business to discuss, Briar, business that involves you, so you can understand why your friend here isn’t a good fit for this conversation.”
She gives him a look brimming with betrayal. “Melly’s father, the real estate developer?”
The truth hits me as if it just ricocheted off her. All of this—Briar Boot Camp, giving her the brewery but only a few weeks’ worth of budget, asking Melly to write about it…
He hasn’t been testing her. He’s been trying to push her toward failure.