Chapter 5
Wyatt
The roasting drum spins steadily, the beans tumbling inside with their familiar crack and pop. Green eventually transforms to golden brown while the scent builds, becoming earthy and complex, citrus combining with those caramel notes I’m looking for.
It's Saturday morning, which means I should be knee-deep in weekend orders, but all I can think about is the fact that in an hour, I'll be sitting next to Merri Gallagher, tasting her beer infused with my coffee.
As requested, I dropped off the different blends of coffee grounds five days ago.
Each one was roasted to perfection and sealed in airtight containers with detailed notes about origin, roast level, and flavor profile.
I'd given them to Merri with the formality of a military handoff, and she'd taken them with the same gravity.
When we notified Ms. Mitchell and Mayor Snyder that we'd accepted the challenge, the mayor had been delighted, while Ms. Mitchell seemed amused, as if she knew something we didn't. I'm trying not to think too hard about what that might be.
What's really throwing me off is how quiet and unusually peaceful this week has been. Normally, by this point, I'd be plotting my next prank or dealing with the fallout from whatever Merri had launched my way.
But I haven't done anything and it feels weird. We’ve been at each other’s throats for as long as I can remember and now, suddenly, we're working together? It's kinda like watching a nature documentary about predators and prey living side-by-side.
Will they kill each other? Will they actually get along? Stay tuned to find out.
It's disturbingly peaceful. And the strange part is that I actually enjoy it. I hadn’t realized how much time, effort, and brain-space I spent on this “war” with Merri.
The timer on the roaster beeps, pulling me back to the present.
I kill the heat and trigger the cooling cycle, watching the beans tumble into the cooling tray.
It’s the perfect light roast that would work beautifully with Merri's blonde ale.
At least, that was my theory when I selected this particular Central American blend as one of my choices.
I guess we'll find out soon enough if I’m right.
I check my watch again. 11:47 AM. Thirteen minutes until I'm supposed to be next door, blind-tasting our coffee beers and trying to act like a normal person.
The thing is, I’ve always been attracted to Merri. Even back in school when I was too much of a dumbass to do anything about it except pick on her. Besides, she was Danny's little sister, which meant she was off-limits. So I dealt with my inconvenient feelings by being a jerk.
But now she's a successful business owner and so damn beautiful it makes my chest ache. I get hard just thinking of the way she stood up to me about the blonde ale, refusing to back down even when I pushed. I’ve always loved that backbone.
Damn, I'm so screwed. It’ll be a miracle if I maintain my sanity over the next few weeks.
The walk to The Sassy Siren takes about thirty seconds, but it feels longer. I can see through the taproom window that it’s lightly busy with a few locals. Saturday afternoons are prime time for Merri, which is probably why she scheduled the tasting for noon instead of later.
I stroll inside, and all eyes swivel in my direction. Word got out about our forced partnership and I’m sure the entire town is enjoying the show as they wait for fireworks.
Tommy spots me immediately from behind the bar. "Wyatt! Perfect timing." He gestures toward the far corner of the taproom, where a small table has been set up away from the other patrons. "We're all ready for you."
"Right." As I move toward the corner table, Merri emerges from the back room, wiping her hands on a towel and heads my way. She's wearing jeans and a Sassy Siren t-shirt, her light brown hair pulled back in a french braid that does amazing things for her eyes.
"Wyatt."
I grin as I settle into a seat. "Merri."
Two tasting flights are each set up with five small glasses, filled with what looks like the same golden beer and numbered one through five. Admiral is sprawled out on the floor beneath the table, apparently settling in for a nap.
"You're punctual as always," Merri comments as she slides into the chair next to me, close enough that I can smell her perfume again.
I grunt, not feeling a need to respond to the rhetorical statement. "Are you ready for this?" I ask, waving my small notebook in the air.
"I've been ready since Wednesday." She produces her own notebook, setting it on the table. "I've got a rating system prepared. We're doing this scientifically."
Of course she does, and it reminds me again just how professional she really is. "Great minds."
She snorts. "Or just two control freaks who refuse to half-ass anything."
I chuckle. "That too."
Tommy appears with a tray holding a water pitcher and two glasses.
"Okay, here’s the ground rules. You're tasting blind, which means I'm the only one who knows which sample is which.
You'll try all five, take notes, and then we'll compare results.
No discussing until you're both done. And drink water between samples to cleanse your palate. "
"Yes, sir," Merri says, mock-saluting.
"And don't make me separate you two," Tommy warns with a wag of his finger. He sets the tray down and points to the first glass. "Sample One. Go."
I pick up the glass, holding it up to the light. The color is beautiful—pale gold and crystal clear. I bring it to my nose first, inhaling. There's the familiar blonde ale aroma, but underneath it, coffee. Not overpowering, just present.
Beside me, Merri does the same thing, her expression focused and unreadable.
I take a sip, and the beer hits my tongue with a bright, crisp maltiness, and then the coffee comes through.
It’s subtle, with fruity notes that complement rather than compete.
It's good. Really fucking good. I swallow and make a note in my notebook: Clean, balanced, coffee subtle but present. Fruity finish.
Merri scribbles in her own notebook, her face giving away nothing.
We move through the samples methodically.
Sample Two has a bolder coffee presence, darker and more robust. Sample Three is somewhere in between, with a slightly nutty undertone.
Sample Four has an almost chocolatey quality, rich and smooth.
Sample Five is the lightest, with the coffee barely detectable except in the aftertaste.
By the time we finish, I'm impressed. No, that’s an understatement. I'm completely blown away. Every single combination works. Some are more aggressive with the coffee, some are more subtle, but there's not a bad option in the bunch.
I set down my pen and turn to Merri. "Holy shit. These are all good."
She glances at me, relief on her face. "You think so?"
"I know so. Merri, these are seriously impressive. I’d drink the hell out of every single one of them. I figured maybe two or three would be decent, but all five?" I shake my head. "That's skill."
A genuine smile crosses her face, the kind that makes her eyes shine. "I was worried the coffee might be overpowering, but I think the cold infusion method helped preserve both flavors."
"It worked." I gesture at the glasses. "We need to pick one. What's your take?"
Her expression shifts to business mode. "Okay, Sample Five is too subtle. You can barely taste the coffee, and we need it to be recognizable as a coffee beer. Sample Two is too aggressive. The coffee dominates and hides the beer's characteristics. That leaves Three, Four, and One."
"Agreed." I flip through my notes. "Sample Four has that chocolate thing going on, which is interesting but might be polarizing. Some judges will love it, some might find it too rich."
"Right. So Three or One." She chews her bottom lip, thinking. "Three is safe. It's exactly what you'd expect from a coffee blonde ale."
"But One is special," I finish. "The coffee flavor is distinctive and those fruity notes bring something unique to the table. It's unexpected."
"Which is exactly what we need to win."
We look at each other, and I can see her coming to the same conclusion.
"Sample One," we say in unison.
Tommy, who's been lurking nearby with barely contained excitement, pumps his fist. "Yes! That's the one I thought you'd pick." He consults his own notes. "And the winner is Wyatt's light roast Central American blend!"
My tension bleeds away. "Really?"
Merri meets my gaze, and there's genuine admiration in her eyes. "That coffee is exceptional, Wyatt. It's exactly what this beer needed."
"Your brewing is what made it work," I counter. "You could've easily screwed up the infusion and killed the coffee's nuance, but you didn't. The flavors are clean and distinct. That's all you."
"Well." She clears her throat, looking pleased. "I guess we make a good team."
"Who knew?" I tease.
Tommy claps his hands together. "This calls for a celebration. You guys want a full pint of the winning blend?"
"Hell yes," I say.
"Make it two," Merri adds.
While Tommy heads back to pour our beers, Merri and I sit there, the normal tension between us completely absent. It's strange, sitting next to her like this. Comfortable and almost easy.
"So," she says, leaning back in her chair. "What are you going to do when we win this thing?"
"When we win? Someone's confident."
She gives a half-shrug. "I'm realistic. Neither of us are quitters and this beer is incredible. Ms. Mitchell and her colleagues are going to flip." She's not wrong.
"I'm going to use the magazine feature to expand Recon Roasters' wholesale business. Hopefully, I’ll get my coffee into more restaurants and shops up and down the coast."
"Smart." She nods approvingly. "I'm gonna establish The Sassy Siren as a legitimate regional craft brewery, not just a local beach beer producer. If that works, maybe I could expand distribution further north into Georgia and the Carolinas."
"Big plans."
"The biggest." She grins. "What, you think I'm running this place for fun?"
"No, I think it’s because you're stubborn and brilliant and refuse to do anything less than perfect."
The words are out before I can stop them, and Merri's eyes widen. For a second, neither of us speaks. Then Tommy arrives with two perfect pints of our winning coffee blonde ale, breaking the moment.
"To collaboration," Merri says, raising her glass.
I clink mine against hers. "To not killing each other."
"Cheers."
"Cheers," I echo.
The beer is amazing, with that subtle coffee flavor that makes you want to keep drinking. It's the type that's dangerously easy to finish.
"The next batch of Sandbar Ale should be ready for the coffee infusion in about a week," Merri says, setting her glass down.
"I'll have the coffee ready. Same blend, same roast profile." I hesitate, then add, "Can I be here when you add it? I want to see the process."
Her brows shoot up. "You do?"
"Yeah. I mean, I'd like to see how it all comes together."
She nods slowly. "Sure. There’s not a lot to it. But you can help me fill the bags with the coffee."
"Okay." I take another sip, watching her over the rim of my glass. She's relaxed now, her shoulders loose, her expression open. It's a side of Merri I rarely see, unguarded and genuine, without the defensive walls she usually keeps up around me.
And I really want to kiss her.
The thought comes out of nowhere, slamming into me with the force of a freight train. I want to lean over, cup her face in my hands, and kiss her until neither of us can remember why we've been fighting for the past two decades, which is absolutely insane.
This is Merri Gallagher. My arch-nemesis. The woman who's made it her life's mission to drive me insane in every possible way. And I'm sitting here thinking about kissing her.
"Wyatt, are you okay?" Merri asks, frowning as she waves a hand in front of me. "You've got a weird look on your face."
"I’m good. Just thinking." I drain the rest of my beer. "This competition is going to be intense."
"I disagree." She finishes her own pint, lifting the glass.
"And this reinforces it. If this beer had sucked, we would have been in trouble. But we’ll beat the juice boy and the kombucha lady without breaking a sweat.
The only difficult part for you is not being a jackass for the next few weeks. Think you can handle that?"
I chuckle. "I'm a Marine, babe. I can handle anything."
She tilts her head, studying me. "Are you sure about that, Wyatt? Even working with me?"
I stare at her, as if seeing her for the first time. For once, I don't have a smart-ass comeback. "Yeah," I say quietly. "Even that, Merri."
Her expression shifts into something I can't quite name. But before either of us can say anything else, Admiral wakes up with a snort and stretches, his tail thumping against my boot, and the moment is gone.
"I should get back," I say, standing, rubbing my hands on my pants. "I have a bunch of weekend orders to fill. Lots of work to do."
"Right. Me too." Merri stands as well, tucking her notebook under her arm. "Nice job with the coffee, Dalton."
"Thanks for the beer, Gallagher. You're pretty damn talented yourself."
We stand there for a beat too long, eyeing each other, and then I force myself to move toward the door. Admiral follows me halfway, then seems to remember he lives here and trots back to Merri's side.
"See you in a week," Merri calls.
"One week," I confirm.
I step into the bright Florida sunshine and take a deep breath. A grin stretches shamelessly across my face. Surprisingly, I don’t really care if I survive this thing anymore.