Chapter 6
Merri
One week after the blind tasting, Wyatt stands in my production room cradling a five-pound bag of ground coffee like it's the Holy Grail. And honestly, when it comes to our collaboration, it actually is.
"Ready?" he asks, his blue eyes twinkling with excitement as he sets the bag on the stainless-steel counter with careful precision.
"I was born ready, Dalton," I fire back, gesturing to the fresh batch of Sandbar Ale waiting in the brite tank. "Let's make some magic."
The weird thing about the past week is how irritatingly cordial we've been to each other.
There have been no pranks, no passive-aggressive comments about parking spaces or dumpster usage.
In fact, Wyatt was downright reasonable when I accidentally took up more than my share of our joint dumpster a few days ago when I had to toss some packaging.
He didn't even leave one of those snippy notes written in precise military script.
It's unnerving as hell, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying the peace. It’s nice not having to constantly watch my back or plan my next move. Now I’m wondering if we could actually be normal business neighbors who aren’t at each other’s throats all the damned time.
"So," Wyatt says, pulling out his ever-present notebook. He clicks his pen and holds it at the ready. "Walk me through the process."
I move to the brite tank, checking the temperature gauge.
"The beer went through primary fermentation and is now in secondary. Using the cold infusion method, we’ll add cheesecloth bags full of the coffee grounds and let it steep anywhere from eighteen hours to three days, depending on how strong we want the coffee flavor. "
"And we decided on?"
"Forty-eight hours is the plan. Based on our tasting notes, that should give us the right balance. But we’ll test each day to be certain.
" I pull out the large cheesecloth bags.
"These are basically huge teabags. We'll use all five pounds, distributed across the five bags to ensure an even infusion. "
Wyatt nods, his eyes serious as he watches me measure out the coffee. "Do you need help?"
"Sure. You can hold the bags open while I pour."
We work in companionable silence, and I'm suddenly hyper-aware of how close he's standing.
Close enough that I catch the heat radiating off him, nearly distracting me from the way his arms flex as he holds the mesh bags steady.
The man has truly ridiculous forearms. It's deeply annoying how attractive they are.
Focus, Merri. Coffee. Beer. Competition. Not Wyatt's sexy arms.
"So we just drop these in?" Wyatt asks as I seal the fifth bag.
"Yep. We submerge the bags in the beer, close up the tank, and wait. The coffee oils and flavors will infuse into the beer without any heat, which preserves the notes we tasted in the samples."
"Huh." He watches as I carefully lower the first bag into the tank and secure it. "That's pretty cool."
"Brewing is an art and a science. The best beers require both."
"Like coffee roasting."
"Exactly like coffee roasting." I lower the second bag, making sure it's fully submerged. "Which is probably why our collaboration is working so well. We both respect the craft."
"And we both refuse to settle for mediocre."
We're lowering the third bag when my phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at the screen and grin. "It's a video call from Danny. Do you want to say hi? He'll be thrilled to know you're here."
"Sure, why not?"
I accept the call, and Danny's smiling face fills the screen. He's in his Navy uniform, clearly on a military base somewhere, looking ridiculously tanned and happy.
"Hey, sis!" he says. "How's my favorite brewery owner?"
"Busy, as usual." I tilt the phone so he can see Wyatt. "Look who's helping with the coffee infusion on our beer."
Danny's smile widens, delight lighting up his face. "Wyatt! Man, it's good to see you!"
"Hey, Danny." Wyatt leans into frame, pressing his side into mine. I try to ignore the shiver that travels up my spine. "How's the Navy treating you?"
"Can't complain." Danny's eyes dart between us with obvious glee. "So you two are actually working together without bloodshed? I'm shocked. Someone alert the media."
"We are grown-ass adults, Danny," I answer primly.
"We made a deal," Wyatt adds.
"Right. A deal." Danny is clearly trying not to laugh. "You know, when you first told me about this competition, I thought for sure one of you would end up in jail for assault. But here you are, playing nice in the sandbox."
"We're managing," I respond, trying to keep my tone light. It’s impossible to ignore every point where Wyatt's body touches mine. With the solid warmth of his chest against my shoulder blade, I can feel him breathing.
"It's temporary," Wyatt offers.
"That I believe," Danny replies. "Do you two need a chaperone? Should I request leave to supervise and make sure nobody ends up covered in glitter?"
"That was ONE TIME, Danny!" I protest, stomping my foot.
"The glitter bomb was justified," Wyatt says at the same time.
Danny loses it, laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes. "Oh man, you guys are killing me. This is the best thing that's happened all year."
"So glad we can entertain you," I mutter, trying not to notice how incredibly good Wyatt smells. This would be so much easier if my body would stop noticing every damn thing about him.
"Come on, Merri, you have to admit this is hilarious. My best friend and my little sister, finally getting along. It's like watching stubborn mules realizing they’re hitched to the same wagon."
"Are you calling me a jackass, asshole?" Wyatt growls.
Danny snickers. "If the shoe fits…"
"This is strictly business," I explain.
"Nothing else," Wyatt agrees.
Danny's expression turns even more amused. "Sure." He leans closer to the camera. "Merri, did you know Wyatt punched Brad Kellerman for calling you—"
"DANNY!" Wyatt's voice is loud enough to make Admiral lift his head from his dog bed. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
My brother cackles as he waves at the camera. "Okay, I'll leave you two alone. But seriously, I might try to swing by for that showcase to see this in action. And try the beer, obviously."
"You're always welcome," I answer.
"Love you, sis. Wyatt, keep her out of trouble."
"I'll do my best."
The call ends, and I'm left staring at my phone, my face burning. When I finally glance up, Wyatt is studying the temperature gauge on the fermentation tank with intense focus, like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
"So," I say, breaking the awkward silence. "Brad Kellerman, huh?"
Wyatt's jaw tightens. "He deserved it."
"I never knew you punched him." I should probably be irritated that he thought I needed his help. Instead, I'm stuck on the image of seventeen-year-old Wyatt defending me.
"There are a lot of things you don't know."
I stiffen, the casual warmth between us evaporating. Oh, so we're doing this now. The mysterious, brooding act. How original.
He turns to face me, crossing his arms. "And for the record, I wasn't that bad."
I level him with a glare. "Are you serious right now? You tormented me constantly!"
"I did not torment you."
My jaw hits the floor. "You convinced me there was a ghost in our attic! I refused to sleep in my own house for a week!"
"That was…" He grimaced. "Okay, looking back, that may have crossed the line a bit."
I want to punch the smirk off his annoyingly chiseled face.
"A bit?" I step closer, jabbing my finger at his chest. "What about the red dye in my shampoo before my eighth-grade dance? I looked like a fire hydrant! My date couldn’t even look me in the eye."
"That was supposed to wash out." Wyatt’s mouth twitches as if he’s fighting a smile.
I swear if this prick laughs, I will junk punch him into next week.
"It didn't, you big ass! I had pink hair for two months!" I'm on a roll now, years of grievances bubbling to the surface. "And let's not forget the time you called me 'Merri the Contrary' in front of the entire cafeteria. I still have jerks call me that on occasion."
Wyatt has the audacity to look confused. "That was a compliment about your debating skills."
"You made me feel stupid!"
His expression shifts immediately, a flash of remorse crosses his face. "That's not… I never meant…" He runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. "I want names," he mutters through clenched teeth.
"What?"
"You heard me, Merri. I want to know who’s making fun of you in town. I can promise you it’ll never happen again."
My finger digs deeper into his slab of muscle. "I can take care of myself."
Wyatt snags my finger and holds my hand flat against his chest. It takes everything in me not to smooth it across the muscled expanse.
"I’m serious, Merri. What are their names?"
"Oh, you want a name?" I coo, edging closer. "Wyatt. Dalton."
He rolls his eyes. "Nice try. You give as good as you get. And just so you understand, it really was a compliment. Merri, you were the smartest person in school. Everyone knew it. I was trying to say you were good at arguing your point."
"Well, it didn't come across that way."
"I was a kid. I didn't know how to…" He dwindles off, seeming to struggle with his words. "Look, I was protective of you. You were Danny's little sister. I made sure no one else picked on you."
I scoff. "Protective? You mocked me constantly and made my life a living hell."
"I made sure no one else bothered you! I was a stupid kid and didn't know how to—"
"News flash, Wyatt: you're still stupid. You just have better coffee now!"
The space between us has shrunk to almost nothing, both of us breathing fire. A muscle twitches in his jaw and his hands are balled into fists. His eyes keep darting at my mouth with quick, hungry glances he probably thinks I don't notice.
And right now, I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to taste him. To find out if his lips are as firm as they look, if he'd kiss me with the same intensity he puts into everything else. My heart hammers so hard I'm certain he can hear it.
He shifts closer, and I lean in slightly, my breath catching.
Admiral groans from his spot across the room, and the sound breaks whatever spell we were under. Wyatt takes a step back, and I do the same. Admiral looks at us with an expression that clearly says, You humans are idiots.
"We should…" I clear my throat. "We should get back to work."
"Right." Wyatt's voice is rough. "The coffee bags."
"The coffee bags," I echo.
We turn to the tank, and I’m careful not to touch or even look at him. I secure the final cheesecloth bag and seal the tank, my hands shaking slightly. The whole process takes maybe two minutes, but it feels like an eternity with Wyatt standing right there, so close I can feel his heat.
"So," he says finally. "Forty-eight hours?"
"Give or take. I'll monitor it each day and pull the bags when the flavor profile is right. You can be here when I do that, if you like."
"Sure. That works. And then?"
"And then we condition it for another five days, carbonate, and bottle. We’ll have our competition entry ready with a comfortable cushion."
Wyatt nods, making notes in his little book. "Right on schedule."
I wipe my hands on a towel, trying to regain some semblance of control. "You'll want to taste it before we submit, right?"
"Definitely." He closes his notebook and slides it into his back pocket. "Let me know when it's ready."
"I will."
We stand there for another beat, the air between us still charged with whatever the hell just happened. Admiral sighs heavily and puts his head back down, clearly over our drama.
"I should go," Wyatt says.
"Okay. Let’s taste the beer tomorrow afternoon, around three o’clock."
"That works." He heads for the exit, then pauses and pivots on his heel. "Merri?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth…" He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was only trying to protect you back then. I just sucked at showing it."
Before I can respond, he's gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
I sink onto a stool, my heart still racing. Admiral pads over and rests his head on my knee, his sweet brown eyes full of dog wisdom.
"Don't look at me like that," I tell him. "This doesn’t change anything."
Admiral’s huff suggests that he doesn't believe me for a second. At this point, I’m wondering who exactly I’m trying to convince. Honestly? I think it’s me.