Chapter 9
Wyatt
The scent of spice bread hits me as I walk into The Sassy Siren Brewery. I feel like I'm on top of the world, and I'm pretty sure it shows.
"Well, someone's in a good mood," Tommy observes from behind the bar, grinning at me. "Let me guess, the coffee roasting went well this morning?"
"Something like that." I head toward the production room, unable to peel the smile off my face.
The truth is, I've been in a good mood since I dropped Merri off last night. Sitting across from her at Sal’s, I realized I don’t just find her attractive, but I actually enjoy her company.
Her sharp wit was there, as usual, but I saw her passion for her craft and the way her face lights up when she talks about brewing. And now, I’m hungry for more.
I push through the door and find Merri checking the brite tank, her braid swinging as she makes notes on her clipboard. She glances, and I swear I see a rosy blush bloom on her cheeks.
"Good morning, Gallagher." I don’t bother to hide the warmth in my tone.
"You're early, Dalton."
"I couldn't wait to try our masterpiece." I edge closer into her personal space, testing her boundaries. "You ready for this?"
"I'm always ready." She frowns, her green eyes narrowing. "Though I'm surprised you're so chipper. You’re usually a little more… rigid."
I lean against the counter, watching her. "I had a great time last night."
Her blush deepens. "It was just dinner."
"Right." I grin, letting the words hang in the air between us, loaded with everything we're not saying. "So, do you think the beer's ready?"
She shrugs, pouring a sample in a small glass. "There’s only one way to find out." I study her face as she sips, watching for any hint of disappointment or concern.
Instead, her eyes widen. "Oh my God."
The words hit and my back goes board-stiff, like someone just dropped ice down my shirt. "Is that a good 'oh my God' or a bad 'oh my God'?"
"Just try it." She hands me the glass, and I take a drink from the exact same spot, maintaining eye contact the whole time. The beer hits my tongue and…
Holy shit. It's perfect.
The blonde ale base is crisp and the coffee flavor is distinctive without being overwhelming. And like we predicted, those fruity notes from the Central American blend play beautifully against the malt. It's balanced, sophisticated, and dangerously drinkable.
"This is incredible," I say, taking another sip. "Merri, this is competition-winning fantastic."
"I know!" she shrieks, clapping her hands. She's practically bouncing with excitement. "The flavor profile is exactly what we wanted. This is it, Wyatt. This is our beer."
Our beer. I like the sound of that.
"Tommy!" Merri calls over her shoulder. "We're ready for carbonation!"
Tommy appears in the doorway, takes one look at our faces, and grins. "It's good?"
"It's phenomenal," I say.
"Hell yeah!" Tommy pumps his fist. "I'll start prepping the system."
As Tommy disappears back into the taproom, I turn to Merri. "What happens now?"
She smiles. "It takes up to five days. We force CO2 into the beer at a specific pressure and temperature until it reaches the right carbonation level. After that, we’ll keg for distribution and can for the competition submission."
"Five days," I repeat, doing the mental math. "That puts us right in the anticipated window."
"Exactly. Which gives us plenty of time for final quality checks and adjustments if needed." She sets down the glass. "But I don't think we'll need too many adjustments. This beer is ready."
"So what do you need me to do now?"
"You can head back to Recon Roasters. Tommy and I have the carbonation process handled. It's mostly just monitoring equipment and waiting."
That shit ain’t gonna fly and I cross my arms. "No."
Her brows shoot up. "No?"
"This is my beer too, Merri. I want to be part of the process as much as possible. What can I do?"
She gives me a long once-over, head tilted to the side, as if she's trying to figure out my angle. Then she sighs. "Fine. I actually do need help with something. My cold storage room is a disaster. I need to reorganize and consolidate product for our distributor pickup tomorrow."
"Point me in the right direction."
She leads me around a corner toward the back and stops at a heavy insulated door.
"This is the cold storage. We need to move the older kegs from the far side to the front for easy access.
" She props it open with a doorstop. "But be careful, the latch is broken.
If it closes completely, we'll be locked in until Tommy rescues us. "
"Noted. Keep the door propped at all times."
"Exactly."
We step in, and the temperature drop is immediate. I can see my breath in the air, and goosebumps rise on my arms.
"Welcome to the glamorous world of craft brewing." But she's smiling as she gestures to the far wall of kegs. "Come on. The faster we work, the faster we can get out of here."
We work in tandem and make good progress. Merri's stronger than she looks, handling the kegs with practiced ease.
"You do this often?" I ask, rolling another one into position.
"More than I'd like. This is the unglamorous side of owning a brewery." She wipes her forehead, even though the room is freezing.
We're about halfway through when I hear it, an odd scraping sound and then the distinctive snap of the lock.
We both freeze.
"Please tell me that was just the wind," Merri says, her voice tight.
I turn around. The door is completely shut, the doorstop lying uselessly on the floor inside the room. "Shit."
Merri rushes over, pulling on the handle as she peers through the small window. It doesn't budge. "Oh, no. Admiral! Did you bump the door?"
I can hear Admiral whining apologetically from the other side.
"Don’t worry. Tommy will find us," I say, keeping my voice calm. "He knows we're back here."
"Tommy's out front dealing with customers. He might not notice for a while." Merri's breathing is getting faster, and I realize she’s panicking.
"Hey." I move closer, putting my hands on her shoulders. "Breathe. We're fine. It's cold, but we're not going to freeze to death in the next twenty minutes. Tommy will figure it out."
"I know. I just don't like being trapped."
"Then let's stay warm while we wait." I start rubbing her arms, generating friction and heat. "Better?"
Her gaze holds mine, but without its usual armor, and I'm suddenly aware of how close we're standing. The cold air turns her breath to fog between us. Her sweet lips are parted, and the urge to close the distance hits me hard.
"Wyatt." She barely breathes my name, her hands landing on my chest as if she can't decide whether to pull me closer or push me away.
"Yeah?" I step further into her space, gripping her waist.
"Are you using this situation as an excuse to touch me?"
My mouth twists in a smirk. "Maybe." Why deny it? I’ve fantasized about getting in her pants for a solid two weeks now. "Is it working?"
And then, because I can't resist any longer, I capture her mouth.
She stiffens, then, a second later, melts into me with a soft moan, her hands fisting in my shirt.
Her lips are soft and cold, but they warm quickly as the kiss deepens.
She tastes like beer and something intoxicatingly sweet. I only want more.
I press my hips against hers as I grip handfuls of her ass. She gasps into my mouth, and that small sound breaks me. My tongue sweeps against hers, and I moan, letting out every ounce of frustration I've been carrying for twenty years.
Her hands move from my shirt to my hair, fingers threading through and tugging. The groan that rips out of me is embarrassing, but I don't care. I'm already hauling her closer, one arm banding around her waist.
We break apart, both gasping. When she looks up at me, her eyes are huge, her expression soft and stunned.
"Wyatt, we're making out in a cold storage room," she murmurs, her voice dazed.
"It’s the best damned cold storage room I've ever been in." I lean down to kiss her again, but she stops me with a hand on my mouth.
"We're supposed to be working."
I smile against her fingers. "I'm excellent at multitasking."
"Wyatt—"
I cut off whatever reasonable thing she was about to say, my mouth slanting over hers. Her protest lasts half a second before she’s kissing me back with just as much intensity. My hands slide under her shirt, finding warm skin, and she shrieks.
"Your hands are freezing," she says.
"Then warm them up."
She laughs, and the sound is breathless and perfect. We're kissing again, harder now, our bodies pressed flush together. I can feel her heart racing, matching mine beat for beat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know we should probably slow down. We're in a refrigerated room, for god’s sake.
I don't care.
The door suddenly swings open, letting in a blast of warmer air.
"Hey, I think Admiral locked you—oh!" Tommy's voice cuts off abruptly.
Merri and I spring apart like teenagers caught by their parents. She's flushed, her lips swollen, her braid partly undone. I'm pretty sure I don't look any better.
Tommy is grinning so wide I'm worried his face might split. "Well, well, well. Should I close this and come back later?"
"No!" Merri says quickly, her face turning even redder. She shoves me back. "We're fine. We were just—"
"Making out?" Tommy suggests helpfully.
"Staying warm," I finish, but I'm smiling.
"Right. Staying warm. That’s what we’re calling it." Tommy steps aside as Merri marches past, still grinning. "Feel free to continue your 'warming up' activities."
I follow her at a more leisurely pace, unable to wipe the smile off my face. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to silence it.
Merri stops dead, turning to stare at me, her jaw sagging. "Are you fucking kidding me? You had your phone on you the entire time?"
"Well… yeah."
"You could have called Tommy to let us out!"
I shrug, not even slightly apologetic. "I didn't want to."
She gasps. "You trapped us in there on purpose?"
"No, Admiral trapped us. I just didn't rush to fix the situation." I close the distance between us, lowering my voice. "And I have no regrets."
Her mouth opens, closes, then opens again. But no sound comes out.
Taking advantage of her speechlessness, I lean down and kiss her quickly. "I'm taking you to dinner again. Tonight. I'll pick you up at six."
"I… what… you can't just—" she sputters.
"Six o'clock, Merri. Wear something nice." I kiss her one more time, just because I can, then head for the door. "See you later, Gallagher."
"Wyatt Dalton, you—"
But I'm already gone. As I stroll into Recon Roasters, I can still taste her on my lips, still feel the phantom pressure of her body against mine. I should probably be worried about where this is heading. Instead, I'm already counting the hours until I see her again.