Twenty-Three
G eorge seemed to have lost his head. Somewhere between the conversation they’d had over the summer and the last day of August, his brother had taken full leave of his senses. The Tavern wasn’t too busy, but locals had started to trickle in once they’d learned online that the Bootless Soldier had reopened. Owen and Lars were both behind the bar, the brothers laughing and joking with customers.
They were nothing like Ali and George, and not for the first time, he saw how much his privileged upbringing hadn’t given him. The bond between the Krog brothers was strong. Sure, they fought at times, and each of them got exasperated with the other, but Owen and Lars understood each other. Owen got that Lars was never going to brew his own beer. Lars got that Owen was happiest behind the bar.
George got nothing about Ali. Even after all those long weeks when a hang in there text had saved him, he realized he’d never had a conversation with his brother that mattered. They talked about Lancaster-Spencer and about their parents, but never about themselves.
“No. Definitely not.”
“Dad’s retiring. Mum sprung that on me. I already got full agreement from the board. You’ve changed. Even Stephen agreed that you’ve changed a lot. Everyone saw what you did with Ali’s Brew, and they are impressed. We need that knowledge and innovation at Lancaster-Spencer.”
“You totally do, but I’m not the guy for the job.” The words were out of Ali’s mouth, but there was a part of him that was more than flattered by his brother’s words. The job that had never been meant for him now handed over on a silver platter. All it had taken was, what? A total breakdown and shedding every inch of the man he’d been.
But the man he was today wouldn’t be happy at Lancaster-Spencer. He was making plans for his life here with Poppy. He’d already started planning ales for the Oktoberfest.
“George, if I went back, it would kill me,” he said.
“What? No, the therapy would continue. We are more aware of work-life balance—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Ali shoved his hand through his hair. How to make George understand? “Remember when I arrived at school?”
“Yeah. You were so nervous. I told you to stick to your schedule and the right families to make friends with,” George said.
“You did,” Ali said. George had been the best brother he knew how to be.
“Was that not helpful?”
“For you. Everyone already knew who I was, and they were all trying to cultivate me.”
“Ego much?”
“You say that, but the reality was you were already earning a reputation of having Dad’s drive and Mum’s charm. Everyone knew you were going places and assumed I was another version of you.”
“But you’re not. You never have been,” George said.
“Yeah.”
“So...it’s a definite no to the job,” George said almost musingly.
“Yeah.”
“What will you do?”
Before he could answer, Bronte and Poppy entered the tavern and came over to the table where he and George were seated. One look at Poppy’s face told him she’d already heard about his job offer at Lancaster-Spencer. He took her hand, but she pulled it back.
He wasn’t sure what was going on. When George went to the bar to get drinks for the table and Bronte went to the bathroom, he turned to her. “What’s up?”
“Bronte told me you’re the COO of Lancaster-Spencer, for starts.”
“I’m not,” he said. “The position wouldn’t open until October.”
“So you’re considering it?” she asked. “Which you’re totally free to do. I mean, this is the offer of a lifetime.”
“Do you think so?” he asked. Did she want him to take it? She had married him when he was on a path to leadership at Lancaster-Spencer, after all.
“You tell me. I don’t know what you want.”
“I’ve told you,” he said, feeling that familiar tension start to build inside of him. What was Poppy doing? Had she not heard a single thing he’d said to her since he’d been in Maine?
“That was before you were handed something that I know you craved for a long time. You told me yourself before I left England that all you wanted was for the world to see that you earned your way to the top of Lancaster-Spencer. That it wasn’t just handed to you because of who your parents were,” she pointed out.
“I said that almost ten years ago. You said that you needed to be alone and not answer to anyone,” he said, remembering that long-ago fight. “You work with two other women and have a loyal customer base. Not the loner dream you said you wanted.”
She rocked back in her chair, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Yeah, so?”
“I’ve changed too. I’m not twenty-four anymore,” he pointed out.
Her mouth opened, but she closed it without uttering a word as George returned with the drinks. “We can talk later. Come by my place.”
“This morning I had the feeling that it was becoming our place.”
“A lot has changed today. You might be chief operations officer of Lancaster-Spencer.”
He shook his head and then put his hands down on the table hard enough to rock it, making beer spill from the pints. “There is no offer. I’m out. I sold my shares to George and Mum as soon as your deal was signed.”
George started to speak, but Alistair didn’t need his brother to come to his defense. Poppy should have known him better. Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the tavern. Everyone sort of cleared a path for him, which was good because he was about to explode.
No one saw him. Not even Poppy, who he had started to believe truly got him.
He saw the Ducati waiting. The open road that would take him far away from his brother, who was never going to understand that there was any job worth pursuing beyond Lancaster-Spencer. And Poppy. Damn, his moon fairy should have believed him when he’d said he wanted a life with her.
They hadn’t hashed out the details, because he’d been too content. Too willing to believe that she would stay because, this time, she’d seen the changes. She knew he was a different man.
“Alistair.”
Poppy watched Alistair leave through the back of the tavern as Liberty and Sera walked in the front door. Her friends saw him leaving and, she guessed, took one look at her face and figured something wasn’t right.
She felt hollow inside. Fucking hell. She hadn’t meant to do it. But she’d cut him deeply, treating him like the man he’d been at the end of their marriage.
Bronte came back to the table, but Poppy couldn’t deal with her or George, who was trying to explain things to her. His voice was a drone of words she couldn’t comprehend. She walked to her friends, both of them wrapping their arms around her. They stood in a huddle, with Poppy breathing deeply and trying not to cry.
“What happened?” Sera’s voice was right next to her ear.
“I hurt him.”
“How?” It was Liberty this time, her hand on Poppy’s back, stroking her shoulder.
“By not seeing him. All this time, I was worried he’d do something to fuck this whole thing up, but it was me. I wanted him so much to still be that bad boy, that man who cared about no one else, that I treated him... I have to go and find him.”
“Okay. We’ll be here,” Sera said.
Poppy nodded, wiping her hands on her cheeks to swipe away the tears. She walked toward the bar and the side exit. She had no idea what she was going to say to Alistair, but she had to find him.
The words didn’t matter. Being with him. Talking about this the way they had on that first night in England. Those were the things that mattered. Could she get back there?
But there was no going back to the woman she’d been on that night; there was only trying to find a path forward.
His words were a mantra in her ears. I’ve changed too . Neither of them were the same people they’d been.
Remembering that was harder than she wanted to admit. Because if she let that last piece of her guard down, the lingering fear that still circled around her heart when she started to feel truly happy with him would disappear. She’d have no protection against being hurt again. Sort of like how she imagined Ali felt now.
Then she found him. He stood leaning against the outside wall of the tavern, his hands on his knees and his head forward.
“Alistair.”
There was so much more she wanted to say to him. But she didn’t want to screw this up.
His head turned, and he straightened up. “Poppy.”
“I’m...I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” she admitted.
“You’re right. But I get why you did.”
She shook her head. “Well, you shouldn’t. I kept hammering home how I’m not the same woman now, but as soon as I heard you had a deal with Lancaster-Spencer, I was nineteen again, realizing that my dream marriage was a business deal. Only this time, it hurt so much more because I really love you. Not the idea of you, but the man you are.”
“The flawed man. That’s why you did it, Poppy, don’t blame yourself for reaping the seeds that I sowed.”
“I like your flaws. The rough edges are a big part of what I love about you. You were too smooth and perfect before,” she pointed out. There she’d said it. Told him she loved him.
“And perfect is...”
“Overrated,” she said. Hope that they could work through this, really work through it, bloomed in her heart. That fizzy feeling was back in her stomach, wrapping her in joy.
Ali strode toward her; his hair was a mess from how much he’d run his hands through it. His face was a mix of hope and something that on any other person she’d describe as trepidation. Then she chastised herself. Of course he was leery. He didn’t know what reception he was going to get from her.
She’d spent so much time protecting her own heart while basking in the warmth of the affection that he showered on her. Had she shown him how much he meant to her? Had she done enough?
This was the real pain of a broken relationship. It was so hard to leave the past where it belonged and not allow everything to merge together. There were always going to be flashbacks to the time when they weren’t the best versions of themselves. Always going to be a chance that this wouldn’t work out. Always going to be this moment when she had to really let go of and realize that maybe their marriage had just been a prelude to the people they’d become.
Became .
They were those better versions of themselves.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Please, don’t say that.”
Oh, no. It’s too late. What if this was who they were now? Two people who couldn’t live without the other but never quite got it right when they were together. Like some sort of demented hamster wheel where they both kept hopping in and out of each other’s lives.
He was within his rights to ask for space. But she didn’t know if she could give it to him. This time, there was no pretending she didn’t love him. No telling herself that he’d fooled her. He hadn’t. He’d been honest with her about everything.
He’d bared it all. Even the stuff that he hadn’t wanted to share. Not to get her to sign a contract or to get a family tea recipe. He’d done it for her.
Oh, fuck, damn, shit.
When he needed her to see the growth he’d made, she’d given him the finger and told him they could talk later.
Why would he be open to doing anything she wanted? Why should she expect him to let her continue to dictate the terms of their relationship? She hadn’t shown him any of the respect that he’d more than earned. That he deserved.
The respect they both deserved because they were flawed adults. Not two people pretending to be some idolized couple.
Listening to Poppy take any of this on herself was unbearable. She was the woman he’d shaped her into when he’d used her that first time. The fact that she loved him—he’d heard her say it—was a miracle. One he wasn’t about to take for granted.
They needed to clear everything up. Now. “You don’t owe me any more apologies.”
“I should have—”
He put his finger over her lips. Her mouth was soft and supple under his touch. “George came to me with the offer while I guess Bronte was telling you. I was never going back to Lancaster-Spencer. I will have to return to England to close the beer barn, to honor my commitments there, but my life is going to be here with you. But only when we are both ready for it.”
“Bronte made it seem like a done deal,” Poppy said, her voice thready. “She said that you getting me to sign... I should have asked you instead of jumping to conclusions.”
“You should have. But the divorce PTSD probably had you reeling,” he said.
“It did. Except there was a part of me that didn’t accept her version of you. The man I’ve come to know... Honestly, you’d hate it in the corporate world,” she said.
“I hated it the last time too. Just took me a while to figure out there was more to life than pleasing my family,” he said.
“Like what?” she asked.
“Loving you,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. He held her tight, resting his forehead on hers. “I heard you say you love me.”
“I do. I have for a while but was afraid...”
“Then it seemed like your fears were coming true.”
“Yeah, I manifested the worst outcome for us,” she said. “I hadn’t realized it until this moment. But I kept waiting for you to do...”
“Do something dicky. I’m not saying I don’t. I mean, I did rock that table in the tavern just now and spilled everyone’s drinks. But to be honest, I didn’t know it was unstable. I’ll have to get Lars to fix it—”
She kissed him, stopping the flow of words. Her mouth moved under his, her hands in his hair, and her body fitted into the curve of his chest. Nothing else mattered except this woman, this moment.
“So...”
“I’m not leaving you again,” he began. It was too important to not make it perfectly clear what he wanted for the two of them. “I want a life with you. However it works out. I’m going to get a visa and come to Maine and work with Owen and Lars in the tavern, brewing beer for the different seasons.
“I’d like to live with the woman I love and explore new flavors and try new brewing methods with her. I’d like to finally just be the man I’ve been afraid to let the world see. I don’t want to end up like my parents, who are just partners in an institution they were both forced into.
“I love you, moon fairy, and my life will be dull and boring without you by my side. I’m no longer the legacy second son to the Lancaster-Spencer dynasty. I’m not a tabloid favorite or able to jet you off to places you’ve never been.
“What I am is a man who will keep trying to not let you down, a man who’s going to fuck up sometimes and apologize as soon as it happens.”
That was all he could offer. Therapy had taught him to learn to accept that he was flawed. He had tools to help him manage his anger and his emotions, such as his running, but the truth was, around Poppy, he didn’t need to run as much or as far.
“I love you, too,” she said. “I’m going to make mistakes too. But there isn’t anything I want more than a life together. One that we make for ourselves. Not bound by a centuries-old tea recipe but new blends that we create together. I was serious about not marrying again, just so you know. I’ll live with you and love you, but being man and wife...that doesn’t work for me. You okay with that?”
“I pretty much just said I’m okay with anything as long as I’m next to you,” he said.
“Perfect.”
He shook his head. “Perfectly imperfect.”
Poppy laughed, and he lifted her into his arms, spinning them in a circle. His heart was beating nice and steady, and the feelings that were flooding through him were more intense than his anger ever had been. They were happy and joyful, making him realize how long he’d been waiting to be back in her arms.
Really back.
He’d been edging his way back to her since the moment they signed the divorce papers. The moment she forced him into when she refused to let him drag out their connection any longer. The moment he realized that losing her was the worst thing that ever happened to him.
Nothing had mattered after that except getting her back. He’d been prepared to work the rest of his life to do it. But was glad he wouldn’t have to.
Tears stung his eyes, and he buried his face in her hair. “I really do love you.”
“Took you long enough.”
Someone cleared their throat behind them. His family was waiting for him in the tavern. But when he turned, he saw that it wasn’t just George, but Liberty and Sera and Owen had also popped around the doorframe.
“You two good?” George asked. “I’d hate for Lancaster-Spencer to be responsible for ruining things a second time.”
Poppy ducked under Ali’s arm, keeping hold of his hand. “We’re very good.”
They went back in the tavern with their family. They pushed tables together, and Wes and Merle came to join them, both of them treating Ali like a brother-in-law.
The family he’d always secretly craved was his. Thanks to his moon fairy and the magic she’d woven around them.