Chapter 3
This is where I”ll chase my dreams until they catch me.
I take a long sip of coffee, letting the rich, earthy aroma of freshly roasted beans mingle with the sweet notes of malted barley fill my senses. The bitterness cuts through my exhaustion like a welcome slap. It”s going to be a long weekend, but I”m ready for it.
Surveying my brewery, Crown Jewel, I can”t help but feel a swell of pride.
This place is my dream brought to life—a cozy, rustic taproom where people can gather, connect, and experience the magic of craft beer.
It”s an extension of me, my passions and creativity poured into every detail.
The exposed brick walls give it that warm, lived-in vibe I was going for. Strings of twinkling lights crisscross the ceiling, casting everything in a soft glow. The air is thick with the earthy, comforting scent of malted barley and hops.
I make my way to the bar, running a hand over the well-worn wood. So many stories have been told here, so many memories made over cold glasses of my latest creations.
In the corner sits a small retail area stocked with t-shirts, bottle openers, and other Crown Jewel merch. But the real heart of this place is the open seating area designed for lingering and savoring each sip.
Clusters of mismatched chairs and sofas beckon folks to sink in and stay a while. It”s all part of the experience—tasting not just the beer, but the soul I pour into every batch.
My gaze drifts to the brewery side, those gleaming steel tanks and copper piping. That”s where the real alchemy happens, where I blend flavors and ingredients to capture emotions in liquid form.
A soft trill from the speakers overhead pulls me from my reverie. It”s the RB playlist Mia curated for tonight”s Girls” Night Out event. The music fills the air, setting the mood for an evening of fun, friendship, and maybe a hint of romance.
Speak of the devil. The back door swings open, and Mia breezes in, all wild red curls and bright smiles. ”What”s good, Brewmaster?”
I grin at my best friend, pulling her into a tight hug. ”Just getting things ready for our girls. You”re looking cute.”
Mia does a little spin, showing off her colorful romper and strappy sandals. ”You know I had to bring my A-game. The ladies are counting on me to inspire them tonight.”
We share a laugh as she ducks behind the bar to grab an apron. Mia”s my secret weapon for events like this—not only is she a whiz at social media and promotions, but her artistic talents always wow the crowds.
With a few deft moves, she ties the apron around her waist and sweeps her curls into a messy topknot. Her vibrant tattoos are on full display, tiny bursts of color peeking out from the sleeves of her tee.
”Alright, Londyn. Let”s do this thing.”
We move in sync, an old familiar dance as we set up for the night ahead. I grab a tray of tasting glasses while Mia arranges the painting supplies, carefully spacing out the easels.
The whole place is soon a whirlwind of motion and laughter as we weave between tables, prepping the guest favors and refreshing the drink stations. Our hips sway to the beat, our voices blending as we sing along to the music between tasks.
Before I know it, the chime of the bells, signals the arrival of our first guests. I take a deep breath, feeling that familiar buzz of excitement.
Showtime.
With a warm smile, I turn and greet our hostess, Cheryl. ”Hey girl, welcome! Come on in and make yourselves at home.”
Cheryl beams at me, leading her gaggle of girlfriends inside. They”re a lively bunch, chatting and laughing as they claim their spots around the long tables.
I move through the crowd, playing the gracious hostess as I pour out welcome drinks and get everyone settled. The energy is infectious, a perfect start to what”s sure to be a memorable night.
All the while, I can”t quite shake the thought of him—that tall, broad-shouldered frame in a crisp suit, those eyes that seemed to strip me bare with a single heated look.
Jermaine Knights is back in Madison Grove, and just his presence has upended everything, sending ripples through the calm waters of my life.
I steal a glance at Mia as she launches into her painting tutorial, that radiant smile never wavering. Despite the turmoil churning inside me, there”s a steadiness to our friendship, to this place we”ve built together.
The phone rings, snapping me activity around me. I glance at the screen. Sterling.
”Hey, Londyn. How”s it going?” His smooth baritone fills my ear as I cradle the phone against my shoulder.
”Just getting things ready for tonight”s Girls” Night Out event,” I reply, surveying the brewery with a contented smile. ”You know how it goes around here.”
Sterling chuckles warmly. ”That I do. Listen, I”ve got some news about the Houston Craft Brew Fest...”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of the prestigious competition. I hurry to a quiet corner, cradling the phone closer. ”Spill it, Westbrook. Don”t keep me hanging.”
”One of the judges will swing by your place for a quick tour,” he explains. ”Just to verify you”re actually operating locally like the rules state.”
I exhale sharply, equal parts relieved and anxious. ”Does this mean I”ve been selected as an official participant?”
There”s a pause before Sterling responds. ”Not yet. But you”re one of the finalists. The committee makes the announcement at next week”s meeting.”
A wide grin spreads across my face. Finalist. After years of dreaming, years of struggling to keep this place afloat, I”m finally getting my shot.
”Just tell me when,” I say, trying and failing to keep the giddiness out of my voice. ”I”m free today and tomorrow, except for a few hours at the farmer”s market.”
”You got it,” Sterling replies, his smile evident in his tone. ”I”ll see if we can get someone over there ASAP so I can sign off on your application.”
”Perfect.”
We disconnect, and I take a moment to let the news really sink in. Getting accepted into the Houston Craft Brew Fest could be the game-changer I”ve been waiting for.
The festival is the biggest of its kind, a multi-day extravaganza celebrating the best craft breweries in the region. Landing a coveted spot isn”t just a chance to showcase my beers—it”s an opportunity to get my brand in front of distributors, buyers, and influencers from all over.
Just being there is a win. But actually, placing in the competition? That”s the kind of exposure that could take Crown Jewel from passion project to legitimate player in the craft beer scene.
My heart swells with pride and determination. This brewery isn”t just my livelihood, it”s an extension of me, every pour an outpouring of my soul and life experiences. The flavors I create, the blends I concoct—they”re reflections of who I am, where I”ve been.
Like the Forbidden Fruit Stout, brewed with figs and honey, inspired by that fateful summer after graduation when I finally let myself fully embrace my sensuality.
Or the Phoenix Rise IPA, a bold, hoppy rebirth forged in the flames of professional betrayal and personal heartbreak.
Each beer is a story, a chapter in the winding journey that led me to this place. To this purpose.
And it all started with a love of brewing, a shared passion that first brought Jermaine and me together.
We met in college, both budding brewmasters drawn to the same craft beer club. From that first fateful meeting, there was an instant connection, a kindredship that quickly blossomed into an all-consuming romance.
Nights in the lab melted into mornings curled together in rumpled sheets, our bodies still humming with the afterglow of a night of lovemaking.
In those stolen moments, the world outside faded away until there was nothing but the two of us, bound by our love and our shared dream of one day crafting award-winning brews together.
Black love and beer.
But life had other plans when Jermaine accused me of sabotaging entry.
The competition loss shattered us. Mia and I later learned it was a jealous classmate. But Jermaine still didn”t believe me, and the accusations created a wedge we couldn”t repair.
We tried, God, did we try, but when he packed his bags for California and I headed back to Texas, it was over for us
I lost my best friend, boyfriend, and future in one moment.
I swallow hard, steeling myself against the bittersweet memories. That was a lifetime ago. Jermaine Knights is a ghost, a remnant of the past best left undisturbed.
The jingle of the front door bells pull me from my thoughts. I glance up, half-expecting to see a latecomer to the Girls Night Out, but find Jermaine.
Fuck…
He looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ in a crisp navy suit that screams money. Our eyes meet, and the world narrows to a single, heated point of contact as every molecule in the room seems to realign itself.
My throat works as I struggle to find my voice. ”Jermaine...what are you doing here?”
”The committee sent me.” The rich timbre of his voice is like being caressed by velvet, stirring up all sorts of long-suppressed wants and needs.
My palms grow damp as heat kindles between my thighs and I can”t believe my reaction to him.
It”s been over ten years and this man still has me hot, and bothered.
I tear my gaze away, scanning for Mia. She”s watching our exchange with open curiosity, those mossy eyes missing nothing.
I shoot her a look, silently asking if she”s okay to handle this unexpected disruption. She gives me an imperceptible nod, that teasing grin never faltering.
With a fortifying breath, I turn back to face Jermaine head-on. I won”t be cowed or intimidated, not on my own turf. ”Sterling didn”t say someone would come so quick.”
”I was in the area.”
”Fine. What can I do for you, Mr. Knights?”
He chuckles softly at the formal address, taking a few measured steps further into the taproom. ”No need for such formalities between us, Londyn. We”re old friends, are we not?”
My jaw clenches at the familiarity in his tone, at the unspoken intimacy woven between every syllable. As if we just saw each other yesterday rather than going a decade without contact.
Straightening my shoulders, I force myself to meet his piercing gaze without flinching. ”With all due respect, we haven”t been friends in a very long time. But you”re welcome here all the same.”
There”s a loaded pause as Jermaine considers my words. But the intensity in his dark eyes doesn”t fade.
”Fair enough,” he concedes at last, offering me the barest hint of a nod.
With a tight smile, I gesture for Jermaine to follow me. ”Sterling said you needed to ensure I”m operating in the area. So, let me give you a tour.”
We move through the taproom, and I launch into my usual spiel about Crown Jewel”s origin story, my passion for crafting unique, flavor-forward beers, and the local ingredients I strive to incorporate.
To my surprise, Jermaine seems genuinely engaged, nodding along and asking insightful follow-up questions that suggest he knows his way around a brewhouse.
I try to keep things all business as I guide him past the main bar area and into the heart of my operation—the brewery side with its gleaming tanks and miles of copper piping.
The air is thick with the rich, earthy tang of malted barley and hops. I breathe it in like an elixir, letting the familiar aromas soothe my rising nerves.
”As you can see, we”re still pretty small-scale here,” I explain, unable to mask the undercurrent of pride in my voice. ”But what we lack in size, we make up for in heart and creativity.”
Jermaine trails one hand along the cool metal of the nearest fermentation tank. ”I”ll say. Your setup is efficient, streamlined. Built for maximum quality control at each stage of the process.”
”Thank you,” I raise one brow, skepticism creeping in. ”So, Jermaine what really brings you to town? Isn”t your business headquartered out of Houston?”
”I was invited to sit on the inaugural Houston Craft Brew Fest committee. We want to represent the state and area well. And I have...interests in the area.”
Jermaine runs a hand along the steel tank, examining every inch with those piercing eyes. ”You”ve got an impressive little operation here, Londyn.”
The compliment should put me at ease, but it only ratchets up my guard. I fold my arms across my chest. ”Thanks. We take a lot of pride in our craft.”
He turns to face me fully. ”Then you”ll be happy to know Knights Brewery has signed on as a premier sponsor.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach as the implication sinks in. Jermaine”s not just here for some innocent site inspection—he has a stake in this competition.
My jaw clenches as I force the words out. ”And just what does that sponsorship entail?”
Jermaine shrugs, all casual nonchalance. ”The usual. Access, influence, the ability to ensure the judging process remains...equitable.”
”You mean rigged.” The accusation hangs between us, igniting the simmering tension into a raging blaze. ”After all these years, you haven”t changed one damn bit, Jermaine. Still the same ruthless schemer, willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want.”
His eyes narrow to slits. ”I”m not the one with a track record of deception, Londyn.”
Oh, he did not just go there.
White-hot rage surges through me, burning away any lingering traces of the heady attraction that had clouded my senses earlier. I surge forward until I”m inches from his face, glaring up at him with every ounce of fury I possess.
”How dare you throw that in my face after all this time? I told you it wasn”t me.” I jab an accusing finger into his rock-solid chest.
Jermaine flinches almost imperceptibly before that arrogant mask slams back into place. ”You don”t know jack about what you”re talking about, Londyn. This is business, pure and simple. If you can”t separate the personal from the professional, that”s on you.”
I open my mouth to deliver a blistering retort, but Mia”s voice cuts through the tension.
”Everything okay over there?”
I shoot her a look that clearly says No, but I”ve got this handled.
Jermaine takes the opportunity to step back, straightening his lapels. ”I think we”re done here.”
As he brushes past me, I catch the barest hint of his cologne, that deep, masculine scent that still has the power to ignite every nerve ending. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my body to get with the fucking program.
This Jermaine isn”t the man I fell in love with.
By the time I open them again, Jermaine is already striding toward the exit. I trail numbly after him, my head spinning.
At the door, he pauses just long enough to toss a parting remark over his shoulder. ”We”re not done, Londyn. Not by a long shot.”
Then he”s gone, leaving me rooted in place as the weight of his words settles over me like a lead blanket.
Mia appears at my side, concern etched across her face. ”Girl, what the hell was that about?”
I rake a hand through my locs, struggling to make sense of the emotional whiplash. ”I have no idea, but I intend to find out.”
This isn”t just about some college bullshit. I”m over that and him.
I have a feeling Jermaine is up to something, some ploy or scheme that could threaten everything I”ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into building.
Determination settles over me, hardening my resolve. I won”t let that arrogant ass destroy what matters most—my brewery.
Not without one hell of a fight.
”Do you have some supplies left?” I face Mia with my arms crossed over my chest.
”Yeah, sure. Why?”
”I think we need to squeeze in a Sunday session with the Amigas for a little brew and gossip.”