Chapter 14
Paris Girl sputters to life. Then, the engine rumbles before dying.
”Come on, girl,” I murmur, ”time to work your magic, and mamma”s gonna fix you up.”
Paris Girl sputters to life, and I slap Mia a high five from the passenger seat. We”re wearing our Crown Jewel shirts and messy buns.
We roll through town until we arrive at the Madison Grove Convention Center. It”s a new space built after companies like Hamilton, Inc., Romano Wines and Vineyard, Senusal Suppers, and Black Stallion Heros established offices here.
We have Black Stallion Ranch and the Lewis bunch to thank for putting the town on the map. And now we have opportunities like the Houston Craft Brew Fest.
I find a parking space and we start gathering everything into the cart to wheel inside the venue.
”You ready for this, Londyn?”
I take a deep breath, letting the lively ambiance of the Houston Craft Brew Fest wash over me. The sweet tang of funnel cakes and barbecue smoke mingles with the earthy aroma craft brew.
A kaleidoscope of sights and sounds assaults the senses—thumping music, laughter, the rhythmic stomping of two-steppers on the makeshift dance floor. This is the epitome of a Texas festival.
”As I”ll ever be.” I squeeze Mia”s shoulder, drawing strength from her steadfast presence. This is it—my chance to put Crown Jewel on the map and prove what my little brewery is capable of.
We weave through the bustling fairgrounds, Paris Girl”s tires crunching over the gravel. Massive tents housing food and drink vendors line the winding paths, their bold colors and eye-catching signage vying for attention. The air is thick with the mouthwatering scents of sizzling meats and spices, making my stomach rumble in anticipation.
Mia nudges me, nodding toward a row of picnic tables where a crew of leather-clad bikers has set up an impromptu grill. ”Think they”ll adopt us if we ask nicely?”
I chuckle, already feeling the weight of my nerves lifting. This sense of community, of people coming together to celebrate their passions—it”s what the craft beer world is all about. And I”m honored to be a part of it.
Up ahead, the main judging pavilion looms, a sprawling white tent adorned with the Houston Craft Brew Fest logo and the distinctive Knight Brewery crest. My pulse kicks up a notch at the sight, a surge of adrenaline flooding my veins.
This is really happening. I made it.
We pull up to the designated area for competitors, and I hop out, surveying the organized chaos unfolding around us. Brewers and their teams bustle about, unloading kegs and setting up booths with military-like precision.
”Londyn!” A familiar voice cuts through the din. I spin to find Sterling Westbrook waving me over, that megawatt smile of his firmly in place. ”C”mere, girl, let me show you where you”re posted up.”
I wave back, signaling that I”ll be right there. Turning to Mia, I suck in a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. ”You got this?”
She winks, already grabbing a case of tasting glasses. ”Like you even have to ask. Now go get ”em, boss lady!”
I make my way over to Sterling, the knot of anticipation in my belly tightening with every step. This festival has been months in the making, a whirlwind of preparation and promotion on top of my already hectic schedule at Crown Jewel.
But being selected as one of the elite twelve competitors? That”s the kind of industry recognition I”ve been chasing my entire adult life.
”There she is!” Sterling pulls me into one of his signature bear hugs, his energy as effervescent as ever. ”The whole town”s been buzzing about you making the cut, Londyn. We”re all damn proud.”
I blink back the sudden sting of tears at his words. Sterling has been in my corner from day one, a tireless champion for my brewery and the embodiment of small-town spirit. Having his support means everything.
”Thanks, Sterl.” I step back, clearing my throat against the swell of emotion. ”I”m just glad to be here, you know? Representing Madison Grove on a bigger stage.”
His face splits into a grin. ”That”s my girl. Now c”mon, let”s get you squared away so you can focus on kicking some serious brew-making ass!”
Sterling guides me through the whirlwind of activity, pointing out the various stations and introducing me to key members of the organizing committee. My head spins as I try to absorb all the logistical details, but one thought keeps resurfacing, a nagging presence in the back of my mind.
I wish Jermaine was here.
It”s been two weeks since our heated reunion at his penthouse suite. Two weeks of avoiding his calls and texts, of burying myself in preparation for this festival in a desperate bid to forget the way his hands felt on my skin, the scorching heat of his kisses...
Stop it, Londyn. You made the right call.
As much as my body still craves his touch, allowing Jermaine Knights back into my life would be a mistake—one I can”t afford to make, not with so much riding on this competition. He”s nothing but a distraction, a tempting indulgence that could derail years of hard work and sacrifice.
”And this is where the magic happens!” Sterling”s booming voice snaps me from my reverie. We”ve arrived at my designated booth, a cozy nook situated in a prime location at the heart of the pavilion.
I scan the space, already picturing how I”ll arrange the tasting samples and promotional materials. This is my chance to showcase not just my beer, but the entire Crown Jewel brand—the passion and creativity that sets my flavors apart.
”Thanks for the assist, Sterl,” I say, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. ”I”ll take it from here.”
He claps me on the shoulder with a wink. ”You know I”m in your corner, Londyn. Now go get that W for the home team!”
As Sterling heads off to put out the next inevitable fire, I turn to survey my little slice of the festival grounds. Despite the frenzy of activity around me, I feel a sense of calm determination settle over my shoulders.
This is my moment. My chance to elevate Crown Jewel from a beloved local haunt to a nationally-recognized player in the craft brewing arena. All those long nights, early mornings, and endless hustle...it”s all been leading to this.
I close my eyes, drawing in a deep, centering breath. The familiar aromas of malted barley and hops envelop me like a warm embrace, imbuing me with a sense of strength and purpose.
When my eyes flutter open, my jaw is set, shoulders squared. I”m ready.
Mia and the rest of my crew bustle over laden with equipment, and we fall into an easy rhythm, each of us focused on our designated tasks.
I take the lead on arranging the tasting display, carefully selecting and positioning the various bottles and cans to showcase Crown Jewel”s signature brews.
My fingertips trace over the raised lettering on each label. It”s amazing how I feel like every stitch bears witness to my soul.
These aren”t just beers—they”re expressions of my most intimate experiences and emotions distilled into liquid form. Every sip contains a piece of me, an invitation for my customers to share in the unique journey that led me here.
The Passion Fruit Ale, bright and effervescent with notes of tropical sweetness. An ode to those warm, hazy summer nights of my youth when anything seemed possible.
The Midnight Stout, rich and velvety with hints of dark chocolate and espresso. Born from a season of heartbreak when the world felt shrouded in darkness and I had to claw my way back to the light.
The Hazy Hopsession IPA, a juicy burst of citrus and pine that never fails to put a smile on people”s faces. It reminds me of that first magical year when Crown Jewel transformed from a far-fetched dream into a reality.
Each flavor is a snapshot of the highest highs and lowest lows that have defined my journey. By sharing these deeply personal brews with the world, I”m offering up the most vulnerable pieces of myself for judgment and critique.
The realization sends a tremor down my spine. So much is riding on this festival, on my ability to connect with the judges and translate my passion into liquid poetry they can appreciate.
If I succeed, Crown Jewel could be catapulted to new heights—more exposure, bigger distribution deals, maybe even enough capital to finally open that second location I”ve been dreaming about.
But if I fail...
I swallow hard, shoving aside those nagging thoughts.
Failure isn”t an option here, not when I”ve sacrificed so much to reach this pivotal moment.
”Girl, here they come.”
My gaze snaps in the direction of Mia”s gaze. I stand, ready for the tasting to begin.
An electric charge fills the space, intertwined scents of malted barley and hops creating a heady mixture.
Judges begin making their rounds, clipboards in hand as they move from booth to booth. I straighten my shoulders, fingers trailing over the gleaming bottles arranged in a careful display.
This is it.
A group approaches, curious eyes scanning the offerings. I flash my warmest smile. ”Welcome to Crown Jewel Brew! Who”s ready to experience some real craft beer magic?”
A few chuckles ripple through the small crowd. Good, I”ve got their attention. I grab a tasting tray, filling each glass with a vibrant golden liquid.
”This is my Passion Fruit Ale—a bright, effervescent brew that”ll transport you straight to the tropics.” I pass the samples around, watching their expressions closely.
One woman”s eyes widen as she takes her first sip. ”Wow...it”s like biting into a fresh passion fruit! So juicy and tart.”
Pride swells in my chest. ”That”s the idea. I wanted to capture that perfect balance of sweetness and tang, like a sunny Caribbean day in a glass.”
The judges nod along, scribbling notes. I forge ahead, pouring the next round of samples—a rich, velvety stout with hints of espresso and dark chocolate.
”And this beauty is my Midnight Stout. Brewed with locally roasted coffee and premium Belgian cocoa nibs for a flavor that”s straight-up sinful.”
An appreciative murmur rises from the group as they sip, eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss.
Nailed it.
I bask in their obvious enjoyment for a beat before launching into the story behind this particular brew. ”Funny thing about this stout—the recipe was actually born during one of the lowest points of my life...”
They lean in, utterly transfixed as I weave the tale. How that long, dark season of heartbreak and shattered dreams ultimately fueled my creativity in the brewhouse.
”I poured every ounce of pain and longing into this batch,” I admit, meeting each person”s gaze in turn. ”Like...if despair had a taste, you know?”
Nods and murmurs of understanding greet me.
_Good_—they”re connecting with the narrative, seeing the deeper meaning infused into each sip.
”But that”s the magic of craft beer,” I continue, growing bolder. ”It”s more than just a drink—it”s a liquid story waiting to be shared. Every pour is an invitation to experience a moment in time, to tap into the brewer”s emotions and perspective.”
The judges scribble furiously, absorbing every word. I sense I”ve captured their attention on a deeper level.
One older gentleman with a grizzled beard and kind eyes meets my stare. ”Well said, young lady. You”ve got a true poet”s soul.”
Heat prickles my cheeks at the sincere compliment. ”Thank you, sir. I just want people to taste the passion and creativity behind each of my brews.”
He nods sagely. ”Mission accomplished.” With a final, appreciative glance at the tasting spread, he and his colleagues move on to the next booth.
I exhale slowly, shoulders sagging with relief.
OMG…
The next wave of festival-goers streams over, all curious eyes and eager grins. I put on my game face, ready to dazzle them with my liquid artistry.
”Good afternoon, y”all! Who”s thirsty?”
Over the next few hours, we settle into an effortless groove. Pouring samples, sharing stories, fielding thoughtful questions about ingredients and process. This part comes as naturally as breathing—translating my deepest inspirations into words for the crowd.
A young woman lingers after the tasting, brow furrowed in thought. ”So...you really infuse, like, emotions and personal experiences into each brew? That”s amazing!”
I shrug, warmth blooming in my chest. ”It”s just how I work, you know? Might sound cheesy, but brewing is how I process all the ups and downs of life. The joys, the heartaches—it all gets poured into the kettles and fermented into something new. Some people write songs, I make beer.”
A collective chuckle fills the crowd.
The original woman”s eyes shine with genuine awe. ”That”s beautiful. Like...you”re turning your life into a drinkable memoir or something.”
A surprised laugh bubbles up. ”I”ve never thought about it like that, but...yeah, I guess that”s one way to look at it.”
The corners of her mouth quirk in a conspiratorial smile. ”So then, what was the inspiration behind that super hoppy IPA you let us sample?”
Memories of a long, lazy summer evening flood my senses—cold beers on the back patio, the smoky-sweet aroma of the grill wafting through the humid night air.
”That one was all about capturing the magic of a perfect Texas summer,” I confide with a wink. ”You know, backyard barbecues with your closest people, laughter ringing out until the fireflies come out to play.”
She grins, clearly delighted. ”Ugh, you”re making me so homesick! I gotta try a six-pack of that stuff ASAP.”
With a laugh, I grab a cold bottle from the cooler and press it into her palm. ”On the house—consider it a little taste of home to tide you over.”
Her face lights up as she clutches the bottle close. ”Seriously? You”re the best!”
I wave her off with a wink. ”Just doing my job, spreading the craft beer gospel one convert at a time.”
As she heads off to rejoin her friends, I can”t fight the surge of satisfaction coursing through me. This right here—connecting with people over the fruits of my passion, sharing little pieces of myself with every pour—is what it”s all about.
Sure, the competition aspect is exciting, the chance to elevate Crown Jewel to new heights.
But moments like these, when the crowd is engaged and eager to hear my stories, to soak up every nuance of flavor?
Thisis why I pour my heart into each and every brew. To forge those lasting bonds, one glass at a time.
A brief lull falls over the booth as the crowds ebb and flow. I snag a bottle of water, chugging it greedily to combat the desert dryness in my throat.
The dream is so close, I can practically taste it. Which means it”s time to kick my game into high gear and ensure those judges have no doubt who the winner is.
Draining the last few swallows of water, I straighten my shoulders and scan the crowd streaming toward my booth.
”Who”s ready for a sample of heaven?”