2. Sisterly Advice
2
SISTERLY ADVICE
KEATON KINGSTON
The moment I left the meeting, the midday heat blasted me in the face—though not nearly as hard as the realization that I apparently had a brand now. A real one. With a logo. A vision. A plan.
I was officially the face of a craft beer empire—one that came with a marketing expert in heels who talked about consumer trends and demographic reach like it was a casual conversation over coffee. And yeah, maybe it was hard to focus on numbers when Sophie looked that good doing it, the words spilling from her red, glossy lips the entire time.
My truck rumbled as I pulled away from the Buchanan estate, the early afternoon sun sizzling on the country road. Windows down, arm out, I headed straight to the only place in town guaranteed to reset my brain before work with something to eat: Vivian’s Cupcake Cottage.
The bell over the door chimed as I stepped inside, and the smell hit me like a sugar-frosted hug. Vanilla, chocolate, lemon zest, and probably a dozen other spices. While I used spices in my brews, I was a self-taught brewer; I wasn’t the culinary artist who studied in France, like my sister was. Cupcake Cottage was her little slice of heaven here in Holly Creek.
“Ah, look who it is. Come by for your daily dose of sweetness on the way to the Hops?” Vivian peeked out from the kitchen, cheeks flushed and wearing an apron dusted with flour.
“Hi Uncle Keaton!” Paris called out from behind the counter, completely covered in what I guessed was probably spilled cupcake batter, but looked more like she’d mud wrestled in it.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I ruffled her hair, noting a batter streak in it, grinning. “Are you saving any of that for the oven, or are you doing quality control straight from the bowl?”
She held up her little spatula like it was a sword. “Both.” How fast she had grown, now ten, and healthy after her kidney transplant surgery a few years back. Although from occasional texts Vivian sent me, she was sure that Paris displayed a pre-teen attitude a few years too early now and then.
“She’s been taste-testing more than helping, but we’re calling it creative expression.” Vivian smiled while reigning over the large butcher block island in the center of the bakery’s kitchen.
“Where’s Isabella?” I asked, and dipped my finger in Paris’ bowl for a lick.
“Go ahead and peek in on the baby—she’s snoozing in my office. But don’t wake her,” Vivian warned, and yanked her head in the direction.
I made my way to the back, easing open the office door. There, in a fancy pink bassinet surrounded by ruffles fit for a princess, lay Isabella. Tiny, peaceful, and totally unaware of the chaotic fun her sister was having in the kitchen.
I closed the door softly and got a little jealous of everything Vivian had. Since her marriage to Richard, she’d led a charmed life. She really didn’t have to work these days, but still kept the shop open throughout the summers, saying it grounded her to bake a few times a week, and she wanted her daughters to grow up seeing her working as well.
I suppose I should feel glad that Richard and his money could afford to take good care of these people I loved most. I knew first-hand of Vivian’s struggles as a single mother before meeting him. She’s still humble but doesn’t have a worry in the world with Richard by her side. He’s a good man, treats her well—better than her ex ever did—and is a wonderful dad to the girls. So I couldn’t complain.
I just wanted what he had. A good woman to love. A family. I tried not to be jealous of what he and my sister found together.
Back out front, I leaned against the counter near Vivian. She handed me a warm mini cupcake without a word. I took a bite. Cinnamon swirl, nuts, frosted with a drizzle of caramel on top. Damn good. No complaints from my stomach.
“Mm. More,” I said through a mouthful.
“You sound like Richard. But at least you get to the gym more often than he does these days.” She tossed me another mini and I caught it in my mouth.
“Yeah, I noticed a little pudge on him today at the office. Getting the dad bod, is he?” I stole another mini when she wasn’t looking.
“Hey, are you calling Daddy fat?” Paris asked, slightly amused. I didn’t need that getting back to my brother-in-law, who was mostly footing the bill for my expansion into bottling my brews and taking my beer business national.
“Nope. He’s fit as can be. If anything, he must have gained weight because his heart is so big now, loving the three of you.” Good save on my part, and she giggled at that.
“Mommy, can I go upstairs to listen to music for a while?” She asked.
“Yes, hit the bathroom first and wash your hands and face and... anywhere else you see batter.” Vivian instructed. Once she was out of earshot, she turned on me, watching me over the top of her mixing bowl. “That’s her latest obsession, listening to all of Richard’s old records. The two of them have had at least half a dozen conversations about music. It’s really cute—Hey, what’s wrong? You’ve got that look.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What look?”
“The look that says you just walked straight into a marketing ambush.”
“Ah. Richard told you about the meeting?” I should have known. “Sophie unveiled the new logo today. It’s... different.” I scratched the back of my neck. “You know Paris helped me design the original. This feels like I’m erasing that.”
Vivian’s expression softened. “Keaton, that little girl loves you. She’ll always know she was part of your beginning. But life moves on. This is about growth. And Richard’s got the kind of business sense that turns home brews into shelf space across the nation. This is a great time for you to lean into him. You started from scratch and built what you have with nothing, but now you have two experts on your side—Richard and Sophie. Do you know how many business owners would kill for that?”
I grunted, not because she was wrong, but because I hated how right she always was.
“Or could it be something more?” Vivian gave me a knowing look. “Didn’t you say you had a little thing for Sophie the last time she stopped in at the Hops?”
“I said nothing of the sort.”
“You did—stood right there eating the French lace cookies I’d just made, and you called her ‘an adorable spitfire.’”
Yep. I had said that.
“Simply an observation about her personality, that’s all. She’s visited often enough with Maisy and Chelsea to Holly Creek. How could I not notice her? Doesn’t mean I have a ‘little thing’ for her. No.”
Could have fantasized about having a thick and long thing for her, but no more of that. We’re basically in business together now.
Why did that conjure up a dry mouth and dirty thoughts about her? Until today, those chocolate eyes and thick lashes of hers paired nicely with tight tank tops that showed just enough skin to derail my coherent thought processes.
Sophie was energy and light rolled into one. Each time she’d walked into my bar, all sass and sunshine, and every time she left, I found myself looking forward to her next visit.
Vivian eyed me with the womanly ability to see through bullshit. It irritated me at times how easily she read me, how a single glance from her could pry open the lockbox I kept on my feelings. Still, there was something comforting in it too—my sister knowing the truth even when I didn’t want to admit it out loud.
“What? She’s smart and driven. I admire that.” I said finally. “She knows what she’s doing. And yeah, easy to talk to.”
Vivian grinned. “You forgot pretty.”
“Pretty... amazing with the branding stuff. It’s all about business now.”
“Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that.”
I shoved another mini cupcake in my mouth to keep from responding.
Even so, I mumbled through the mouthful, “See you later,” and waved goodbye, but couldn’t get out the door before Vivian got in the last word.
“Sophie is staying in town for a while to work on things at our guest house. In case you want to stop by to see her. You know… to work.”
Great. Nothing like temptation served to me on a platter. Although I had plenty of work to keep me busy. And I sure as hell wouldn’t go looking for her—not in a town where running into someone happened whether you meant to or not.