3. Snooty Expert
3
SNOOTY EXPERT
KEATON
I left my truck parked where it was and strolled down the main street of Holly Creek. We grew up here, and I could mark each store by the families who owned them; nowadays more of my generation took over.
On the corner, down from Vivian’s, sat the hardware store run by my old high school buddy, Ace, and his father, Bruce. A combo hair salon and ladies’ boutique held court on the next block, run by the homecoming queen of my high school class and her mother. I passed Flora’s Diner, where Chelsea and Maisy’s mother must be baking peach pies by the smell of it spilling out into the street.
Neighbors and friends and family all waved hello and smiled, some stopping to talk and catch up on the news or the latest gossip along this main road through town. Blink and you’d miss out on a quaint place, the only home I’d known.
I wasn’t at all like Vivian, who studied in Paris and saw the world with her husband; hell I didn’t even possess a current passport, which was why I’d missed out on her elopement with Richard in Denmark.
She liked to remind me now and then that, at my age, I could uproot my home and business and live anywhere. She thought after I completed filming on the reality show out in Denver that I’d be raring to upend my life, move away, and make sweeping changes. But why? I found contentment right here in Holly Creek.
Life since Brewed for Love aired brought plenty of changes, as it was. More tourists gravitated to the area, curious about me and my brewery, along with some crazy fans as well. I took the time to install better security around my home and at the Hops last year. And every single time I posted something online, it blew up with a group of ever-growing female fans.
Like that shirtless video of me chopping wood last fall—it went viral overnight. What the hell did women see that was so sexy about a man chopping wood? I still received requests in my DMs for more of that type of content.
I took it all in stride though, because at the core of it, I was still me. Keaton Kingston, proud of the business I built and excited for the future... and looking for love.
I didn’t find it on Brewed for Love, though. And despite keeping in touch with a lot of my friends from the show—the ladies in particular—I came to the conclusion that it was the wrong place to be looking for love to begin with.
My arrival at the Hops stopped my thoughts from going down the paltry rabbit hole of dating as a reality TV star, and the hot summer sun made me extra cranky about it all. Thankfully, inside, the cool air hit me like a reward for surviving. Air conditioning was my big splurge last year with some of my earnings from the show. One thing this converted Victorian home didn’t have.
I had surprised some people in town when I started remodeling this old mansion into a brewery. Set for destruction, I bought it at a tax sale for cheap. It’d seen better days. But it called to me the minute I stepped foot in it. I loved the old carved wood throughout and the wooden floors. It took about a year of remodeling and adding on, but the end result was worth it as an eclectic mix of old and new.
We served light fare over lunch; but mostly the beer I brewed was the draw. For a Monday, the lunch crowd was thin, only a few regulars from town. Behind the counter, Jessa was polishing a row of glasses in her usual attentive way. Hard to say if she loved this place more than I did. I had several exceptional employees here, but I counted on her the most, like my right hand.
“Afternoon,” I said, stepping behind the bar.
“You’re back,” she replied, not looking up.
“Meeting ended quicker than I thought.” I sighed. “We’re getting a new logo and such, designed by Richard’s snooty new marketing expert.”
Jessa nodded toward my office with her chin. “You mean the snooty one sitting in your office chair right now?”
I blinked. “What?”
She smirked. “Better hurry. She could be marking her territory in there.”
I marched toward the office, heart already thudding with a weird mix of irritation and curiosity.
Sure enough, there was Sophie, comfortably settled in my chair at my desk, laptop open, a beer flight of four different brews next to her like she owned the place. She glanced up with her brown eyes crinkling, giving me a playful wave that should not have hit me so hard in the chest—but damn if it didn’t.
“You?” I stuttered.
“Yep. Your snooty new marketing expert.”
“You heard that?”
“Yes I did.” She chuckled and shook her head. She appeared so at ease in my chair, like she belonged there.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Didn’t think you’d be working from here. I must have missed that in the meeting.”
“Since I’m tasked with working hard to make your dreams of expansion come true, I can’t very well do that entirely off-site. There are things I’ll need to know and to test and to experience, in order to create the perfect marketing campaigns for you. Because that’s what snooty marketing experts do, in case you didn’t know.” She arched a brow with a tilt of her head, her lips curved and teasing.
I quickly recovered and leaned against the doorframe, one arm high above my head. I couldn’t miss the way she bit her lip. “It’s not exactly a spacious office for two.”
“If I may suggest… we rearrange the furniture and bring in a table for me to sit at under the window there, it could work. Tight quarters, but… that could lead to some interesting opportunities for creativity.” She winked.
I raised an eyebrow. “Or compromising positions if we aren’t keeping things professional.”
She blushed—just a little. Then smirked. “You wish.”
Damn. I did wish—was this considered flirting?
“Now tell me about these brews, Keaton. What makes each one different?” She pointed to the glasses.
“So the marketing queen doesn’t know everything,” I flatlined.
“I know what I researched online, and obviously from spending time at Hops. But I’d love to hear directly from you, with your experience.”
“Sure. I don’t mind sharing, and I’ll try not to be snooty about it.” I chortled.
“Hey, you don’t really think I was like that do you?” Her brow creased, voice full of concern.
“Nah. Just teasing. You were fine, and you impressed the heck out of Richard. Anyway…” I sat across from her and gladly imparted my knowledge with her on the world of craft beer. With a captive audience of one, I took advantage and gave her my extra special attention. After an hour or so, including having her taste each of the four beers, it was clear the ales were more to her liking.
“I’m working now to bring out new Autumn flavors. Those special holiday editions are perfect for bottling, with flavors like pumpkin and fall spices. Otherwise cans are usually better. But the artwork on the label and can has to be on point. That’s the unique thing about craft brew culture—I can show what my company represents through the art shown there,” I finished.
“I get it. You’re creating the whole vibe and experience you want your fans to love,” she said, her eyes locking with mine. “Which is exactly what I do in marketing. I think we have a better understanding of each other now, don’t you?”
I sent her my best smoldering smile. “It’s a great start.”
She licked her lips, then chuckled and reached for her bag. “Wow, I think the beer samples might be going straight to my head. And on that note, I think I’ll leave you to it today.”
I grabbed the beer flight and dropped it in the sink behind the bar as I walked her out. “You met Jessa on the way in, I presume?”
“Yes, we had a lovely chat—about you,” she teased.
“She’s just as much a fan of Brewed for Love as I am,” Jessa called out.
“Well, you know. I mean... who wouldn’t be? Obviously, America fell in love with you, since you made it all the way to the finals.” Sophie’s cheeks pinked a little walking out.
I knew right then that pretending I was not attracted to her was going to be a full-time job.
I let that hang in the air until we reached her car, a red sedan, nothing fancy. She looked great in red with her dark hair around her shoulders and a smart red suit. As she leaned in the backseat to set her bag down, I noted her toned tanned legs and an ass that redefined the word nice .
“So, you’re a fan of my reality TV work?” I cocked an eyebrow.
“Don’t let it get to your head. I won’t ask you for your autograph or anything,” she quipped.
“You know where to find me if you need me.”
“I do. Would you mind if I work here in the mornings through lunch each day?”
“Not at all. See you tomorrow.”
Back in my office, I opened my laptop and pretended to work while her sunshiny fragrance lingered in the air. She got under my skin. If pretending not to be interested was the plan, I was already losing the game.