On The Rocks (Brothers Three Orchard #6)

1. Lennon

Chapter 1

Lennon

The Hot Honey Life

G ravel popped and tinked against the undercarriage of my Jeep as I turned into the orchard’s main entrance.

A barn owl in mid-flight spread across the Brothers Three Orchard sign. The vintage Happy Acres sign had been relegated to the bottom of the massive, handcrafted statement piece. A firm statement that the Manning brothers were keeping in tradition with their parents and grandparents’ legacy, but truly setting off in a new direction.

The barn owl logo echoed through the storefronts that dotted the main road. The brothers had repurposed and renovated the old buildings built through the forty years since Happy Acres had been formed.

An old apple barn had become the hub of Laverne Ronson’s creations. Jarred, freeze-dried, and fresh versions of every variety of apple you could think of were paired with fresh-baked goods made with their homegrown fruits and vegetables.

Laverne was the matriarch of the orchard. She and her husband Fred had started the evolution of Happy Acres orchard into more than just the apples. They had expanded the orchard to include lodging, eateries, and shops.

The Mannings were responsible for the trees and the growing. Christopher and Sarah Manning had built up the orchards alongside the Ronsons, creating a family unit that shared the space.

But now their sons had taken the lead on the next iteration of the orchard, which had become the Brothers Three Orchard. Beckett, Hayes, and Justin had taken the reins of the company.

Beckett was technically my boss. He’d added a taproom to the orchard’s legacy to show off their hard ciders and spirits made from the apples they harvested. I was the head bartender during the in-season time at Brothers Three.

I’d been away for most of the winter, since Central New York became little more than snow and ice as the orchard slipped into hibernation.

Behind the scenes, plenty was still running strong. Hayes, the head of the spirits’ creation would be playing in his laboratory, while the orchard slept under snow.

Justin and Beckett were more hands-on in the orchard’s various businesses. Most were shuttered up during the winter because people didn’t come out to an orchard when the snow deterred most from travel.

Add in the rural roads and Turnbull, the small town where Brothers Three was located, became quite inhospitable to tourists in any fashion in the less weather-friendly months.

Which left little for me to do here off-season. It had actually been the lure, since it allowed me to stretch my wings with jobs outside of the orchard. I’d worked my ass off to become a highly regarded flair bartender. The bold, acrobatic, and showy style I’d made my signature meant I could live my entire life as a guest bartender at many of the most famous bars in places like Miami, Vegas, and Los Angeles. Not to mention, the private parties which padded my bank account nicely

And yet, the moment I’d rolled onto this property two seasons ago, the orchard had felt more like home than anything ever had in my entire life.

The manager of the Brothers Three Taproom, Kira Parrish, had tempted me in with the offer of carte blanche to run the bar as I saw fit. While I’d lived a wild life of traveling for the last ten years, I was essentially a hired gun.

I had no control over the bars I guested at other than my flair techniques. While that allowed me to rake in plenty of money, the fun aspect had been waning for a lot longer than I wanted to admit.

I’d had one goal for as long as I could remember.

My own bar.

And now I had many decisions to make.

But I still had some time to puzzle out my future—not much time, but for now, I could concentrate on my role here at the orchard. I rolled by the café, which was still closed for the season, and slowed as I neared the Lodge. It had formerly been a bed and breakfast, evolving like the rest of the orchard to become a jewel of the property. Now it was open all year-round for weddings and large gatherings.

From the state of the parking lot, I assumed a wedding was going on in the beautiful chapel on-site. Instead of checking in with my friends who ran the event planning arm, I kept on moving.

I followed the winding road that led to the taproom and concert stage. There were a surprising number of cottages mid-build since the last time I’d been here in November.

Some were old homes intended for people who worked at the orchard, and others were repurposed buildings used for harvest before the Mannings had modernized the orchard.

I swiveled my neck to stare when a large crane pulled an obviously damaged tree from the land. The buzz of power tools and chainsaws, along with shouts, had me hitting the gas to get up the newly paved road with the quickness. I didn’t need a tree crashing into my baby.

I checked my rearview mirror, picking out Justin and Beckett Manning in the middle of it all.

Another addition to the orchard? I guess I’d find out.

At the top of the hill, the Brothers Three Taproom came into view. It was a converted barn that had been expanded upon with a wraparound deck that gleamed in the sunlight.

March, with her typically capricious ways, had spit a mixture of sleet and rain for most of my ride into New York. But now the sun had forced its way through the gloom, leaving blue skies with angry clouds in the distance.

I rolled up to the front of the building since we weren’t open for business yet and parked next to Kira’s shiny new SUV. There were a few other cars dotting the parking lot, as well as Ronan Parrish’s black monster of a truck.

Ronan, Kira’s husband and brewmaster, was the king of ciders here at the taproom and we worked well together. He gave me plenty of ciders to play with while creating drinks for the bar.

I grabbed my black hobo bag, stuffing my phone and leakproof water bottle inside, before sliding out of my beloved purple Jeep Wrangler. My knee-length boots crunched on the gravel that surrounded the edge of the parking lot before going silent on the wide, slate pavers that led to the porch.

I climbed up to the barn. A smaller version of the sign from the entrance had replaced the old taproom sign. That big white barn owl that was part of the sign stared down at me with a lot of damn attitude, much like the men who ran this place.

The double doors had been opened wide to let in the clean, spring air. A babble of baby giggles was the first thing I heard as I walked into the taproom.

Not exactly the usual welcome.

A large, gated play area was set up in the middle of the dining room. Tables, booths, and chairs were still in storage, evidently. Ronan was sitting in the middle of the blankets and toys with a baby cradled in one arm, and her twin sister propped up in some sort of u-shaped pillow beside him. He was manning two bottles and his handsome, bearded face was soft with obvious love.

“Hey there, Dad.”

Startled, Ronan looked up. His hair had grown out some and his ever-present braids peeked from the curls and clinked with silver beads. He gave me a wide smile with a hint of fatigue around the eyes. “Lennon Hathaway, you are a sight for sore eyes. We’ve missed you.”

I set my bag on the bar and tentatively walked toward baby central. “I missed you guys too. And the girls have grown. Holy crap, what are you feeding them?”

“Just some breast milk.” He grinned as he nuzzled the top of his daughter’s head. “Ella is our fussy one this week.” He lifted his crooked arm with the baby in it. “Amelia is just happy to eat and laugh.”

The nipple of the bottle slid out of Amelia’s mouth as she flailed a little pink fist, and sure enough, that was the giggle I’d heard as I walked in.

Footsteps sounded behind me and I turned to see Kira flying in from the back storage room in her usual hurried stride. She was tall and curvy in soft black pants and a wraparound shirt in a deep forest green. She was a bit lusher than she’d once been, thanks to carrying twins just four months prior. Her long, curly hair was scraped back in a high ponytail and her face was devoid of makeup. A slash of dirt marred her cheek and a similarly exhausted, yet happy vibe filled the room.

“Len!” She crushed me to her in a-floral-and-baby-powder-scented hug. “We missed you!”

I hugged her back. “Same, girl.” She towered over me, but the softness was welcome after my last stint in Chicago. I’d spent an exhaustive month spinning through Los Angeles, Seattle, Portland, and ending with a residency in Chicago two days before.

She eased back and cupped my shoulders. “You’re too skinny.”

I laughed. “Okay, Mom. You worry about the twins, not me.”

“Being a mom looks good on her, doesn’t it?” Ronan asked from the pen.

“It sure does.” I did a slow spin as I took in the room that had become one of my favorite spaces. The iron rafters gleamed with a fresh treatment against rust, and a few more spaces had been created on the paneled walls for art.

The taproom hosted local artists like a mini gallery and changed out most of the artwork as it sold, save for the paintings of each of the seasons of the orchard that filled the back wall. It used to be three, but a fourth winter season had been added to the display.

The rest of the walls were empty, waiting for new media. The taproom was mostly devoid of neon, which I appreciated. The slick, city bars were jarring, and sometimes migraine-inducing by the end of the night.

But there was a brand-new addition to my bar.

Kira caught my gaze and ran around the bar. “We got you something.” She flipped a switch, and a warm golden neon sign popped off a panel of hexagonal wood tiles in a dozen different stains.

“Bad decisions make good stories,” I read aloud.

The neon and wood additions were just enough to elevate the bar area from pure mirrors and bottles to something more welcoming.

“Well, what do you think?” Kira nibbled on her lower lip.

“I love it. And do I spy new spirits on those shelves?”

Ronan climbed out of the pen with the babies, handing one off to Kira when he slid behind the bar with her. “Actually, you sure did. Hayes and his crew added an apple-honey vodka to the roster. Which, of course, made me want to use the lavender honey from the north fields. I have a new cider line with the four different honeys we have.”

“Well, that’s a bit different from last year.”

Ronan grinned as he swayed with Ella. “We’re going for a home theme this year.” He crouched then came up with two bottles before he did a return trip for the other two. The distinctive linocut owl from the logo had been added to each of the bottles in various poses. It flew over a field with the carved lettering name of Lavender Fields of Honey.

Firefly Honey Cider was a play on the Firefly cider that had become a staple of the taproom and blown up the bottling distribution for Brothers Three Orchard. This new bottle went with an aerial view of the orchard behind the close up of the barn owl. On the end of the title of the cider was a firefly on the r in cider.

Hot Honey Cider was a more playful one with the owl showing off a red pepper in his beak.

And finally, on the light and crisp end, was Lemon-Honey Cider with the barn owl perched in a lemon tree full of fruit.

I stepped forward to lift one of the chilled bottles. “Are we having a tasting today?”

“The guys are heading here for lunch.” Kira patted Amelia’s back as she swayed in the same rhythm as Ronan. “You probably saw them building on the way up.”

“I did. Did I know about that?” I questioned with a grin.

“Beckett and Justin have had it on the plans for a while, but we had a really shitty winter.” Ronan dipped his voice into a whisper over the word shitty .

Kira rolled her eyes, but she gave him a soft smile. “Once Griffin, Kain, and Bells came back from Hawaii, they started hatching ideas for some of the old buildings that were crumbling. Kain is all about repurposing, so they’re making living spaces for rental properties.”

Griffin.

My heart stuttered a bit.

He was Kain’s biological brother, but our resident chef and billionaire architect didn’t want to have anything to do with getting to know Griffin, last I knew.

“He’s still around?”

“Like a barnacle on a boat.” Ronan grinned. “He’s Laverne’s pet project.”

“Doesn’t Kain hate him?” I set the bottle of Hot Honey cider back down. I was most interested in trying that one, but I didn’t want to be pushy.

“He doesn’t hate me.” The rich, somehow smug voice came from behind me.

Ronan’s lips tipped up in the corner. “Speak of the devil.”

“How long was he behind me?” I narrowed my gaze at Ronan.

He shrugged. “Whole time, pretty much.”

I turned around and my stupid stomach jittered. Griffin wasn’t quite as large as his brother, but where Kain was darker with the Samoan genes dominating his features and skin, Griffin had the more gold tones of someone with a mixed race heritage.

Thick, dark hair held a lot of curl like Kain’s, but Griffin kept his short with some overgrown pieces curling around his ears to flip out from his dirty backwards ball cap. The ever-present toothpick twitched at the corner of his mouth as if he couldn’t leave it alone. Mirrored aviator sunglasses hid his eyes and his beard was thicker and longer, making him look dangerous.

But then a white slash of teeth peeked from his full lips. “Nice to see you, Lenny.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Not that again.”

He grinned. “Been a while.” He stepped into my space and I stilled. He smelled of spring air and leather with something spicy that made my mouth water. But he only reached around me for the Hot Honey cider before stepping back.

My blood rocketed through my veins just like every time he got too close to me.

Which was hella annoying.

I truly didn’t have room in my plans for someone like Griffin St. James.

“Griffin and Justin will be working on the concert series, so you’ll be seeing a lot of him,” Kira said with a little too much laughter in her voice.

“And I’m working with the guys on the remodels too.” Griffin twisted the cap on the bottle and tipped it back, his throat working as he drained half the contents in one go.

I could feel his gaze on me, and quickly, I turned back to the bar. “Got any more of the Hot Honey?”

Ronan grinned. “Sure do.” He reached below the bar again and came up with a sweating dark bottle. “Seems like you guys have the same tastebuds.”

“I like ‘em spicy,” Griffin said before draining the bottle and setting it next to me, flashing me a cocky grin.