Chapter 5 #2
“And you’re not in a rush to leave Heartstone’s kitchens, are you?
” I asked. I wasn’t in a rush for him to leave the kitchens either.
I’d never eaten this well in my life. Six months before, Finn had pissed off the chef enough that she’d quit.
And as Griffen had threatened he would, he’d given Finn her job.
It was either that or get kicked out and lose his inheritance.
Finn had given in so easily, I suspected that’s what he’d been after all along.
It was typical of Finn to go after what he wanted with the most amount of chaos possible.
But now that he was in charge of the kitchens, we were treated to crispy, fluffy Belgian waffles in the morning.
Divine omelets and light, buttery biscuits.
His simple lunches were anything but boring.
And the dinners... He could do home cooking, soul food, and gourmet, and all of it was amazing.
“If we do this,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “who’s going to feed us at home?”
Finn laughed. “We’ll figure it out. I was thinking I could find an apprentice.
There’s a lot of talent in the area. It shouldn’t be hard to track down somebody eager to learn and doesn’t annoy the shit out of me.
If I can do that, we should be able to put together a decent kitchen schedule to cover feeding you guys and running a restaurant.
I’ve got a family now. I’m not looking for high stress?— ”
“—but cooking just for the family isn’t enough,” I finished for him.
“Exactly. You know how it is. You could have stuck to home brewing. You didn’t need to start a beer empire.”
“It’s hardly a beer empire,” I laughed. “But yeah, home brewing wasn’t enough. This is what I wanted.”
“And this plus a restaurant?” Finn asked.
If I told him no, he’d take it gracefully, because he was my brother, and as ornery as he could be, he also loved me. I’d just booted one partner. Did I want to take on another?
“Yes,” was the answer, immediate and true. Because this wasn’t a partner in my brewery. This was something else. This was sharing space. Finn wasn’t looking to tell me what to do with my beer any more than I’d be micromanaging what he did in the kitchen.
Together, we could bring in more tourists. We could feed them. Give them beer. Sell them some t-shirts or a few six-packs to go. The only side benefit of my father’s insane will was that he’d brought my family back to me. And working with my brother?
“I’d love it,” I said. “Let’s talk to Griffen. And let’s figure out this pop-up for November.”
“Awesome,” Finn said. He started toward the little kitchen off the bar and stopped, turning back to me. “I heard you fired—What’s his name? Mike?”
“Matt. And yes, I did.”
“Are you looking for a new brewmaster?” he asked, raising one dark eyebrow.
“Not yet,” I said.
He reached out and squeezed my shoulder .
“You’ve got this, Ave. Look what you’ve done so far. You didn’t need him.”
“Thanks, Finn,” I said, wishing I had his confidence. Even without it, I’d put myself in this situation. I’d have to figure it out, one way or another.
I thought about what to do next. Go back to fiddling with the recipe, inventory the taproom, or check supply orders and the schedule for the week? The phone in my pocket rang. My sister Sterling.
“Hey,” I said, answering. “I didn’t expect to hear from you today.” Her fiancé’s mother and stepfather were in town for the fall craft fairs. Emily, Forrest’s mother, seemed to have her finger in a bit of everything, crafts-wise. And Jerry, his stepfather, was a potter.
Sterling had shown me his website and a mug she brought home from Oregon that he’d made. From what I could see, he was talented. He’d love the craft fair, as would Emily.
“I was thinking,” Sterling said, “there’s supposed to be a lot of jewelers at this one. Do you want to tag along and bring pictures of the necklace? See if we can find anybody to talk to? Emily and Jerry are probably going to wander off. They’re on a mission to find some potters Jerry knows.”
Yes. This was exactly what I needed. Maybe it would clear my head to actually get something done instead of being frustrated here. “My to-do list is annoying me,” I said. “I’m in.”
“Cool,” Sterling said. “We’re headed out in an hour or two. We’ll swing by and pick you up.”
“Works for me,” I said. I might have lost my file on the necklace, but I had pictures. The sight of it—the shape, the colors—was ingrained in my memory. “See you soon,” I said and hung up.
Now that I knew I didn’t have all day, I found some motivation.
I filled the time dealing with the dreaded to-do list—approving the beer labels, checking supplies, and making notes of glassware.
In the background, I heard clangs and bangs from the tiny kitchen.
Finn emerged looking a little dusty, shaking his longish hair out of his eyes, with a grin on his face.
“It’s a mess in there,” he said, but he didn’t sound upset about it.
“Is it too small?” I asked.
“Nah. It’s bigger than a food truck, and you’d be surprised what I could do with a food truck. It just needs a little reorganizing. I can definitely make it work.”
“What about seating?” he asked, his eyes scanning the taproom. It wasn’t a huge space. There was standing room at the long, wide bar, some high-top tables with two or four chairs, and some lower tables, but not as many as you’d have in a restaurant.
“I have small square folding tables in the back,” I said, “and chairs to go with them. I bought them for an event a couple of years ago, and they come in handy. We’ve done a few collabs with food trucks before, and we use them every year for the Halloween party at the Orchard.
They’re not fancy, but they get the job done. ”
“For now,” Finn agreed, “that’s all we need.”
“How many can you seat?” We walked the space, pacing out where the tables could go; discussed and vetoed the prospect of outdoor seating.
By the time Finn headed off to do his grocery shopping, we had a pretty good idea how we’d handle the pop-up in November and a few thoughts on what we might do after that.
I looked at the taproom again, trying to imagine the changes Finn had proposed: the space opening up into a dining room in the same style, outdoor seating that brought the woods inside.
And unlike the hollow feeling I got when I thought about my recipe problem, this felt solid and right. This was going to be great. If only I had a new flagship beer to celebrate with.
Ugh, get it together, Avery. I’d come up with the missing recipe on my own.
Mostly. Matt had helped me with the business side and the techniques of scaling up from small batches to commercial levels, but we’d both known my recipes were better than his.
When I’d contemplated firing Matt, I’d worried about the mechanics of running the place, but not the beer itself.
I wasn’t loving the irony of the intruder taking the one thing I’d assumed I had under control. Whatever. I’d figure it out. I had to.