Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ABBEY
“Here you go.” An envelope lands on the table I’m wiping down with a thud.
“What’s this?” I ask Jude as I straighten, my muscles sore from running around the taproom all afternoon.
Despite how hectic it was, especially at first, I actually enjoyed myself today. I missed working. Missed feeling useful.
“Your share of this afternoon’s tips.”
I grab the envelope and open it, my eyes widening at the large stack of cash, mostly twenties.
“Plus your hourly pay. Hope you don’t mind it’s all cash. Don’t tell the IRS.” He winks, his lighthearted nature shining through once more.
“Your secret’s safe with me, but this isn’t necessary.” I attempt to hand the envelope back to him.
“You worked your ass off this afternoon, Abbey.”
“I didn’t help you for the money. I did it because I wanted to repay the favor.”
“You did more than repay the favor. I would have been fucked without you, especially when Lindsey had to leave early to take care of her kid. So take the money. You earned it. Plus, I’m sure you could use it right now.”
He has a point. This is enough for me to afford a cheap motel room somewhere for a week or two while I figure out my next move.
“Thank you.” I stuff the envelope in the back pocket of my jeans.
“Come on. You’ve earned a beer.”
I look around the vacant taproom, not another soul in sight. But there are still dirty glasses on several of the tables. “I haven’t finished cleaning yet.”
“Leave it. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind. I?—”
“Well, I could use a beer, and I’d rather not drink alone.” He treats me to a hint of a smile, his teeth brilliant against his tan skin. If I thought he was handsome before, he’s even sexier now.
“Fine,” I eventually relent, unable to say no to that smile. Not to mention, a beer sounds incredible after being on my feet all afternoon.
I follow him toward the bar, my eyes tracing his every movement as he pulls out a stool for me before hoisting himself over the counter, landing behind it with ease.
“I would have laughed my ass off if you fell,” I tease as I climb onto the stool, my feet sighing with relief.
“I’ve done that more times than I can count.”
“Fall or jump over the bar?” I lift a playful brow.
“Both.” He grabs a clean glass from the counter. “What’ll it be? Imperial again like last night?”
I shift my eyes to the large board overhead, even though I have the tap list memorized after working the past few hours.
As I poured the various beers people ordered, I made a point to read up on each of them. The IPAs seem to be the most popular, but I don’t want to have something everyone else has.
“What’s your favorite?” I ask.
“They’re all my favorite. I wouldn’t sell them if I didn’t like them.” He tilts his head and studies me. “Want to try something new?”
“Why? So I can be your guinea pig?”
“That’s what my brothers and sister are for. Follow me.”
With ease, he jumps back over the counter and leads me toward the back hallway. A wall of glass peers into a large space filled with several steel vats in varying sizes.
Approaching a door off to the side, he punches in a code before holding it open for me.
“I’m guessing this is where the magic happens,” I remark as I walk inside.
“More or less.”
“This is impressive.” I take in my sterile surroundings, everything gleaming and spotless under the fluorescent lights. “I wouldn’t even know what any of this stuff is for.”
“It took me a while to learn, too.” He chuckles as he leads me toward a walk-in cooler.
But unlike the one behind the bar that’s filled with kegs, this one is lined with rows and rows of bottles, each adorned with the Wicked Hop logo.
“This is a new Vienna lager I’ve been playing around with,” he explains as he grabs two bottles from a six-pack. “I’m planning a limited release to see how it’s received.”
With a flick of his wrist, he pops the top off and hands one to me.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I echo, touching my beer to his before taking a sip.
The flavor is unlike any beer I’ve had before — rich and robust with layers of complexity I can’t quite put my finger on. But what’s even more remarkable than the taste is the fact that Jude brewed this himself. This isn’t just some random hobby or amateur attempt at home brewing. This is a masterful creation that was crafted by his own hands in this very room.
“What do you think?”
“It’s incredible, Jude. All of this…”
I’m filled with awe and admiration as I look around the brewhouse again, seeing Jude in a whole new light.
“How did you get into this?”
He leans against a steel table set against the wall, and I join him. “My dad, actually.”
“Really?”
He nods and sips his beer. I do the same, trying to imagine what it must have been like for Jude to share this passion with his father.
I wouldn’t know what that’s like.
“He also brewed his own beer. Not on this level.” He gestures at the professional-grade equipment filling the room. “But he still had a pretty decent setup. Even turned the garage into a makeshift bar. Whenever he had a fresh brew ready, locals would come over. Dad never charged, but you always knew when he had something new because he’d illuminate a neon sign in the window of the garage that said BEER. He found it at some estate sale and my mom thought he’d lost his mind.”
He laughs to himself, a glint of nostalgia making his eyes shine. It’s obvious from the affection in his tone and expression that he adores his father. But within that affection, there’s a hint of sadness, making me think he may no longer be around.
“Is it the same sign hanging out front?” I ask, recalling seeing a sign exactly as he described in the front window of this taproom. Hell, it was what caught my attention yesterday after I was pulled over.
“It is.” He peers into the distance for several long seconds before clearing his throat. “After a few years of brewing his own beer, he decided he needed a better name than just Rowan’s Beer. Rowan was my dad’s name,” he explains.
“I see.”
“Since he’s originally from Boston, he decided to name it?—”
“The Wicked Hop,” I finish.
“Exactly.”
He takes another long sip of beer, his throat working as he swallows. There’s something oddly sexy about the way he casually leans against the table and savors his own creation. With every minute I spend in his presence, I find myself drawn to him in ways I never expected, especially after only knowing him a short period of time.
“He had ALS and died my senior year of high school,” he announces. “Two days before I was supposed to graduate.”
“Oh, Jude…”
I shake my head, searching for something appropriate to say. A part of me is surprised by the vulnerability he’s currently showing me. Then again, maybe my assessment of him last night is right. He may have a hard exterior, but he’s soft on the inside. You just have to find a way past his tough outer shell first.
“That summer, I found his notebook with different recipes and decided to try my hand at making a batch. Even though he let me help him brew beer a few times, I had no idea what I was doing. I still wanted to try.” He laughs slightly and glances at me. “You’ll probably think this sounds ridiculous, but I swear I felt my dad’s presence with me.”
“I think that’s sweet.” I continue sipping on the beer, each swallow becoming more flavorful as I peel back more of his layers.
“To this day, whenever I’m making beer, whether it be in here or in my mom’s garage, I feel him. Hell, sometimes I come in here just to talk to him. Or to the garage at my mom’s.”
“Is all his brewing equipment still there?”
“It is. It’s actually where I do my test runs.”
I can’t stop the grin from spreading on my lips. “I love that story. It’s…perfect.”
“Thanks.”
“What about college?” I ask, wanting to learn everything I can about him while he’s in a sharing mood. There’s no knowing when he’ll shut down. From my experience, he can go from hot to cold in a heartbeat.
“I dropped out of college. Well, technically, I got kicked out.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “For what?”
He shrugs as a sly smile curves the corner of his mouth, causing the most adorable dimples to appear.
As if he weren’t attractive enough before, now he has to have dimples?
It gives him a boyish charm I find nearly impossible to resist.
“For brewing beer on campus.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Did you really?”
“That, and I’d pretty much stopped going to class. My beer had started to grow in popularity. Why waste my time sitting in class when I could be brewing, bottling, and distributing my own beer?”
“How did you end up with all of this?” I wave my hand at my surroundings.
“A lot of blood, sweat, and tears.” He takes another swig of beer. “But I knew this was what I wanted to do. The idea of sitting in a classroom or in an office never appealed to me. I moved back in with my mom and worked my ass off to increase production. Then I started reaching out to every taproom, restaurant, and bar within a two-hundred-mile radius to see if they’d want to carry my label. It was tough at first, but eventually, I had sufficient demand to warrant opening my own taproom.”
“That’s incredible.” I laugh under my breath. “I feel like a failure next to you.”
“You’re not a failure. You were in the Peace Corps, for crying out loud. I was definitely impressed when I learned that.”
I shrug, averting my gaze. “I just wanted to do something worthwhile.”
“What did you do while you were in the Peace Corps?” He inched toward me, genuine curiosity etched on his face.
“My focus was on clean water. In a lot of less developed countries, clean water isn’t a guarantee, so my time there was spent educating the locals on its importance and helping to develop systems for them to be able to access it. Especially women, since they’re typically the ones responsible for fetching water for their families.”
He studies me for a moment, taking in every word as if truly interested. “Sounds like it’s something you’re passionate about.”
“I think everyone should have access to basic necessities.”
“And after the Peace Corps? What did you do?”
I take a sip from my beer. “Came back to the States and worked for a nonprofit in a similar field. But then I was laid off late last year due to budget cuts. With the wedding coming up, Carson suggested I focus on planning that instead of stressing over finding and starting a new job.”
“I see,” he replies evenly as another protracted silence stretches between us. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find something. You’re obviously passionate about what you do.”
“I hope you’re right,” I murmur.
I may have a few years of experience, but it’s nothing compared to people who have been doing this for decades. Nonprofit jobs are hard enough to come by as it is. But I need to remain positive. Need to remain hopeful. Otherwise, what’s the point?
“Well, I won’t keep you here any longer,” Jude says, pushing off the table. “I’m sure you want to get on the road to your next destination before it gets too late.”
“Of course.” I tip back my bottle and finish my beer.
After tossing our bottles into the recycling bin, I follow Jude through a different door, this one leading into his office. I grab my bag and wedding dress, then remember I’m wearing a different shirt.
“Do you want this back?” I ask, gesturing to my shirt.
“Keep it.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I’ve got plenty. That way, you’ll have a souvenir of your time here. Although, I doubt this is something you’ll want to remember.”
“Yesterday, not so much. But today?” I shrug, meeting his eyes. “I’d like to remember today.”
Jude’s expression softens and a hint of warmth flickers in his eyes as they meet mine. “I’d like to remember today, too.”