Chapter 9
9
SHE’S SOLVING A PUZZLE WHILE I’M SOLVING HER
“ C ome on,” I urge, pulling her by the hand towards the building like a child dragging a parent to do something only the kid is excited for.
We walk up the three steps to the crimson brick warehouse turned brewery; I turn to her and see her glance at her watch. Still confused about why this is where I chose to come at nine thirty in the morning. I know it’s a little too early to start drinking and I didn’t bring her here to drink, but given the way our morning was going, it doesn’t seem like too bad of an idea and no one would blame us if we were two sheets to the wind by now.
We reach the door and she notices the business hours:
HOURS OF OPERATION:
M-TH 2:00pm-12:00am
F-Su:12:00pm-2:00am
“Riley…they’re clos–” her warnings are cut off when I reach for the iron handle in the shape of a half beer keg to match the other half on the opposite side. The large metal door opens for me with ease.
With a cocky grin that I know infuriates her, I usher her into a dimly lit bar area. “You were saying?”
“This business was definitely still supposed to be closed,” she mutters under her breath.
There’s only one man behind the bar. He’s slightly shorter than me, has a stockier build, and has hair long enough to be swept in a messy man bun long before they were cool. The man has a beard that’s more maintained and groomed than the hair on top of his head, and various tattoos slither up his arms beneath his shirt and up his neck.
Amelia hesitates coming closer, probably out of fear that we just barged into his place of business during off hours while he’s probably busy prepping for the day. She tries to grab my arm to tug me out of the place which, I’ll admit, causes me to jerk slightly.
Her touch was like a torch to my skin. She drops her hold on me and I regret flinching at her contact… she could burn me alive for all I care.
Damn it. Nope .
This is not what this is about and the thoughts her touch elicits has no place here. Especially with an audience. So instead of focusing on her, I nod at the bartender and walk towards him. We shake hands, bring each other into a brotherly embrace, and smack the other on the back. “Thanks for doing this man,” I offer my gratitude. “This is my friend, Amelia. Amelia, this is Rob Feron.”
Amelia, now with slightly more relaxed shoulders after realizing we aren’t trespassing, extends her hand and one of her sweet welcoming smiles. “Pleasure to meet you, Rob. ”
As if I know her thoughts are racing as to who Rob is, why we are here, and who we are to each other that would allow me special access to this place of business while others have to wait for the clock to strike two pm, I explain. “Rob and I went to undergrad at Duke. Then somehow this bastard and I got accepted into Duke Law together. He decided a year of law school was enough for him and left me stranded so he could be on his way to open up this place.” I open my arms wide showcasing the expansive building. “Luckily for me, he only stranded me physically. Emotionally, this guy will always be my brother.” I smack Rob playfully on the back, hard .
Rob winces and with a deep gravelly voice, “do that again and your face will be unrecognizable.”
Amelia laughs at Rob’s idle threat. “This is an amazing establishment, in the perfect location no less.” She pauses for a split second to look around and admire her surroundings. “Forgive me though, I don’t know why we’re here. I don’t really drink, but if I did I would still think it’s a tad early for a beer.”
Rob and I look at each other and give an unspoken but knowing look. With how many years we’ve known each other, we could talk without ever needing words.
He puts down the towel he has in his hand and jerks his head to the right. “Follow me,” he instructs and we follow. “Riley sent a cryptic text half an hour ago saying ‘ I have a friend in need of letting off some steam’ so…” Rob turns a corner to a part of the brewery that isn’t visible from the bar. “Here you go. Riley, can I expect that you won’t be a liability to my business and actually show Amelia the proper way of doing this?”
“Sure thing, brother.”
Rob nods his head and heads back to setting up business for the day. I wat ch as Amelia stands there. Analyzing. All she can see in front of her are short lanes, sectioned off by metal fences, decorated with wooden backboards and targets painted on them.
I like watching her. She’s solving a puzzle while I’m solving her. I learn more about her when she isn’t talking. Like the way she scrunches her brows when she’s overanalyzing. The way the corner of her mouth will turn up into a half smile when she is fighting, showing her actual emotions. Or when her lips pinch together in a tight line whenever she’s trying to bite back what she wants to say. I’m learning her tells and I realize I want to learn everything about her.
Amelia stares forward towards the target, one eyebrow quirked upwards. “Am I supposed to finish a beer and then throw the glass at the target when I’m done like a twisted carnival game?” Her question catches me off guard. I laugh, then walk over behind another concession like stand and pull out two axes. “So this is when you kill me.” She says sarcastically, staring at the two sharp objects in my hand.
“These aren’t for you, well they are but not for me to use on you.” I make my way back over with the deadly weapons and place them along the tall lengthy wooden beam that doubles as a place to lean against and a discernible line to not cross when these tools are in action.
“What in the world is happening right now?” Amelia laughs with slight amusement at the scene unfolding in front of her.
I close in on her personal space and I can see her throat bob as she swallows. Her body reacts to mine as much as mine does to hers. That thought alone makes being near her and forming coherent thoughts close to impossible. But I’m here to make her feel better. Not jump her damn bones .
“What are you feeling right now?” I ask. When Amelia doesn’t respond I repeat. “What. Are. You. Feeling?” putting more emphasis on each word this time.
“Confusion.”
“Confusion about life or confusion about what we are doing here?”
“About what we are doing here,” Amelia says flatly.
“Ok, fair. Aside from confusion. What were you feeling when I saw you this morning?”
Biting her lip in response. “Um.” She doesn’t seem to like that question. I know her telling me means admitting she felt weak, and someone like Amelia Thatcher does not like to feel weak. But I want to break down those damn walls and show her she is anything but that.
I lightly grip her chin and tilt her head up to look at me. “Without overthinking it, just blurt out the first emotions that come to mind.” I watch as her eyes darken.
“Anger. Frustration. Annoyance.” She blurts out, listing them off so quickly that even she seems taken back by her admission.
“Good.”