Chapter 11
Finn
When I decided to start a brewery I had not taken in account the smell of mash. Especially mash that leaks out of faulty pipes. This is our first trial run, and somehow the burst pipes did not get noticed when we were cleaning and testing the site.
So we are cleaning once again. Sticky, stinky mash. Just when I am the smelliest, drenched in sweat and mash, Jennie shows up, stepping lightly around a puddle of would-have-been beer.
“Hey, lovely. What about bed rest?” I walk up to her, wiping my hands on a towel.
“We need to talk.”
“About bed rest?”
She lightly slaps my shoulder. “Don’t be such an ass.”
“I’m not. I am protective and caring.”
Jennie snorts. That crude sound makes my heart flutter. I love riling her up.
She wets her lips nervously. “Do you or don’t you love me?” she asks.
That’s unexpected. And a little disappointing. Why can’t she just believe it? Still, I answer calmly, “I do. Eighty-four.”
“Prove it to me.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Has she lost her marbles? Or have I missed some breakthrough in science that can prove a feeling?
She takes a deep breath. “I hate what we’ve become. I can’t take it anymore. I need to know whether you truly love me or just act out of misguided guilt or pity.”
“Hell, woman, there’s no need to pity you. You are strong and feisty. And I love you. Eighty-three.”
She rolls her eyes. “Stop counting already.”
“Nope. Cause I do love you. Eighty-two.”
She takes another breath. “Show me your knee.”
“My knee?”
“Do it already.”
I pull my pant leg up, but it is too tight and wouldn’t move high enough. So I unbutton my pants and pull them down. Jennie steps closer and crouches before me. I can think of many things we could do in this position, and checking on my knee is the last of them all.
Jennie touches the kneecap and the tattoo below it, just where it hurt the most. The pain had been so bad that I was going out of my mind. In order to remind myself that any pain is worth having saved Jennie, I had her name permanently etched into my skin.
She gasps. “When did you have this done?”
“Christmas,” I growl. Having her gasp with her mouth mere inches from my junk has an interesting effect my voice. Hastily I pull up my pants and button up, surreptitiously pressing my crotch to make the inappropriate boner go away.
“Is this sufficient proof?”
Jennie stands still, shrugging.
“You’re not mad anymore?”
She pushes her glasses up her nose. “I guess I still am, but more than that I’m not willing to give up on a life with you just because your timing sucks.”
“I should have told you before. Can’t change that I didn’t, but I will not stop now. I love you. Eighty-one.”
I reach for her and pull her into my arms. So what if she’ll smell of mash, too.
It won’t be the last time I reek of hops.
I kiss her. Gingerly at first, but it’s impossible to hold myself back.
Soon, we’re making out in the brew house.
I’m faintly aware of the door opening and of voices, but I’ve got better things to do than to care about who’s watching.
Holding Jennie, caressing her, kissing the wits out of her—if that’s what it takes for her to trust my love, I’m sure I’ll convince her. I’m the happiest man ever.