Chapter 8
EIGHT
RONAN
DO IT WITH FLAIR
Organizing the batches of apple mash for fermentation took the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. It was messy work and I’d wanted the extra earthier flavor of the peels to be part of the juicing. By the end of it, my arms were shaking from the hand-wringing of the cheesecloth.
It was old school work and not sustainable for big batches—but I wanted to see what the apples could do for me.
The soft opening at the end of summer would consist of mostly small batch brews anyway.
This was a way for me to try new ideas, and if it worked out well enough, we’d be able to submit our cider for competition.
The more eyes, the better for getting the Brothers Three brand into distribution.
Being part of the creative process had always been my ultimate goal when I discovered how much I enjoyed brewing.
But Brothers Three gave me the opportunity to also make a name for myself within a brand for the first time in my life.
I’d always been a hired gun with a knack for finding interesting blends—with a heavy emphasis on hired. Sure, I had a reputation for the innovation companies could use to make their product better, but for the first time, it was about my vision in concert with someone else.
And if things worked out, I’d get to be a more active part of the company. Not something I’d ever thought I would be interested in.
I straightened up, my back cracking from crouching over buckets. I was gross as hell. Not even the hot, and ever distracting, scent of Kira Webb lingered on my skin at this point.
While looking for supplies, I’d found a crude shower in the back room of the barn. I made good use of it and washed off the first layer of grit and stickiness. My hair was a lost cause, so I just scraped it up into a messy knot on top of my head.
I might have to rethink the length of my hair when it came to the heat of the non-air-conditioned barn, but that was a decision for another day. I swapped out my hopelessly crunchy workpants for an ancient pair of jeans and T-shirt.
Part of me regretted washing off the scent of the Honeycrisp apples I’d been working with today.
It would be forever joined in my head with the heavier night flowers scent of Kira since I’d dumped her in my lap this afternoon.
The two didn’t belong together in any way and yet it had fueled my work all day.
If I hadn’t had such a tight deadline, I’d have chased her down to convince her to give our unique reaction to one another more time for data and testing.
If by testing, it meant her flat on her back in my truck, or in the storeroom—I wasn’t fussy. Neither was my dick. It just wanted inside her sweet and spicy heat.
Having her crawl on top of me like that had cranked my already dangerous attraction to her up to an eleven. Lust, I understood and had even embraced more than once in my life, but it wasn’t so simple with Kira.
And it wasn’t even just the work situation.
It was a little tricky, sure, especially since Beckett was technically my boss. Right now I was still in the testing phase there too. And it remained to be seen if I wanted to lock myself in here at the orchard.
Even as I thought that, I knew it was a lie. The moment I’d seen the front porch, I had known this place was meant to be part of me. As if my bones knew they were in a sacred space that I’d been searching for all my life.
Was Kira part of that? Or was I just getting her mixed up with the excitement of the job? My instincts were usually a better judge, but something about her clouded my intuition. As if sediment had gotten mixed into the golden liquid of a perfect brew.
Would it settle?
Or ruin it all?
And that was too heavy to think about on a hot fucking day like today.
Not to mention, I had a feeling pushing either of us to figure it out right now would be a mistake.
Kira wasn’t the kind of woman who leaped into bed with someone. She was a careful sort who needed some time to get her thoughts together.
While my dick, and his friend the lizard brain, wanted to pin her down and prove to her how good we would be, she wasn’t wrong. I’d lost my head there for a minute. She’d smelled so good and felt so right in my arms.
And when she’d said those stupid things about no one wanting to see her naked, I’d gone from hot to red-line pissed. How could she not see how sexy she was?
One taste and I’d been a goner. I couldn’t be the only man to see it or experience it. Not with all the wisdom and fire I saw in her eyes, let alone how she reacted to me.
For now, I needed a beer and something to eat. I was getting to know the area and spent most evenings scoping out places to eat in Turnbull. Thankfully I’d brought an extra stack of T-shirts into work when I’d seen the forecast.
So far Lucky’s seemed to be the easiest for food and a beer, but I wanted something more than pub grub tonight. But I was also wearing an ancient pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a brewing house logo.
If I went home, I’d land on my couch and then be pissed that I didn’t have food in me.
I really needed to go grocery shopping, but it was too damn hot to cook. Getting a grill for my deck was at the top of my shopping list. Working ten hours a day in the barn left me with very limited hours where an actual store was open.
I’d have to order one for delivery.
“Fuck it.” I locked up and crossed to my truck, my boots still squishing from my hose dunking earlier in the day. Maybe I just needed to get some greasy fried chicken at that spot I’d found in Crescent Cove and go the hell home.
Even at seven at night, the air was oppressive. Just the thought of greasy anything made me queasy.
Figuring out a direction made more sense in my truck where the windows were open and I could have the air conditioning blasting at me at the same time.
Energy conscious? Hell no.
Did I care right now since my balls were already sweating? Nope.
I found myself heading down the back road out of Happy Acres, past the newer signs for Brothers Three Live where the concert series had carved out a spot in the woods. I’d already had a look at the upcoming artists through the summer and a few of them had itched at my brain for a pairing cider.
The heavier country rock leanings of Flynn Sheppard coming out of the speakers begged for a whiskey.
Not that whiskey was in our wheelhouse here.
But maybe it could be. I’d never looked into the distillery side of grain alcohol.
For now, I could collaborate with Hayes on a moonshine that would go well with a higher proof hard cider.
Because my brain was still on work, I didn’t really pay attention to the fact that I’d headed down the winding road toward Crescent Lake.
The small town there was more on the family-friendly side, but along the lake there were a few more restaurants—including The Mason Jar which I’d been meaning to stop into.
Good time as any.
The parking lot was bumping and the porch held a damn lot of foot traffic. I almost pulled back out of the gravel parking lot to head to my default pizza spot when I noticed a familiar hatchback.
Not many old ass Mercury Tracers were still road-worthy. I had a feeling that even less were that very ugly rust orange color that Kira owned. Was she here with friends?
Just maybe I’d bump into her.
I found a spot at the far edge of the parking lot and hoofed it up to the wraparound porch that made up the front of the restaurant. The steps were three deep with people even before I got in the front door.
A sunny blond was slipping in and around the people waiting on the porch. She made notations on the tablet strapped to her hand and seemed to have a limitless apron full of small buzzers restaurants used to let people know their table was ready.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, waiting patiently until she got to me.
“Hi. Our wait time is about thirty minutes.” She was focused on her tablet and tapping away efficiently, her head down. Finally, she looked up and her eyes widened. “Wow.”
“Thirty minutes is a bit more than I can handle. Growing boy and all.” I added a little charm to my voice as I rubbed my belly.
Her gaze dropped to my hand then bounced back up, her cheeks flushed.
“If you don’t mind eating outside, we have a bar on the back patio with seating.”
“I don’t mind.”
She nodded and peeked up at me one last time before she typed something. “That should just be a five minute wait.” She handed me the small disk. “You can go around the porch or through the restaurant to the back when this buzzes. There’s a hostess around the back.”
“Great.” I grinned down at her. “Thanks.”
I wandered to the side of the wraparound porch where fewer people were waiting. The view of the lake was impressive at every angle—especially now when the sun was heading below the tree line. Torches lit the porch and twinkle lights led the way to the corded off back patio.
No runners for The Mason Jar.
Smart. I imagine more than one person thought they could get a free meal off the busy place. I wasn’t exactly a design kind of guy, but I saw the appeal of the view.
Kira and the Manning men had built a great space at the orchard with the Taproom and the concert space that was close enough for ambiance, but far enough apart to allow for conversations. The outdoor patio was set up with more of an industrial flair than the homey Mason Jar.
I liked both, but preferred the Taproom when all was said and done. The dark stains and crisp apples on the air held an earthier flavor. Sure, some romance could be found, but it was more of a hangout spot.
Something that was sorely lacking in the area now that I’d been exploring. I’d talk to Kira about it—maybe that was exactly where we should lean in.