Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
KIRA
NOT READY YET
I was going to push that man off the damn side of the hill.
I stood with my hands at my hips as the he in question, and Kain, built a bench swing in my spot. I knew it was the perfect place for a couple to sit and look out on my favorite view, but it was my spot, dammit.
My lone swing had been there since we started building and now he was changing it.
Both of them had their shirts off and were using power tools like professionals. Laughing as they worked but no actual screwing around. They’d been jumping in to help whenever someone asked all damn day—with a smile and not a single complaint.
Very annoying.
It was the fourth project they put together this week without me even mentioning it. Hell, I was going to ask our landscaping team to do it with the final plants, but nope. I’d wanted that swing in a different spot, but they were right to install it there.
Still pissed me off.
The jerk also checked the project management app I’d set up for all the senior staff. Then Ronan went ahead and ordered the pieces, got them shipped, then he even put the scanned invoices into the right place in the program. All freaking tidy and efficient.
Then he had the nerve to be friendly and sweet—if hands off.
Not dragging me into a dark corner for a kiss.
Not a single flirty, Viking-esque remark.
Not a single inappropriate touch.
Completely professional, as if we hadn’t lost brain cells from hot, bone rattling sex recently. Eleven days ago, to be exact. Eleven long nights of staring at my ceiling having stupid flashbacks to what he did with his mouth and those big, very capable hands.
The same hands that were currently using a level to make sure the swing was perfectly straight as Kain bolted it in place.
Jerk.
I balled up my fists and stalked back into the taproom, leaving them to the swing.
It wasn’t like I didn’t have my own to-do list. Lennon had convinced me to rearrange the shelves behind the bar to showcase a few local distilleries as well as add a spot along the top for the hard ciders—when they were ready.
Hopefully it would be soon.
For the last week and a half, Ronan had been helping in the taproom as much as he’d been in his workshop. And when he wasn’t in the workshop, he and Kain had their heads down over plans. Whenever I got near them, they always put them away, so I didn’t know exactly what they were working on.
I hated not knowing.
I hated that I didn’t feel like I could ask.
“Kira?”
“What?”
Annette’s eyebrows shot up at my tone. “You okay?”
“Sorry.” I sighed and lowered my voice. “Sorry. Just a little crazy today.”
She glanced past me. “Ohhh.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets of my shorts. It was a dusty and dirty day with no interviews, so I hadn’t bothered dressing up. And now I looked like the unprofessional one, mooning over the man. Ugh.
“Did you need something?”
“Lennon changed the order for glasses. Just making sure it’s okay.”
I closed my eyes. “How much more?”
“Cheaper this time.”
My eyes snapped open. “Oh. Well, that’s new. Sounds good.”
She grinned. “I figured, just wanted to be sure it was okay. I’ll finalize the order and pick them up on my way in tomorrow. Unless you want them to deliver?”
“If you don’t mind picking them up, I could use a break on the shipping fees. As well as their less than careful delivery guys.”
“No kidding.” She rolled her eyes. “Matt had to request a return for the last delivery of pint glasses.”
“Great.”
“Always something.” She patted my arm. “We’re getting there. That dishy artist from Kensington Square dropped off a bunch of goodies.”
“Now that’s two bits of good news. Can we make it a trend?”
“Don’t say that too loud.”
I laughed in spite of my annoyance. “Ain’t that the truth. Thanks, Annette. Why don’t you knock off early? You’ve been working long days.”
“Oh, and like you haven’t?”
“Comes with manager status. Take Matt with you.” I walked over to the bar where I’d stashed a few gift cards just for this purpose. “Have dinner on us.”
She frowned and tucked a dark curl behind her ear. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t. But you guys have been working your butts off. And I don’t think you’ll mind going solo with him…”
Annette’s ears pinked up. “Maybe.” She snatched the card. “He does love Chester’s.”
“Best pizza in Turnbull.”
“Only pizza, you mean.”
I snickered. “That too. Handily, they make one helluva pie.”
“Okay. But I’ll be in early tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll need your eye to hang all those freaking paintings.”
“You got it.” She stuffed the card in her back pocket and hustled over to Matt.
She might be still in the wonder-if-he-likes-me stage, but I was pretty sure Matt was already there.
Part of me wanted to dissuade them. Workplace romance was a headache waiting to happen.
But the heart wanted what it wanted and Matt was a good guy.
He stepped closer to her as she tugged on his arm until they were just a breath away from touching.
Yep, he was definitely into her.
I turned away from them and zeroed in on the crates against the wall. No doubt, I’d need help with them tomorrow. Now, I just needed a screwdriver or a crowbar to get them open so I could take a peek.
I’d bartered with an artist in Turnbull who did paintings and sculptures.
He said he’d make the display cases for the dining room if I hung his paintings in the dining area for the first month with no commission.
I couldn’t fault the guy for the hustle and it saved my budget for the first month. Win-win for everyone.
I glanced over at the guys who were currently glugging down bottles of water.
Dear God, Ronan was distracting. That long throat worked as he swallowed, and I flashed back to the night on my couch.
When he was drinking wine with the same abandon, but at least then I’d been able to nibble my way along his neck.
I could still taste the salt on my tongue.
Good grief. My breasts felt heavy and my nipples were tight with stupid memories clogging up my brain. There was no way I could go out to the guys to ask for a tool.
I was too wound up to talk to Ronan. There had to be something in the junk drawer behind the bar. I’d ordered a multi-tool to have on hand, but who knew if it had actually made it into the correct spot.
The chaos around me was getting to me, but I knew it meant we were getting close to the end.
We were in good standing for employees, and while a few of them probably wouldn’t work out past the first week—it was to be expected.
A startup required a lot of work, and not everyone was ready for that.
Especially those from the young and partying age group who thought they’d get free drinks.
I dug around and found a rusty flat head screwdriver that had probably been in the first taproom. I went over to pry open the first crate and found a trio of paintings that would look good in the main dining room. One of those triptychs where the separate paintings made up a larger picture.
“Wow,” I said softly. It was of the orchard. I hadn’t commissioned him to do anything specific to the Brothers Three or Happy Acres, but it looked like he’d taken it upon himself.
I pulled the pallet wood off the front and set it against the wall, then dug into the packing paper so I could get a good look at them.
I knew right where it should go—the main dining room near the windows.
It would be protected from the elements when the large glass doors were open, but it would be a feature for photos as well as enjoyment.
I muscled the springtime one out of the crate and duck walked my way over to where I wanted it.
“Why didn’t you call for help?”
My shoulders stiffened at Ronan’s voice. “I can handle it.”
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to. That’s why we’re here helping.” His big hand slid across mine to get to the center of the tin painting for a good grip.
He looked down at me, and for the first time his dark eyes flickered with something more than the genial, helpful Ronan I’d been dealing with for the last eleven damn days.
I backed up. “Thanks. Over in the alcove.”
He glanced over to the cut in section of the dining room. “Perfect spot.”
I nodded. “There’s two more.”
He whistled sharply and Kain’s head whipped around from where he was standing outside. He hustled up the patio’s steps.
“Hina, you trying to do everything again?”
I rolled my eyes. I didn’t know what the nickname meant, and I was almost afraid to ask. His big personality had changed the flavor of the taproom, and I wasn’t sure if it was for the better.
“There’s two more over there in the crate,” I said with defeat in my voice.
He pulled the ever present scrunchie hair tie off his wrist and put his hair up. “Hanging paintings is my favorite thing.”
I didn’t know much about the secretive Kain. Because I was used to people talking about me for the last five years, I didn’t push him for details. Especially after Ronan asked me to give him space.
But in my experience, men never loved hanging paintings.
Kain went over to the crate and lovingly lifted the summer version of the trees. The artist had a strong, bold style. Even the spring painting Ronan held had pops of color out of the dark green instead of leaning into the pastel as most people did for that season.
“Who’s the artist?”
I glanced over at Kain. “Sullivan Kelsey. He’s local.”
“Impressive,” he murmured. He pried open the next few crates and pulled out paintings in a variety of sizes. Some on tin, like the trees, others on canvas or wood. All of them were evocative in one way or another.
“For three months, I won’t charge him a commission on any artwork sold.
In return he built those.” I pointed at the display cases with Plexiglass toppers.
“Once we have the bottles…” I glanced at Ronan with a raised brow.
“We’ll make sure we have the first of each batch to show the history of the taproom. ”
“They’re not ready yet,” Ronan said tightly.
“Well, get it ready because we’re running out of time,” I snapped back.
He stomped over to where the paintings would go, then out to where they’d been working for his toolbox. I tried not to notice the bunching muscles along his back. Or the new ink that had been added to his shoulder blade.
More in the Celtic style I was used to, but this time something that echoed Kain’s more tribal artwork. The two of them stood at the wall talking quietly and sure enough, there was a matching swirl of ink on Kain’s shoulder as well.
The pang hit me low and harder than I was prepared for. What must that be like to be linked so closely to someone that you’d be willing to get a permanent reminder of a friendship?
Beckett and the Mannings had become my surrogate family, but the idea of stamping myself with a symbol like that wasn’t one I’d ever been called to do. I glanced down at the small star and moon on my wrist.
A crazy moment I’d commemorated the night before I was supposed to go to college. Now it was a reminder that my future wasn’t so easily assured. Especially when my sister had left instead—taking any option of college and the money she stole with her.
I rubbed the phantom burn from that long ago night against my shorts and shook off the old memories. Lots of things still needed doing for the current iteration of my future. And I’d use all the help available to make sure everything was perfect.
I went back to the crates and found an envelope with Sullivan’s logo on it. Inside were discreet QR codes on small cards to place beside the paintings. It gave people the option to buy if they were interested—no hard selling.
Win-win as far as I was concerned.
I wanted to work with local people as much as possible. Both to give back to Turnbull and also to show that Brothers Three was focused on creating community. On a personal level, I wanted to prove that maybe a Webb could help instead of hurt.
This was my first step that didn’t include my bank account.
I straightened my shoulders and went over to supervise. It was my strongest trait after all.
An hour later, we’d argued over height, where to hang, and whether to use wires or nails.
Two hours later, all the paintings were hung—with wires—because I wanted as few holes in my beautifully refinished barn walls as possible. The wires were more of a pain in the ass, but damn if they didn’t look classy.
I left them to clean up the crate debris as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Beckett.
Just what I needed after a long day.