Chapter 30 Kira
THIRTY
KIRA
IT’S ALL COMING TOGETHER NOW
Ronan had all but moved into my apartment since the night of the first tasting. I’d come home that night to find a pasta dish waiting for me and a note that he’d crashed again and couldn’t wait for me to join him.
I’d been doomed to disappointment for some action that night, but dinner waiting for me made up for it.
In fact, that was the biggest perk of having him around.
He loved to cook—as long as it wasn’t just for him—and I lived to keep things neat and orderly.
Because, boy, did I have to tidy up behind him.
The man was pure chaos when it came to cooking.
I wasn’t complaining—much. I wasn’t quite used to someone in my space at all times, but it wasn’t as off-putting as I’d expected. Thankfully he was good about putting his clothes in the hamper and not leaving wet towels on the floor. Or at least he was since he was still on his best behavior.
He even did laundry. I counted that as a win since it was my least favorite chore. He left my dressy bits, as he called them, to me and took care of the big stuff. He even made the bed without asking. We were becoming a team more and more as the days went by.
I couldn’t help be still suspicious that he was trying to fool me into complacency, but so far we were doing pretty well.
Starting the morning with an orgasm or two didn’t hurt either. My Viking loved morning sex the best. Not surprising, since we were both working our asses off every day and dropped into an exhausted heap after we ate a late dinner.
It was three days until Hayes’ birthday party, and I had the cleaning crew come in to do a deep clean. While I loved keeping the doors open because of the unrelenting heat, it got damn dusty in the taproom and we needed everything spotless for opening night.
The semi-quiet also would allow me to do inventory to make sure we had food, spirits, and cider ready to go. I needed a baseline of what we had on hand so I could figure out how sales went on opening night. Not to mention just how dented my budget was.
From a brewing standpoint, Ronan and Beckett had been steadily bottling and filling up kegs for the taproom. The storeroom was stacked with cases that were freshly stickered thanks to a few labeling nights.
Zoe’s graphic designer friend had come through and then some. She’d set us up with a few hundred labels for the bottles to sell at the bar. Not everyone liked to drink from a glass. Jess reminded me again and again, we needed people to take photos of the pretty bottles to get our name out there.
I flipped open the box with Sunshine on the side to pull out a bottle. The large sun and rays looked like it was carved out of wood and painted in retro colors of sunny yellow and orange. I couldn’t help but imagine how amazing Ronan’s cider would look on a shelf when it went into distribution.
For now, we were labeling a few hundred of them by hand for the opening.
As a reward for the tedious work, Kain tried out a few of the menu items on us.
Taco Tuesday had been a hit. His special Hawaiian smoked pork was going to be a winner, and while we figured on a rotating menu, I was sure that was going to be a staple.
It was all coming together. I set the bottle back into the box and closed the top. I flipped through my management app on my iPad and counted each case and put the numbers in my spreadsheet, then sent the numbers off to Beckett.
I was cautiously optimistic about the opening.
Our staff was almost perfect. As I’d feared, a few of them were not going to survive working in the taproom.
It was to be expected. I’d taken a chance on a few people who had turned into amazing employees and some who would probably quit after the opening.
This life wasn’t for everyone, that was for sure.
I moved onto the spirits and counted cases of vodka, bourbon, and tequila. We were keeping things simple and only carrying alcohol that could be used in Lennon’s special menu.
She and her bartenders were my shining stars, though. She’d exceeded my expectations there. She knew just how to handle the seasoned bartenders and improve upon their natural talents, as well as boosting the confidence on those with less experience.
Opening night would be a trial by fire for a lot of us, but at least the bar was well in hand.
Now I just needed to pull it all together.
“Coming thru, Sunshine.”
I turned to find Ronan in the doorway with a hand truck packed with cases.
He’d tied his hair down in the braids that made my mouth water, but as usual, his curls would not be completely tamed and some curled around his ear.
He was wearing a black tank and jeans dusty with hay that told me he’d been at the pasteurizer barn at the main orchard.
I moved as he came in and made quick work of the cases by pulling two at a time off the hand truck.
His eyetooth winked from his beard as he grinned. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” I hugged my iPad to my chest. “Just admiring the view.”
“Is that right?” He slapped his palm on the side of the boxes to make sure they were straight, and my breath hitched.
His muscular shoulders, arms, and those massive hands did give me a few moments. He could be so gentle and then so rough. And I loved it. Loved…
He moved the hand truck out of the way and tugged at the belt loop of my cutoffs. “How about you come over here and show me that appreciation?”
I tried to calm my racing heart as that L-word tripped around in my brain and then my stupid hormones got wrapped up with it too. I set my iPad on the case and slid my hand up his chest to play with his chunky Celtic cross. “Like what?”
He lowered his mouth to hover over mine. “Unless we want to give the cleaning crew a concert, I’ll take a kiss.”
I arched a brow. “I beg your pardon?”
He grinned as he palmed my ass and bypassed my mouth to nip at my ear. “You aren’t quiet, Sunshine.” He tugged harder, then nipped at the pulse point of my neck. “And I love it. I love hearing you sigh and groan for me. Say my name in that annoyed tone that says you’re close.”
I reached my other hand down to cup the front of his jeans. He hissed out a breath and hardened under my touch. “I’m not the only noisy one, pal.”
He leaned back and bit my lower lip. “Because I’m a Viking.”
I grinned against his mouth. “My Viking.”
His eyes flared, then darkened. “Always yours.” He covered my mouth and possessed every inch.
I lifted my arms to his shoulders and went onto my toes to get closer. Would this ever get old? Would it ever cool off?
“Stop thinking,” he said against my mouth and chased my tongue to drag me back down into where everything made sense.
I didn’t have to wonder how much he wanted me. The proof was always between us. And always seemed to be growing.
A man cleared his throat outside the door. “Sorry to interrupt, guys.”
My eyes widened, but instead of scrambling away, we both laughed. “Sorry, Beckett,” I said on a laugh.
“It’s cool. We all gotta find our moments. You’re not the first one to make out in a storeroom, Key.”
Ronan grinned and shifted himself before turning around. He wiped his mouth. “Been a long few days.”
“You’re telling me. Unfortunately, I need to talk to you guys about something.”
I frowned. The haze of our quick make out session instantly dissipated. “What’s wrong?”
Beckett nodded toward my office. “Let’s go in there.”
I grabbed my iPad on the way out and followed them into my barely used office. It was mostly just where I filed away paperwork and did payroll. It was a glorified closet full of extra uniforms, aprons, and a stash of keycards for the registers.
Beckett pulled the club chair out of the corner and sat down. I noticed a manila folder in his hand, and my stomach cramped.
“What’s going on?” I set my iPad down.
“I just pulled in when you sent me over your inventory. I was already on my way over since Ronan had put another order in for Firefly to be bottled yesterday.”
Ronan stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, we’ve been bottling daily. Firefly is our signature, so I figured that would need the most cases.”
“And you’d be right. Except the numbers don’t match.”
The room started feeling very small. “What do you mean, they don’t match?”
Beckett handed me the folder.
My hand shook a little as I reached for it. “I did the numbers myself. Counted every one—twice.”
Beckett pulled off his hat and curved the brim of his cap.
I knew that gesture. That was his thinking move. When he was trying to figure out something that didn’t make sense.
The blood pounded in my head and I tried to focus on his voice. I looked down at the numbers, but they blurred and jumped as old fears crashed in on me.
“I believe you. I’m going to need you guys to count them again.” Beckett looked at me, then Ronan. “Maybe some ended up in your shed?”
Ronan shook his head. “Just the fermenters are in there now. We’ve been running them at max capacity to make The B3 for kegs.”
“Okay. Nothing in your workshop?”
I swallowed down the surge of saliva in my mouth. Do not puke, do not puke. “What’s missing?” I looked down again, but the papers were crinkled in my hand.
Beckett put his Yankees hat back on and took back the folder. “It’s not a huge amount. And I know at least a few cases were written off because of some of the staff trainings—”
I shook my head. I wanted the paper back so I could triple check. I just needed to calm down and think. “No. I took those off. I counted them as write-offs.”
“All right,” Beckett said carefully.
The room was getting a little darker, but I forced my voice to stay even. “How many?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three?” I swayed and Ronan grabbed my hand, gripping it tight.
“There has to be a mistake. Transposed numbers?” Ronan asked.
“I double checked. So I need you guys to recount the storeroom.”
I lifted my chin. “Of course. You can take it out of my pay.”