27. Chapter 27
twenty-seven
Jamie
I ’m a coastal city guy down to my bones, but there’s something about mountain air that’s as good as a drug.
October hovers around ten degrees colder in Carrabassett Valley than it does in Portland, and the fall leaves are far more brilliant for it.
Our tent is an eight-by-eight easy-up with three taps—the blonde, the orange, and the IPA—and huge coolers of cans for the fall ale.
A vinyl banner with my logo is strung up behind us.
I take a quick glance down the row of beverage vendors and do a mental fist pump.
Ours is the longest by far. I’ve been talking hops and swiping mobile pay for four hours straight, and I’ve missed this exhausted from work instead of pain feeling.
Noel’s off with Cara, enjoying the festival, and Em elbows me in my barely-healed ribs. “Hey. This is good,” she says, a rare serious smile on her face.
I lift my hat and wipe my forehead. “It’s better than good,” I say. “We’re killing it.”
She laughs. “Damn, I missed this Jamie.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Which Jamie is that?”
“Confident Jamie. Different from Cocky Jamie, by the way. Cocky Jamie gets on my nerves.”
I make a face. “Weird. You never said anything.”
She laughs at my joke and greets a gray-haired couple.
Collecting their green paper drink tickets, she pours them two pints before turning back to me.
“It feels like the old days. When you first started and you were just happy to be doing your thing. And it’s pretty clear you’re disgustingly happy now,” she says.
“Happiness is really gross.”
Em snorts. “She’s very sweet to you. I’m glad you finally figured out you deserve that.” Em tips her head to the bustle in front of us. “And this. Because you do.”
Sometimes, I think all of the women I know are a little psychic, otherwise I’m not sure how Em knew that’s exactly what I’ve been tossing over since that argument with Wes, and my conversation with Noel after it.
The fact is, Noel and I are very new. New enough that if she’d started to question her choices after Wes’s not-so-subtle reminder of my liability, I wouldn’t have had reason to be surprised.
But she didn’t. She’d given me the benefit of the doubt.
Easily. She’d assumed that my biggest insecurities are unfounded.
That I’m capable of something I’ve always assumed everyone knew I wasn’t.
“I’ve been thinking more about NEBev,” I tell Em when there’s a small lull in the line.
She looks over at me with a cocked eyebrow.
I’ve been candid with her about this offer and the issues it’s causing between Wes and me.
It’s wildly unprofessional since she works for both of us, but she has a vested interest. She deserves to know that the brand that she’s given the last two years to could evolve into something different than what she signed up for when I poached her from Java Jolt.
“Is Wes wrong about you asking Noel for help? I’m not judging, I’m just asking.”
“He wasn’t at first.” I’m interrupted by a customer and have to pour a couple of pints before turning back to Em. “Would you work for me, if it was just me?”
I brace myself to be let down easy, but her laugh surprises me the same way Noel’s reaction did. “Jamie, I’ve never been Wes’s biggest fan.”
“I mean, I get why you wouldn’t invite him to a party, but he knows what he’s doing. He’s good at it.”
She shrugs. “So are you. A hundred people can do what Wes does, J. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the talent. Where you go, the rest works out.”
I greet another customer, feeling my blood start to buzz.
This is my wheelhouse—working the crowd, describing how different ingredients work together, toting our community initiatives.
I’ve always been good at this part. Always loved it.
And maybe that’s more important to our success than I thought.
Noel and Cara duck under our tent, each holding a cup of something clear and carbonated, and definitely poured at someone else’s tent. “Cheating on me?” I joke, nodding at Noel’s cup while I hand off the one I’m pouring.
“Another beer will never touch my lips, Jamie.” She presses up to kiss my cheek, but I turn at the last second and steal her mouth instead. It’s not exactly work appropriate when I slide my tongue over hers, but I’m the boss, right?
“That’s not beer,” I say at the taste of fruit on her mouth.
“It’s hard seltzer.”
Em and I exchange twin looks of disgust, and Cara taps the brim of Em’s hat. “Don’t be a beer snob, babe.”
Noel runs her fingers over my back as she takes the stool I haven’t had two seconds to sit on yet. “Hey, were you able to check in?” Our luggage is still in the truck since we had to be here before breakfast.
Noel shakes her head. “They said the room won’t be ready until four.”
Exhausted as I am, I’m not disappointed.
When she agreed to come here with me, I called to change my reservation from business economy to a mountain view room.
Having her check in alone wouldn’t have the same effect as walking in together and seeing her face.
I want her to know that it matters to me to be good to her. That I’m successful and serious.
The crowd thins for a brief hiatus, and I step between her knees, dipping to press a long kiss to her forehead. When I pull away, she blinks up at me with wide eyes, her mouth pushed into a pout like she can feel the weight of my thoughts.
“Hi,” she says again, just for me.
“Hi.” I press my nose into her neck, huffing the scent of the lodge that’s baked into her hair—fire and cocoa.
She pushes the brim of my hat up and scratches her nails through my hair. “Why are you rubbing on me like a cat?”
“I’m trying to get pet.”
I feel her giggle against my cheek. “Fresh.”
I take her cup and sniff it, making a face. “Dump this out and drink my beer.”
“So jealous.”
“Can’t help it.” I slide my other hand down to the hem of her sweater and tug. “This too. Wear my brand. Let me put my mark on you.”
Her lashes flutter into a playful eye roll. “Whatever you want, love.”
Love . The word is a swift dropping in my chest, a whooshing sound in my ears like something flying by that I want to catch. Which is entirely different than the last time I felt it, when I was cutting any thought of loving someone out of me.
“Well?” She tilts her head, and I realize I’m staring.
“Right.” I pull away, reaching beneath the merch table to pull one of our hoodies from a box.
She takes it and slips it over her head, pulling her ponytail free. “There you go,” she says. “All yours.”
I really like the way that sounds.