Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
CALDER
Country music pumps through the brewery, and it’s making me more restless sitting at the desk in Dad’s office. A light rain patters against the windows. It’s supposed to be dreary all day, yet I’m having a hard time staying in my chair.
I get up and pace my office for the second time, dictating another email on my phone. I’ve fielded no less than twenty texts and ignored no more than ten phone calls. I can’t bring myself to tell Meredith to turn the music down. That’s not the distraction.
Meredith’s got a bounce in her step, which she hasn’t had since I first arrived, and the color is back in her cheeks.
Her hair is pulled back, and she’s humming along to various songs, no matter the artist. The hip movements she adds to each almost make me lock the damn door.
But the trucks showed up to load the pallets.
At least it was an excuse to get out of the damn office.
The same goes for the money I forked out on a delivery driver to bring us lunch from Williston. He should be here soon.
I’m at the door again, peering between the stills, hoping to catch a glimpse of Meredith as she starts a second brew to fill the fermenter.
The taproom is closed all day, so she’s skipped the ugly polo I love to see her in.
Instead, she’s wearing an older version of a Jules Creek merch shirt, this one a rustic maroon, with loose linen shorts.
Her hair is pulled up in a long ponytail, and I’m propelled back to that shower, her wet hair draped over her shoulders and brushing the tops of her breasts.
Then later, in bed, with it fanned over the pillow when I made her come again with my hand over her mouth so Bowen wouldn’t hear. But he probably did.
Not only do I have a craving to be inside her, but I’m also beside myself to hear her cry my name when she’s climaxing. I used to pride myself on my patience, but Meredith is obliterating that. Why can’t I resist her? Is it the time? We’re running out of it, and that makes her more alluring?
She glances up and gives me the sweetest smile, touched with a hint of shyness. Just like she was in the shower last night—already unwrapped for me, but ready to run and leave a trail of water droplets for me to chase. Yet she didn’t run.
“Is the music too loud?” she calls.
I shake my head.
Just then, my phone buzzes, and much as I don’t want to check it, it might be the delivery driver.
By the time I’m done looking at my screen—yes, the food’s here—Meredith is working at the mash tank.
I jog down the stairs, ditching my monitors and spreadsheets, and meet the delivery guy at the door.
“Hey, man.” The kid looks like he came straight from the skateboard park, with baggy jeans, a loose white T-shirt, and some sort of shoe that lacks arch support, but he’s not old enough to worry about something like that.
He hands over a paper bag emblazoned with the logo of a gourmet deli.
I pass him another tip, and he leaves with a big smile, offering to run over anything I need anytime.
“Lunch,” I yell loud enough for Meredith to hear, and I drop the bag on a high-top table in the corner.
“Be right there.”
While waiting, I grab two pints of Honey Creek in chilled mugs and set out our food.
Meredith appears at my side and eyes the selection. “It’s been forever since I’ve had their subs.”
“I didn’t know if you wanted soup too.”
“If it’s chicken tortilla, absolutely. You didn’t have to get this,” she says as she slides into the chair. “I could’ve packed leftovers.”
“No, you couldn’t have. I ate half of them, and it looks like Bowen took care of the rest.”
Surprise flits through her expression. “You guys liked it? I wasn’t sure it was your speed.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
She holds out her arms to take in the subs, the soup containers, the packs of chips, and a small tray of fruits and veggies. I wasn’t sure what she’d be in the mood for. “I bet you eat better than this in Denver.”
“I order in there too—usually for the whole office. One of my assistants does it. They have standing orders all over town, and my assistant makes sure dinner is delivered, since I’m usually in the office.
I have a chef come in twice a month to stock my fridge, freezers, and breakfasts when I’m home. ”
“A personal chef? The benefits of city life and a career that actually pays well.” She stirs her soup. “I wouldn’t have to eat dinner at two in the morning if I could get orders delivered.”
She’d go broke after a week of ordering food delivery. “There are a few perks of a big population.”
“Like what?” she asks before taking the first taste of her soup. Her eyelids drift shut, and she moans. The sound goes right to my dick. I’ll have to add “Meredith moaning over soup” to my spank bank.
I wouldn’t need one if I were around more.
I’m not following that thought. “Some perks are definitely the food delivery and extended business hours. I guess sometimes it’s nice not to have to do any plowing and shoveling.”
“You don’t have a house?”
“I’m not around enough to take care of one.”
She grimaces and tries to cover it, but I chuckle.
“Tell me how you really feel.”
She shrugs and takes a bite of her sub. I do the same and fail to come up with another benefit of living in the city.
Meredith lived in Williston, but in the grand scheme of towns, it’s still small and sprawling, with a population one-tenth of a Denver suburb.
With my hours, I miss the worst of commuter traffic, but I hate it all the same.
A packed interstate is more annoying than getting stuck behind a combine on my way to a date in high school.
“It’s just,” she says after swallowing, “I know I’m not home as much as I’d like to be, but I can’t imagine being so disconnected.”
My condo is nothing but a place to crash between workdays, because even I know it’s unhealthy to sleep at work. Not that I haven’t done it. The world no longer shuts off, so I don’t either. I’ve amassed a fortune, but it’s only me. Yet I’m driven to burn the midnight oil.
My gaze strays out the window. The great outdoors is accessible right on the other side of the wall. “We should eat outside.”
“Let’s do it.” She starts covering her food. “I often want to, but I usually eat while standing at the bar.”
“Seize the day.”
Her smile is everything, and I’m struck, frozen in awe at this simple moment. We’re not intimate. We’re not working. We’re having a lunch that cost me a fraction of an entrée I’d order for the office.
She juggles her soup and her beer, and I jump in, tossing what won’t spill into the bag.
Outside, the pergola shades us from the sun, and the building blocks the strong breeze.
“Someone wiped these down for tonight.” She unloads our food, and we seat ourselves at the picnic table.
“Bowen did when Molly told him the patio was opening this week.”
The patio’s been closed until after the funeral. I dance my fingers over the finish of the table. The build is solid, and it survived the winter without needing to be re-stained. Six picnic tables are lined up in two rows.
“Where did you get these?”
“Aren’t they amazing? Sawyer found a guy in Montana who makes them, and then we stained them one weekend. Ransom would try to haul them to the shop every fall, but that was a lot of work, and he tweaked his back once. So we got covers for them, and that helps.”
“Is the patio a popular draw?”
She nods. “Usually, we’ll open as soon as possible, but with Ransom rushing around being distracted, and then the accident, I couldn’t deal with it.”
What was Dad so distracted about? The financials? From the looks of the books, he should’ve been used to the pressure. “Do you think whatever was on his mind led to the accident?”
Going still, she focuses on the distance. “I don’t know. I know accidents are just that, but at the same time, something caused it, and it bothers me we don’t know what it is.”
We. A vine of warmth curls around my heart when she says that.
“I built this.” Trying to lighten the mood back up, I point to the pergola above us with my spoon. The wooden structure is a reminder of when I didn’t have so many questions about my dad. I was working next to him, and he’d make it known what he was thinking. “Me and the guys.”
Her eyes light up. “I heard. Ransom said it took two attempts to get it right.”
“Someone didn’t make sure everything was square.”
She grins. “Was that someone you?”
“No, it was Dad.” I laugh at the memory. He was ready to explode until he realized it was his measurement error. After that, we joked about measuring once and cutting twice.
We fall into an easy silence while we eat, and memories flutter through my mind like the little white cabbage moths along the tall grass.
There were lazy days when Mama would pack a picnic and Dad would begrudgingly put all our ranch work on hold.
Impromptu lunches didn’t happen as much after Jules Creek opened, but Mama managed to lay out a few on this very patio.
This is nothing like sitting in my office, eating through a phone call or a teleconference.
“That really hit the spot.” She rolls up her sub wrapper and stuffs it into her soup container. “So did the weekend of rest. Thank you.”
She’s shy Meredith again. “You needed it.” I needed it too. I’m starting to worry I need her. How ragged will she run herself when she’s alone?
“I really did.” She licks her bottom lip, and I’m about to pull her onto my lap and consider what we can get away with in our half-secluded spot. Just as I’m about to move, she jumps up. “What’s that? Did you hear it?”
When I’m focused on her, I notice little else. Then a tiny meow reaches me.
“Is that a cat?”
“It wouldn’t be the first I’ve found out here.” She starts stalking through the yard around the brewery, arcing closer to the fence. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Pspsps.”