7 #2
“Oh, right, you mean the family he barely speaks to? The one I’ve been closer to?
Sure, he cares.” I shove my tongue into my cheek and frown.
“This isn’t about Mitchell wanting to help, Zee.
This is because I’m included in his inheritance and he hates sharing.
” I raise both hands and resume pacing. “No, Mr. Mitchell Adams has to get involved and keep an eye on me because God forbid, I do something without him!”
“Take it easy, babe.” Zayne reaches out, stopping me in my steps, and strokes my arms tenderly. “Clearly, you both have some shit to settle. And I’m not implying he needs to be your best friend, but if he’s open-minded about this, no matter the reason, I’m sure you can do the same.”
I nibble my lip, hating that he’s right, then release a long sigh, dropping my head to his chest.
“I’ll take that as a maybe,” he says, wrapping me in a hug.
“It’s a maybe, but I won’t be happy about it,” I add, glancing up.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to.” He smirks. “But you can take what you need from him,” he adds with a wink.
My phone alarm rings and I squeeze my eyes shut. “Shit. I have to go.” I find my purse, but catch Zayne’s coy grin as I’m leaving the room. “What?”
“Did you two ever…?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
I raise a hand to stop him. “Goodnight, Zee. There’s a scheduled five a.m. wake-up call.”
“You mean we have guests?” He places a hand on his chest and pretends to be shocked.
“We have a guest,” I clarify with a laugh.
“Still, that’s a good sign.” His wide, beautiful grin reaches into me and lifts my mood, if only a bit. “Have a good night, babe.”
“Unlikely, but I’ll try.”
I blow him a kiss, then leave, stepping out into the warm, early evening.
There’s a crisp breeze drifting up from the sea, turning it into my favorite kind of night.
Not too hot, not too cold, but perfect. I breathe in the briny scent of the ocean that’s mixed with the baked goodness wafting from Joe’s Pizzeria down the street, then make my way to my car, preparing myself for the mandatory, but no less depressing, yearly tradition of celebrating Seth’s birthday.
At least for now, I can set aside the stress of having to work with Mitchell.
Zayne’s eagerness for more information, and my dream from the other night come rushing back, warming my face. I fan my shirt away from my body, wishing for a strong wind to roll up from the ocean.
No, Zayne, we never. But who knows? If we had, maybe things might have worked out differently.
Mitch
The staff gathers in a loose half-circle, all bright-eyed and excited. I would hope it’s because they’re about to start a new job, but something tells me it’s because I’m the one standing here getting ready to train them instead of Hunter or Spencer.
I’ve stood in front of arenas packed with thousands chanting my name, but somehow this feels harder as if this will be the first audience to watch me fail and look like an idiot.
Maybe it’s because the last few days back in Oakwhite have thinned my otherwise thick skin.
Maxine arguing her way back into my life.
My dad’s health fading more each day. The dread of this evening looming over me.
Celebrating the birth of someone who died years ago.
Blue label and ghosts; one hell of a combination.
But for now, I have to help with this. Hunter’s busy with one of his millions of tasks and I have no clue where Spence is, which is why I’m the lucky guy who needs to show these newbies the ropes. I’ve survived the NHL playoffs; I can handle this.
“All right,” I say, clapping my hands. “Let’s try to keep this whole thing from exploding.”
Kayla, a young woman with dark, bouncy curls and amber-colored eyes steps forward before I’ve even reached the pint glasses.
“I’ll go first,” she says, grabbing a glass. “Show me how you want it done, Bam-Bam.”
Being called Bam-Bam by half the world usually gets under my skin. Hearing it from her is an absolutely different story. There’s an energy emanating off her creamy skin and lacing her seductive words that spells trouble.
“Okay…” I say, trying to sound professional. “Tilt the glass at—”
“Forty-five degrees.” She smirks over her shoulder. “I’ve waited tables all through undergrad. I know the drill.”
“Same,” I say.
“Really?”
“For sure. College hockey didn’t exactly shower me in cash. I carried more trays than trophies back then.”
“Huh.” Her eyebrows lift. “Hard to picture the big hockey star balancing dirty plates.” She drops her gaze down my body, then comes back up, and my throat tightens.
In hindsight, balancing dishes wasn’t the hard part.
Juggling brewery supplies, a dying father, and renovating an old inn with my former best friend is hard.
I keep my mouth shut and offer Kayla a tight smile instead.
She pulls the tap with smooth certainty and the beer settles perfectly in the glass.
“Nice,” I say. “Foam’s right. You’ve got good hands.”
“You have no idea,” she replies, dragging her eyes over me again, leaving me parched.
I chug the beer, forcing myself to turn away before my brain melts. “Let’s go over keg changes,” I say to the group, heading for the walk-in cooler at the back, through the kitchen.
Cold air blasts out as I pull the door open. I enjoy it for a second, and how it reminds me of skating out onto fresh ice. With luck, the chill might freeze the knot that’s been lodged in my chest since last night with Max.
“I’ve got it,” Kayla says behind me, stepping into the cooler close enough that I feel the heat from her skin despite the temperature drop.
“This is the coupler,” I say, gesturing to the keg. “When it kicks, you close the valve, twist—”
She slips in front of me, glancing over her shoulder with a raised brow, not even trying to hide her interest. “Like this?”
“Yep,” I answer, trying not to notice how close her curvy ass is to me. “Just be careful. If you’re sloppy, it’ll blast right in your face.”
She grins, a Grinch-like grin lifting her lips, and I realize my choice of words. Someone behind us snorts, probably realizing the same thing, and I pretend not to hear it.
“Okay,” I say, rushing out of the cooler before Kayla makes my temperature spike any higher. “POS system?”
At the bar, I power up the touchscreen, thankful that this part is still muscle memory. Hundreds of shifts in college, memorizing menu codes, saving up tips to buy my gear, dreaming of a life that didn’t include being surrounded by all this death—both literal and figurative.
“This is where you open tabs, close tabs, split checks. Easy stuff.”
Kayla leans in again, closer than any professional training requires, sticking her chest out enough to aim her exceptional cleavage my way. “Mind walking me through it one-on-one?”
“This is one-on-one,” I say, gesturing at the group. A blush creeps up my neck and cheeks.
Amused, she laughs low. “You get flustered easily, Mitchell.”
“No, I don’t,” I lie, avoiding her eyes.
Her sexy smile says she doesn’t believe me, but I ignore it and keep explaining the system, at least to the few who are listening.
Kayla doesn’t even pretend to be paying attention and won’t stop staring.
I should appreciate it, but today, the weight of the evening ahead at the cemetery presses in on me and reminds me that one day, and one day soon, we’ll have to bury my dad in that same cemetery.
I wonder if I’ll be visiting his grave on his birthday, too. This time next year, will I be pouring a shot of whiskey out in tribute or will I have moved on?
Something deep in my chest tightens, and I focus on the grand opening coming up instead of everything else that’s out of my control.
Kayla leans in again, brushing her tits against my arm and smiles.
Perfect. I want to be interested, but she clearly has no clue that I absolutely don’t have the bandwidth for this right now.
The streets are dark when I leave the brewery, but my mind is alert as if I’ve had five cups of coffee.
Pulling up to the liquor store, I kill the engine and squeeze my eyes shut, clenching my fingers around the steering wheel.
Hours dealing with Kayla has left me on edge; a constant reminder of the other woman in my life causing me issues.
I still can’t believe how upset Maxine is and how hard she’s holding onto her grudge.
It’s like she’s forgotten I’m not the one to blame. I’m not the bad guy in all of this.
She acts as if she’s so damn perfect. Completely innocent. But of all people who shouldn’t throw stones, Maxine Nolan is the head boulder-launcher.
Throwing stones… A memory resurfaces, but with the crack of my neck, I shove it back down and try to loosen its hold while I walk into the liquor store.
The bell above the door rings, getting Old Man Talbot’s attention and he looks up from his newspaper. It’s as if no time has passed since I was last here. Probably in his early eighties, his skin is wrinkled, and his head is topped with thin remnants of white hair.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Mitchell Adams,” he says, his eyesight clearly not a victim to age yet. “What brings you back to the Bay?”
“Hey, Mr. Talbot. Nice to see you again.” I shake his hand. “I’m here for business and other things.”
He leans down from his stool and reaches beneath the counter, then hands me a round, white and red peppermint candy, like he used to do when I’d come here to buy some beers.
He never cared if I was underage back then—you’ll be twenty-one soon enough, he’d say.
But he always made me promise to be safe and not get into any trouble.
And then he’d hand me a peppermint. I’m not exactly sure why he’d do it, but I’ll tell you one thing: drinking beer after eating peppermint is fucking disgusting.
I pop the candy into my mouth and grin. “We’re opening the Four Brothers brewery in a few days. You should stop by.”
He nods. “Ah, yes, the bar.”
“It’s nicer than a bar,” I correct. “We have delicious food and local craft beer.”