11. Chapter 11
eleven
W illow pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, then settled onto the pretty white chair at a vanity in her new room.
She’d chosen this place to rent because Chelsea seemed normal and accepted a cash deposit instead of a credit card. But she would’ve chosen it, anyway. It was a beautiful old house, and the room Chelsea had put her in was gorgeous.
It was the kind of bedroom she would have dreamed of growing up in if she’d allowed herself to dream as a child. Instead, she’d grown up in a broken-down apartment until her mom was too deep into her addiction to make ends meet. Then she was shipped off to Churchill to live with her dad.
She could still remember her first night in her new room at her dad’s, settling onto a futon in the corner of his spare bedroom while he’d promised to order her an actual bed and some new sheets. He’d been happy that she was there. In fact, he’d wanted her to move there sooner, but her mom had refused to part with her until she had no choice.
The next day, she’d met Shane at school, and finally, after years of uncertainty and constant moving, she’d felt secure and at peace.
That is until Bunny367 came along.
Now here she was, on her own for the first time in her life, in a strange town, far from home, far from everyone she knew, and under false pretenses.
She sighed as she dragged a wet towel from her hair and ran a brush through the damp, tangled strands before giving it a quick braid. She had done everything she needed to and only had one more excuse to not get to work: Shane.
She stabbed the green button on her phone before she could change her mind, and waited while it rang, hoping he wouldn’t pick up. Lying would be easier over voice mail.
Probably.
“Hey.”
Shane’s deep, familiar voice buzzed along the line, filling her with dread.
Shit.
“Hi,” she said, trying desperately to come up with something to say that wouldn’t technically be more lies. Not that it mattered at this point. She was neck deep in deceit. “I made it here.”
God, what the hell was she doing?
“How’s Nana?” he asked.
“She’s grea— Uh, gross,” she said, slapping a hand to her forehead.
Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, and she grabbed the front of her hoodie and aggressively fanned herself.
She should come clean. What would be the harm in telling him the truth now? She was already there. The lie had done what it needed to do. But he wouldn’t be okay with being lied to. He’d be angry, and she might lose him, which was the very last thing on earth she wanted.
He was her everything. Had been for half her life.
“Oh,” Shane said.
Willow took a deep breath and exhaled. She only had to keep this up for a while. Once he saw how successful her brewery was and how much money they were making, she would come clean, and he would forgive her.
He’d have to.
“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “She’s coughing and hacking up phlegm, and there’s snot everywhere. She’s super gross.”
Sorry, Nana.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re there, then.”
Willow flopped face first onto the bed and cringed. “Mm-hmm,” she said, wanting this over. “I better get going. I’m going to make us some dinner.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon, then.”
“Love you,” she said.
“You too,” he said, then hung up.
She pushed her face into the pillow and let out a scream, then sat up, took a breath, and told herself to get a grip. The only way out was through, and the best way through would be to make her brewery an enormous success.
She forced herself to stand, gathered her keys and purse, and left the room. She needed to get started on her version of Doug’s pilsner. A delicious, easy-to-drink ale, or maybe a smooth lager. If she could get two staples brewed tonight, they would be ready for canning in two weeks when Max said they were coming.
Ugh, Max.
She’d deal with him later.
She’d nearly descended the stairs when Chelsea and a man she’d never met before came around the corner from the kitchen and met her at the bottom.
“Willow,” Chelsea said with a pretty smile. “Did you settle in? ”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s a beautiful room. Thanks again for letting me stay.”
“Of course. Can I introduce you to someone? This is Ethan. He desperately wanted to meet you.”
Ethan stepped forward with his hand out and a kind smile on his face. He was tall and good looking in a geeky boy-next-door kind of way.
She took his hand with a smile. “Hi.”
“Hi, it’s great to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’m a huge fan. Your beer is fantastic.”
Willow’s jaw dropped. “You’re a . . . fan?”
Ethan nodded. “Actually, we met a few years ago at Tipped Canoe, but you probably don’t remember. I drank about five pints of your black lager. It was so good.”
A laugh burst out of her. She started feeling incredibly awkward at the idea of having a fan. Like a real live person, outside of Churchill, who cared about her beer.
“Wait,” she said. “Are you the reason Adam contacted me?”
“Yeah. I’ve been going up to Churchill for years now, and I always bring a couple of cases of your beer back.”
“Oh, what kinds?”
“Well, the black lager is my favourite. It’s a perfect balance of flavours. ”
Willow nodded. It had taken her over a year to convince Doug to switch the hops to improve it.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Your red ale is perfect, too. But if I’m being honest,” he said, pushing his glasses up, “the pilsner isn’t your best.”
Willow’s face split in two. “Thank you,” she said, tossing her hands in the air. She’d never felt so vindicated in her life. “I’ve been trying to get my boss to change it for years. He’s very stubborn.”
Ethan smiled. “I’m so happy you’re here. Now I can have your beer anytime. What are you planning on brewing first?”
Willow sighed. “That’s the question. Tonight, I’m probably going to do a lager, maybe the black. And I think an ale. I’ve been working on a triple Belgian ale that’s pretty good. But I’d really like to make something special for the locals. And maybe some test batches for the soft opening.”
Ethan nodded. “Well, if you’re looking for something that will resonate with locals, there’s a peach ice cream stand in town that’s been here for over sixty years. People here love it.”
Willow’s eyebrows shot up, and the wheels in her head started turning. “I made a milkshake IPA for a friend who loved Neapolitan ice cream once. It turned out great. ”
“A peach ice cream milkshake IPA?” Ethan said with a smile. “Sounds incredible.”
Willow smiled, a little overwhelmed. She’d become accustomed to naysayers, not . . . fans. The word fan still seemed weird, but he’d said it, not her. She was on top of the world at the idea of having a fan, but it also brought pressure.
What if she made something he hated?
“Thank you,” she said, turning toward the door. “I better get going. I need to . . .” She trailed off, her mind whirling so fast with all the things she needed to get done that she couldn’t even finish her sentence.
“Are you going to the brewery now?” Chelsea asked, glancing at a clock on the wall. “It’s getting kinda late.”
“Yeah,” she said, her mind everywhere else but there. “My new partner is kind of dickish, to be honest. He was ready to have a hernia when I left.”
Chelsea and Ethan glanced at each other, then burst into laughter, and Willow realized what she’d done.
“Oh no,” she said, feeling her cheeks flame. “You know him, don’t you?”
Ethan nodded. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. Don’t hold it against me. ”
Willow stopped herself from saying she didn’t think Max had any friends, although she figured he probably did. People that looked like Max didn’t need personalities. He could easily get by on his sexy-foreboding good looks.
She cleared her throat, wondering how to remove the foot lodged down there. “I shouldn’t have called him dickish. It’s just that he can be a little . . .”
“Aggressive, controlling, unbearable?” Chelsea supplied.
Willow bobbed her head up and down.
“He’s not one for niceties,” Ethan said. “But he’s a good person.”
Willow narrowed her eyes at him. “If you say so. Anyway, I better get going. Thanks for all your help.”
“Anytime,” Ethan said with a nod.
She turned to the door, opened it up, and found Cara standing on the porch, fist poised in the air to knock.
“Cara?”
“Hey, Willow,” she said, then leaned to the side. “Hi, Chelsea, remember me?” she asked with a smile.
“Of course I do,” Chelsea said. “What’s up?”
“Well, I heard you rented a room to Willow, and I was wondering if you had any more rooms available.”
Chelsea’s brows shot up. “You want to move in? ”
Willow smiled at the idea of living with Cara. She seemed so fun, and Willow had only ever lived with her mom, her dad, and then Shane. Living in a house with a bunch of girls her age seemed like something out of a movie.
“Yeah, I need to get out of my brother’s house.”
Willow snorted. “I can’t imagine living with him is easy.”
“He’s impossible,” Cara said. “All he does is hover over me and tell me how much he hates my ex. It’s suffocat—”
Her words died as she stepped into the house and spotted Ethan.
“Oh, Ethan! Didn’t see you there . . .” she said with a cringe on her face.
“Does Max know you’re defecting?” Ethan asked, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.
It seemed like Cara had more than one “brother.”
Cara shuffled her feet. “Not exactly.”
Ethan crossed his arms, and the three of them fell into an uncomfortable silence.
Willow felt as though she’d been dropped into a private conversation where she didn’t belong, and she had an itch to get out the door. She hated how curious she was to know what they thought Max would do once he realized his little sister, whom he was clearly extremely protective of, was leaving his house.
“I better get going,” she said before anyone else could say a word.
They said bye, and she left the door, forcing her mind off of her curiosity about Max, and onto the peach ice cream beer. She hoped Cara would work it all out and be her new roommate, but mostly, she felt bad that Max might put up a fight about her leaving. Hopefully, Cara would put him in his place and do what she wanted.
She smiled as she got to the car and breathed a great sigh of relief, knowing there was no one waiting at that brewery who could say no to a peach milkshake IPA.
“You can do this,” Willow said to her reflection in the rear-view mirror after she pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. “You must do this.”
She left the car and unlocked the back door to the brewery. The place had already been abandoned, and she was the only one there. She let herself in, locked the door behind her, and immediately pulled out her notebook .
All of her tried-and-true recipes were in there, including the milkshake IPA. She scanned the recipe and realized that she’d need some extra ingredients if she was going to make that peach ice cream beer. Definitely lactose to make it sweeter. Some peach fruit puree, vanilla beans, maybe some cinnamon would be nice.
She searched her purse for a pen, then the brewery, but found none, so she went off to steal one from Max’s office.
Her office?
She shrugged.
Their office.
She gave a satisfied nod, made her way out of the brewery and into the hallway, then through the door to the office. She was shocked when she flicked on the light.
Max had fixed up the place, and it was perfect. Better than perfect. It was immaculate. It looked like a showroom. Everything was in its exact place, neatly organized on the desk. He’d even tucked his chair in.
Carefully moving around the desk, she reached a shelf with neatly lined-up rows of office supplies and grabbed an unopened box of pens. She ripped it open, took a pen, and placed the box back, careful to leave it exactly as she’d found it. She should leave; it felt as if she was invading his privacy, but she just had to try out the desk chair. Just once.
She pulled out the enormous chair and sat, wondering where he’d found a chair that size. It was soft leather, comfy, and huge. The cool leather engulfed her, quickly warming up under her body. She gave it a little twirl with her feet, unable to keep the smile from her face.
A chair like that made a person feel important. Maybe that’s why he was so domineering. This was his own personal kingdom, and he seemed to thrive on ruling with an iron fist. She smiled, remembering his face when she’d walked away that afternoon. He was used to telling people what to do and having them fall in line.
What would he think if she referred to this space as theirs ? He’d probably go ballistic on her, hoping that she’d scream in terror and run back to Churchill.
Fat chance, Max. She spun in his chair, a wicked smile on her face.
You’re procrastinating again.
Right.
She got up, left the room, went to the brewery, and got to work. She had beer to make for her fan. Maybe one day she’d have fans, plural .
But it wasn’t just the people that would drink her beer that she needed to impress. She also needed to impress Shane, and more importantly, she needed to prove him wrong.