Chapter Twelve. Maturation
Chapter Twelve
MATURATION
It took about two weeks for Cam to get the hang of waiting tables.
She learned the proper tone for dealing with customers, the best method for juggling a tray full of delicate dishes, and the easiest way to handle Esme’s snark during any visit to the bar.
The longer she spent there, the more she fell in love with Beau’s.
The beachfront views, Pauly’s delicious food, and even Esme’s acerbic tone had become what she looked forward to every day.
But work was still work, and it paled in comparison to the time spent with Danny.
After Morgan left, Cam was resigned to never living with friends again.
Yet while staying with him, she got another chance.
She got the shared dinners, split breakfasts, and long nights on the sofa, watching their favorite movies while Reggie whined for attention.
It all felt so right.
And the days flew by. June was on the horizon, and Drew was arriving in days, ready to celebrate the long Memorial Day weekend and his twenty-sixth birthday.
In their group chat, he demanded fun and drunken debauchery.
Cam was excited for his visit, and in preparation, pulled herself from the schedule for unlimited free time.
She couldn’t wait for the nostalgic celebration, for the chance to return to the chaos of their college years.
She had endless memories of beer pong and flip cup with the guys, of Drew ordering everyone J?germeister even though they all hated it, of Danny helping them hobble home, his drunken laugh echoing along the streets bordering campus …
But before she could enjoy the holiday weekend, there were the busy days leading up to it.
Danny steered the ship in a collection of different-colored Beau’s T-shirts, the bridge of his nose always lightly reddened because he never put enough sunscreen on.
Every time she spotted him, he was working.
Delivering drinks, laughing with customers, and handing his business card to the liveliest tables, promising them a free dessert when they returned.
The Wednesday before Memorial Day, the lunch crowd was finally sluggish, and for once, Beau’s wasn’t bursting at the seams with customers.
There was enough of a lull that Esme was knitting behind the bar—and since when did she knit?
—and JP, Kenny, and Julio were filming promotional social content on the deck.
That afternoon, it was just the three boys, but usually, when the college kids took over Beau’s accounts, they dragged Danny into the videos.
From what Cam had seen, the foursome of guys had more than a few interested viewers following Beau’s pages.
After delivering the last round of food to her tables, she leaned against the deck doors, watching the waves crash while sipping Pauly’s upcoming June drink—raspberry mint lemonade. It was sweet but tart, and she hummed with every refreshing sip.
“You like it?”
She jerked forward, pink liquid sloshing across her hand. Whipping her head around, she came face to chest with Danny. Today’s shirt was red, paired with a backwards navy blue cap.
“Don’t come up behind me like that!” she cried, shoving him gently. “You startled me.”
“You’re very easy to startle,” he teased.
Before she could respond, he disappeared. Rolling her eyes, she focused on the water, until she felt a tap on her right shoulder. She turned, finding no one behind her.
Danny laughed on her left side.
“You’re so annoying!” She spun to see him and shoved him again. “And mean, too.”
He keeled over, laughing, hands on his knees. “Milly, you hurt my heart.” When he straightened, he smiled. “I wanted to grab you for a few minutes. If you’ve got the time.”
Once she’d checked on her tables, he grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the restaurant.
She chased after him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged strides.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they twisted behind the parking lot and towards a blue shed.
She’d never been inside, and given the location, assumed it housed equipment like lawn mowers and snow shovels.
“You’re getting an exclusive look at my side project,” he replied, stopping in front of the shed. He opened both doors, exposing the dark interior to the sunshine. “Welcome.”
She followed him inside and did a spin, taking in the space. It was larger than it looked from the outside. Along the walls were stainless steel equipment and large canisters set parallel to a sink, a line of dark cabinets, and a tower of books stacked precariously on the floor.
From the smell to the equipment, to the rare sight of Danny with a book, she knew exactly what she was looking at.
“This is where you’re brewing beer.” Her nose wrinkled from the smell, but the setup was cool. And while it was exciting to see his new hobby in action, she was more taken by the way he glowed in the space.
“Where the magic happens.” He sat on one of the counters, gaze traveling around his workspace.
“It’s been really fun experimenting with something I serve and enjoy regularly.
I started with a family recipe—courtesy of my great-great-great-grandfather, but since then it’s just been whatever inspires me. ”
“When do I get to try some?”
“When Drew gets in. You two can taste test. Assuming you don’t still hate beer.”
“I don’t love it, but I’ll drink it for you. Unlike Drew, who likes anything with alcohol content, I’ll be impartial.”
Elbows on his knees, he leaned forward. “I’m counting on it. I look forward to your honest opinion.”
She did a loop around the shed, listening as Danny explained every piece of equipment and how it fit into the process.
When she got to his tower of books, she read the spines, smiling through every instructional manual.
But the glare of metal and a burst of color caught her eye, and she spun until she faced the back wall.
Four ribbons—most red and white—formed a neat line, accompanying two hanging medals.
One bronze, one silver. The event names bled into each other.
THE 8TH ANNUAL BAY STATE HOMEbrEW COMPETITION.
THE 17TH ANNUAL RHODE ISLAND BEER FEST. NEW JERSEY’S 22ND ANNUAL BEER brEW-OFF.
“Danny!” she cried, returning to where he sat. “You’re winning competitions? You … never mentioned you were even doing this and people like your beer enough that you’re winning stuff?”
He winced. “It’s not a big deal. I didn’t wanna do the competition route, but my dad convinced me. Said it’d be a good way to meet people, get feedback. And … to my surprise, people like what I make. I started with Grandpa Eamon’s recipe and then moved on to my own brews.”
“What’s your most recent win?”
He pointed to a red ribbon. “Second place at Boston’s St. Patrick’s Day Brew Fest in March.
It was Eamon’s recipe. I made some adjustments, since last year, I didn’t place.
Competitions have subcategories so … it was specifically for Scottish and Irish ales since there’s a separate category for stouts—” His cheeks reddened.
“Never mind. I don’t wanna bore you. The truth is, I don’t love the competition aspect of it, but I’ve made friends, and it’s helped me with feedback on my new ideas and brought me back down to earth for my wilder ones. ”
“A wild idea from Danny Brennan?” she joked. “That’s nothing new.” The legs of the ribbon closest to the door fluttered in the afternoon breeze. Blue. Cam gasped. “Danny … you won first place?”
He shrugged. “Just a small local competition. Nothing special.”
“Nothing special? But … you won! So much for not being the best—”
“I’m not.” He was loose sitting there, his shoulders relaxed, his hat off and hair tousled.
“Taste is subjective. Competition is luck. Timing is everything. I’m running out of platitudes.
” He laughed, bringing both hands to cushion his head as he leaned into the cabinets.
“I’ll keep doing competitions because the pros outweigh the cons but …
the last thing I wanna do is put expectations around something I find fun. That’s what killed baseball for me.”
“I get it.” She didn’t. Not really. Which was precisely why her next question was “But … would you ever consider selling your beer?”
“I can’t say it’s never crossed my mind,” he replied, “and the thought of Grandpa Eamon’s recipe out in the world is appealing, but … this is a hobby for me. Never say never, but right now, I’m more interested in having fun than making a buck.”
“You said Axel was helping you design T-shirts. What about those?”
“What about them?”
“Well … selling merch is kinda peak making a buck behavior, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” His words tickled her skin and a denim-covered knee teased her bare arm, coating her skin in goose bumps.
“Which is why all profits are going into our fund for health coverage and other benefits for the staff. I wanna help the college kids, I wanna put Xavier through his business courses, and I wanna make sure Hank stops maxing out his credit cards because his cat is always sick.”
“Danny … that’s incredible. You’re in—”
“Don’t. I just know how difficult it is.
” He touched a loose section of her hair, wrapping the wisps around his finger until they curled.
“Our healthcare system is fucked, college is stupid expensive, and I could adopt six shelter dogs for the cost of Reg’s annual vaccinations.
You know better than anyone how financial stress affects our lives. ”
She wet her lips, unsure why the shed felt so warm despite the open doors welcoming the breeze. “Yeah, I do.” Noticing his focus on her, she averted her gaze. “You’re more of a businessman than you let on.”
“Is that so?”
Unable to help herself, she faced him again.
His cheeks had darkened so much they matched the sunburn on his nose.
“You majored in business because it would make your parents happy. But look at you. You run a successful restaurant, you keep your staff happy and healthy, you have a legion of devoted fans … You’re a businessman, Danny Brennan. ”
He clutched his chest, collapsing against the cabinets. “Fuck. Capitalism got to me, too.” With his cheek pressed into the wood, he stared down at her. “I guess that’s what they call a deal with the devil. Maybe next is selling my soul to get you to stay full-time.”
When she leaned into him, his fingers skimmed her overheated cheek. At the first touch of his skin, her eyes closed. “I think I could be convinced through less extreme means.”
“You promise?” The question was whispered, both words soft and pliant, like the pads of his fingers against her face. “It’s not completely crazy?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “No,” she said, unbelieving of her words, because staying in Elswick wasn’t a possibility. But under his watchful gaze, the words escaped. “It’s not.”
His lips curled into his famous dimpled smile, breezy and boyish. “Good.”
Cam straightened, desperate to get her thoughts in order. “Um. We should head back. I need to check on my tables.”
Danny vaulted off the counter with the ease of a gymnast. “You’re right. I wouldn’t want my staff thinking I’m playing favorites.”
“Too late. Esme hates me and I think it’s because of our friendship.”
“Esme doesn’t hate you,” he insisted. “Esme’s just … Esme.”
“Eloquent, as always.”
He laughed. When they got inside, she did a quick sweep of her tables. After delivering a couple of refills and handling payment for two of the parties, she passed Danny at the bar, scribbling away in a notebook.
“Cam, take an actual lunch,” he said. “Go to the beach. Enjoy yourself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s slow. Be back in forty-five.”
With his blessing, she hurried off to the beach, immediately spreading out in the sand. She took a few minutes to enjoy the sun on her skin, but eventually, she opened her purse. There were snacks inside, but a more prominent hunger guided her movements.
One that food wouldn’t fix.
She pulled out the journal and pens Danny bought her and cracked open a fresh page. The desire to write washed over her like the tide, and then, her hand was moving against the paper, scribbling words so fast she thought she might get whiplash.
There wasn’t a full plot. No character names, no concrete setting, not even a fleshed-out conflict and resolution. But the words poured out of her.
Under the sunshine, she wrote, inspired by a pair of dark brown eyes.