Chapter 40
“This feels familiar.” I smile at Lucy while pulling my coat the rest of the way on.
She shoves her hands into the pockets of her own and looks up at me from where she is propped against the wall. “I figured you wouldn’t be far behind this time either.”
I want to promise her that I’ll never be far behind. That with her is where I prefer to be. But I can’t promise that, not with the big, hotel shaped wedge we’ve simply pushed to the side. So instead, I lean against the side of the tavern right next to her.
“Is everything okay?” I ask as my arm brushes hers.
She drops her head to my shoulder and loosens a sigh. “I get so overwhelmed in crowds like this. And today has already been…”
The dull thud of live music on the other side of the wall echoes around us, and I let it fill the silence she leaves as she trails off.
Every fiber of my being wants to scoop her up and take her home and wrap her up in the fuzzy blanket she likes to pull up to her chin.
I want to fix this for her—whatever this is.
But she’s blinking up at the stars and taking a slow steady breath like maybe the fresh mountain air is all the cure she needs.
“How was the meeting?”
It’s my turn to drag out a deep breath. “Same as it always is. I try to keep the peace and protect our client or community partner as best I can. It was actually good I went rather than Richard handling it himself.”
“A lot of small businesses there depend on you.”
I frown. “They are managing fine without me overall. I built a strong team.”
She tips her head in my direction. “How was it being home?”
“Lonely.”
Our gazes meet in the darkness. And maybe it’s okay I can’t fully read her expression because the air is thick with understanding.
“I missed you,” she whispers, turning her whole body towards me now. With those three little words, she’s sent my heart leaping up into my throat. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear them.
“God, I missed you, Luce.” I sigh, reaching out and taking her face in my hands.
When she tips her chin up, I hope that means this is okay.
I slowly lower my face towards hers, giving her ample time to remind me we’re in public.
She doesn’t, instead, she closes the distance between us, her lips sinking against mine.
Backing her up against the brick alley wall, I kiss her until I hear a little gasp from somewhere deep in her throat. Pulling back, I watch her inhale, breathless, and I do the same.
“I needed that,” she says, pausing to take another deep breath. “I got a call from Whitcombe Gallery tonight, just before leaving the house actually. And all that pressure I’ve been shaking off lately came flooding right back.”
My hands drop, finding hers in the darkness and taking hold. “You’ve been feeling good about this new style though, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I personally crumbled to expectations and pressure, leaving behind what I wanted to return to my dad’s company. Which means I can tell you first-hand how shitty it feels to let the pressure decide for you.”
Her grip on me tightens. “You don’t think I’ll regret losing the gallery contract?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But if you submit your work, who’s to say they won’t love it?”
The chime above Gin Mill’s door sounds, and we both turn to look in its direction. There are vague, muffled voices and the faintest taps of footsteps, but they grow more distant with each passing second—apparently headed in the opposite direction.
“We should probably go back in, I’m not feeling suffocated anymore,” Lucy says hesitantly.
Tugging on our joined hands, I pull her close enough to drop a kiss to her forehead. “Or we could get the hell out of here,” I murmur, my lips brushing into her hairline.
In the sliver of the tavern’s front porch light that reaches our secluded alley, I tip back and watch her expression brighten.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Lucy’s posture is visibly lighter the further we make it down Washington Street. Her breathing settles, her chin lifts, and she nuzzles into the way my arm drapes over her shoulders. I find the tension in my chest loosening in response.
And as we turn onto Monroe, I appreciate that it is a surprisingly quiet night in the center of Ellicottville.
Trick-or-treaters are probably scurrying about the residential side streets, and clearly all the child-free adults are crammed into Gin Mill, which leaves the quaint storefronts and flickering lampposts just for us.
“Is it snowing?” Lucy breathes, stopping us in the center of the sidewalk and tipping back to look at the dark sky.
Sure enough, there they are. A flurry of sparkling white flakes falling from the overcast night. Her smile fills her face as the snow drifts down around us. And when she closes her eyes and sticks her tongue out to catch a flake, I feel my own grin stretching wide.
“A fall girl that likes winter.”
“A fall girl that loves snow,” she corrects, opening her eyes to peer over at me. “I normally take a walk in the first snowfall of the year, and look! We’re already out here.”
“What do you say we loop around the block?”
She slips her arm around me as well. “I say yes.”
The block we walk isn’t the typical one up by her house and back over to Washington. Instead, we head across Monroe, towards the animal shelter before turning along the river. It’s beautiful, with the swirl of snow above the water and the mountains a dark backdrop against an indigo blue sky.
Taking this path, we are led right back to none other than the vacant brewery. “Have you ever been inside?” I ask, nudging my head towards the towering, timber filled structure.
“No, it never made enough progress for anyone to get a glimpse inside before the shutdown.”
“Do you want to?”
Lucy raises an eyebrow at me. “I thought the Carpenter Collection didn’t own it yet.”
I shrug, pulling her towards the keypad box on the front doors. “We don’t. But the fine Trustee Mitchell didn’t hide the code when he brought me through.”
“This is breaking and entering,” she hisses, glancing over her shoulder to the empty streets.
My fingers hover above the numbered buttons. “I thought we were partners in crime?”
“It’s a big leap from escaping a corn maze, Jake.”
“Then I’ll let you in on a secret—not only did he give me the code, Mitchell also granted me permission to come back as needed.”
I stifle a laugh as her eyes widen in understanding then quickly narrow at me. “You could have led with that.” She motions to the keypad. “Let’s check this place out.”
At her request, I quickly type in the numbers and unlock the door. It creaks as I push it open and we step inside.
“Does the power work?”
Streaks of streetlight pass through the spaces between paper window covers, and I use them to make my way to the bar. Ducking behind it, I feel around until I find the series of switches and flick them up.
In an instant, half the light fixtures come to life.
“Wow,” Lucy breathes from across the room. Her voice is a delicate echo around the empty space, and I lean forward on the bar to watch her admire everything. “It’s gorgeous in here.”
From the real wood walls to impressive ceiling beams and iron wagon wheel chandeliers, it really is something. The perfect balance of rustic and refined.
“And what’s through there?” She points at the glass barn doors.
“That’s the actual brewery part.”
“Can we go in there too?”
I come around the bar and hold my hand out for her to lead the way. “Yeah, actually you’ll love the view from the back windows.”
Our steps are loud against the brick flooring, the sound resonating off all the empty metal tanks. It really is a shame none of this has been used. This could have been something special.
“This seems like a lot of serious equipment to supply drinks for our little town,” she says, stopping in front of the boil kettle and looking it up and down.
“Actually, there’s only one holding tank.”
She spins to face me. “You know what all of this is?”
I shrug. “Sure, in college I was a brewmaster’s apprentice. I spent plenty of time with equipment like this.”
“How long did you do that?”
“I worked at the brewery for a few years,” I tell her, closing the distance between us once more.
She turns to face me, leaning back against the tank.
It makes her look smaller than usual. Adorably so.
And it’s enough to lift the corner of my mouth when I admit, “But I only got to apprentice for a few months before Dad tightened the leash and pulled me back in.”
“Yeah,” she starts with a frown, “I’ve been curious about that.”
“About what?” I plant a hand on the shining metal, close enough that she rolls her head to the side, resting against it.
“Why you went to work for your dad. You’ve mentioned a few times that you don’t love it.”
My other hand aimlessly fiddles with a button on her jacket.
“That was the deal,” I say. “He paid for my college as an investment in his company’s future.
When I was eighteen it sounded like a great idea.
But then I got out there on my own and started learning about the other routes I could take.
I started learning about myself, too, I guess.
I tried to cancel the deal after I graduated. Offered to pay him back instead.”
“But he didn’t want the money back,” she guesses.
“No”—a dry laugh escapes me—“he did not. Although, at first, I thought I was in the clear. I had a taste of freedom. But really, he was just busy wrapping up a project in London. As soon as they opened the doors there, he came back to New York and called to collect me.”
“And you never got to create something for yourself.” Her mouth falls open as a realization washes over her. “Wait, is this what you would have wanted to create?”
I smile wishfully down at her warm gaze. “Tad and I had quite the impressive list of ideas. And a brewery was on there, yeah. But I never actually did any of the important work. I was only ever an apprentice, so I don’t think I could pull off being a brewmaster now.”
“It’s easier to believe, isn’t it? That we aren’t capable of something. It sounds better than admitting we’re just too scared to try something new.”
“If we don’t take the risk, we can’t get burned,” I agree, thinking of her fears over the art gallery earlier tonight. “The difference is, you can do it. You are doing it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll never be all the things I want to be. But I know the feeling of being in my studio—putting paint to canvas—is my favorite feeling in the world. And you should get to find yours too.”
I lift my hand to trail my thumb along her bottom lip, memorizing its perfect form. And then I kiss her before I do something rash like admit that being with her is becoming my favorite thing in the world.