Chapter 20
TWENTY
MARISSA
William was late. Shocker. Marissa shouldn’t have expected much from him. As a Graff, he was probably used to people waiting on him. She wondered what his excuse was going to be.
His staff hadn’t cooked his lunch to perfection, or his tray of fancy crackers and assorted caviar had been delivered to his private quarters late?
She imagined him padding down the hallway of his luxurious estate in a well-cut suit, charming the kitchen staff for a bottle of champagne to accompany his lunch.
Must be nice.
She chuckled at the thought and studied the menu while she waited.
They had tried to get into Deschutes last night, but the line had stretched around the block, and there was a waiting list of twenty parties.
William had even used his family connections to see if they could get an open seat at the bar, without any luck.
Between the holiday festivities and the Passport kickoff party, the already popular brewery had been bursting at the seams.
It sucked for their progress, but they had agreed to meet for a happy hour. Marissa checked her watch. Where was he?
Deschutes was a quintessential Bend hangout with slanted wood ceilings, keg barrel tables, and exposed brick walls. A Christmas tree made entirely from beer cans lit up the entryway. The restaurant smelled like hops, winter stew, and fresh-from-the-oven pretzels.
Marissa’s stomach gurgled with hunger as she searched the bar for any sign of William.
Every minute he didn’t show was wasted.
She scanned the menu, hoping to piece together the puzzle. Pub paparazzi. What did it mean? There were no veiled photo drinks. There was no sign of a photo booth or a camera crew. They had to be missing something.
A waiter stopped at her table. “Anything sound good? Do you need recommendations?”
“I’ll take a pint of your winter ale.” Marissa pulled up the Passport app on her phone. “You haven’t seen any paparazzi around, have you?”
The waiter raised his eyebrows twice. “Not in the bar, no.”
Marissa knew they were on the right track. Deschutes had to be the spot, but not the bar. What did that mean?
She placed her coat on the back of her chair and explored the dining room, hoping that she might have missed something obvious on the way in.
The space was dimly lit with candles and funky artwork.
Another Christmas tree made from beer kegs was internally illuminated with white twinkle lights and wreaths constructed from bottle caps hanging from the exposed beams. However, there was nothing photo-esque anywhere.
She even checked the bathrooms and peered into the kitchen—not that the hunt would likely take them into off-limits areas of the pub.
The waiter returned with her drink. She sipped the frothy ale, which had notes of toasted caramel and touches of holiday spices—cinnamon, nutmeg, and honey.
An idea for a new board came to her as she took another sip.
She could serve the holiday ale in pint glasses rimmed with cinnamon and sugar and pair it with pretzel and sausage fondue boards.
She loosened the green and navy scarf Olivia had knitted for her last Christmas.
William strolled toward the table wearing a navy blue Christmas sweater with three nutcrackers and hand-stitched lettering that read The Holidays Are Nuts.
“Nice sweater.” Marissa held her pint up in a greeting, unable to hide a smile. The man was a conundrum and obviously had a closet full of hideous holiday sweaters, which he knew how to wear well. Who else could make an ugly sweater look that good?
“Senior assembly at school. It’s the price I pay for being the most awesome teacher there.” He winked and sat across from her. “We match. Although you wear navy much better. I like that your earrings match, too. Blue’s a good color on you.”
Marissa’s hand instinctively went to the dangling earrings. She wasn’t prepared to respond to compliments from William.
“I see you got a head start.” He saved her, pointing to the winter ale.
“Because you’re late.” She tapped her watch.
“Hey, sorry. Duty called.” He shrugged.
“I bet,” Marissa muttered under her breath, then sipped her beer. “Let’s concentrate on our task. I just did a complete sweep of the restaurant. There’s nothing. I don’t get it.”
“Can I at least order first?” William asked as the waiter came over. “What are you drinking? Never mind.” He stopped and turned to the waiter. “I’ll have what she’s having. A food arranger must know her way around a good beer, right?”
Marissa rolled her eyes. “We must be missing something. It’s got to be the getting-wet part of the clue.”
“The bathroom? Maybe there’s a clue above the sink?” William suggested.
“No. I already checked there.”
“You want me to do a spin through the men’s restroom?” he asked.
“I guess, but hiding a clue in the bathroom seems weird, yeah?”
“Yeah.” William mimicked her tone, wiggling his brows and giving her a playful grin.
“Hey.” She scrunched her nose. Was he flirting with her?
“You’re cute when you do that.” His smile spread to his eyes, which remained locked on her.
Marissa felt the air get sucked from her lungs. He was flirting with her.
William pretended to be interested in the menu, but she could feel his eyes on her and the heat of his attention, like standing too close to a crackling fire.
“Anyway, back to the clue,” she continued, choking on her drink as she tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest. “Let’s think about water. There has to be more with water.”
The waiter brought William’s beer, momentarily breaking the tension. “Figured it out yet?”
They both shook their heads. “No, do you have another clue for us?” William asked.
The waiter placed a finger to his lips. “Sorry. I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Good luck.” He left them with a wave.
“Well, that’s no help.” William ran his lips over the edge of his glass as he took a drink. Even the way he sipped his beer was sexy.
For the briefest moment, she imagined those full lips leaning slowly across the table and brushing against hers.
Marissa punched the top of her thigh to stop visions of his lips lingering on hers.
My God, what is wrong with you?
She clutched her pint glass and sat up straighter. “It must be the Deschutes. But what are we missing?”
William raised his head to peer out the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the bar. The Deschutes River ran below, edging past volcanic boulders left over from ancient eruptions. “Do we need to tour the brewery?”
“We’re at the brewery.” She stated the obvious.
“No.” He motioned to the windows. “See that building down by the river. That’s where the actual brewing is done.”
“Really?” Marissa had been to Deschutes Brewing dozens of times but had never paid attention to where the beer had come from. She just liked that it flowed easily from the taps to her lips. “Is it open to the public?”
“Sure. They do brewery tours and tastings.”
“What about kids?” Marissa asked. “Isn’t everything supposed to be family-friendly?”
“We should ask our waiter, but I think kids are welcome on the tours.” William impressed her when he got up and went to ask at the bar instead of waving over the server. He went out of his way to be kind and helpful to staff. His demeanor didn’t quite line up with her initial impression of him.
Marissa had a personal litmus test for how people treated waitstaff or anyone in the service industry. She had ended a date on the spot when he had held up his empty glass, waved it in the air, and hollered across the crowded restaurant for a refill.
Huge red flag.
Marissa shuddered at the memory. She watched William chatting easily with the bartender.
He was a conundrum. He wore silly holiday sweaters for his students; he loved literature; he was funny, easy to talk to, and kind to everyone they had interacted with.
But why would a member of the Graff family want to participate in a community scavenger hunt?
He must have an ulterior motive. But what?
He returned to their table and offered his hand. “Success. Let’s go check out the brewery.”
“I need to pay for my drink.” Marissa used the excuse to ignore his extended hand and rifle through her purse for cash.
“Already taken care of.” He kept his hand stretched out, unwilling to move until she acquiesced.
Marissa took his hand, feeling an instant rush of adrenaline spike through her.
She was slipping further into dangerous territory.
William Graff had some kind of power over her ability to control her emotions.
It was like he was a puppeteer maneuvering her strings.
But she wasn’t going to let that happen.
He might be handsome. He might be charming.
But she needed to get to the bottom of his real story.
She had to keep her head in the game because this was one game she intended to win.