23. Chapter 23 - Paxton
The meeting with the investors had been nothing short of overwhelming.
I had no idea what to do, what to think.
It was all so much more than I’d expected, than I’d even hoped for.
Did I even want the changes they were suggesting?
It didn’t feel like it would be mine anymore, even if they let me keep controlling interest, which they probably wouldn’t.
It definitely wasn’t Uncle Paul’s vision for the future of Celestial Cask.
We made the short drive to the brewery they wanted us to visit, Cinder and Malt, and arrived right around lunchtime.
It was a sprawling facility, with a huge outdoor space for seating and a full-blown stage for entertainment.
Everything was wood and black wrought iron, giving it the feel of the outside of a beer barrel.
There were people milling around everywhere—groups having lunch on picnic tables, kids running around, and what looked like a group going on a tour, trailing along behind someone who had a black polo on.
Inside was an enormous open space, with tons of dining tables and a massive, two-sided bar. This was so much more than just a taproom, with its full complement of liquor. One of the three bartenders gave us a wide smile.
“How can I help you fellas?”
I nodded in greeting. “We’re here as guests of the Carson Group. We’re supposed to meet with Joe Moore.” My statements sounded more like questions, but the bartender didn’t seem to notice.
“Absolutely. I’ll just get him for you.”
We only waited for a couple of minutes before the bartender reappeared with a big lumberjack of a man behind him, rugged and powerful looking, with thick hair and a neatly trimmed beard.
I found myself looking around at the soaring ceilings and huge windows.
The ceiling had to be twenty feet up, at least. As the lumberjack made his way to us, he gave us a huge, friendly grin.
“Gentlemen, it’s so good to finally meet you. I’m Joe Moore.” Another round of handshakes and pleasantries followed before Joe continued talking. “Would you like a tour now, or would you prefer to sit and have lunch first? Our chef is top-notch.”
“Oh.” I was surprised they had an on-site chef, though I realized I shouldn’t have been. This place was massive and oozed investment money. Of course they had a chef. “I think we’re good for a tour now, if that’s okay.” I glanced at Callum, who nodded in agreement.
“We can do that. Follow me.” Joe led the way through the restaurant area. “Over there you’ll find our gift shop.” He gestured to a space that did in fact have a ton of merch out for sale. T-shirts, hats, cans of beer to-go, branded puzzles and games, even dog apparel.
Joe led the way through the back of the open space and through a door labeled “employees only.” We continued to follow him down a long, narrow hall until we reached another open space—the brewhouse.
The scents of malt and hops were thick in the air.
There were giant tanks spread throughout and so much other equipment that I didn’t recognize or couldn’t name.
I gave Cal a look, eyebrows raised, and he nodded once in response. This place was… a lot. As he led us through the brewhouse, I quietly took it all in, overwhelmed by the sheer scope and size of the operation. “This is…”
Before I could formulate the end of my sentence, Joe nodded. “It's great, isn’t it? It’s bigger than we ever imagined. We’d never have gotten here on our own. The Carson Group changed our lives.”
“Great” wasn’t the word I was going to use, but I nodded along.
Joe kept walking, taking us on a circuitous route through the brewhouse and to a hallway that held offices at the back of the building.
The hall was lined with framed pictures of a much smaller brewery, one that looked rustic and homey.
A much younger Joe was in one of the pictures, standing in front of the brewery door that read “Cinder and Malt: Taproom this way,” smiling broadly.
“Let’s take a seat in my office,” he said, and we entered a tidy office with a utilitarian metal desk that had a computer and keyboard on it, and little else.
It seemed out of place in the heavily curated brewery aesthetic, but to the side were chairs and a table that made up for the simplicity of the desk and computer setup.
As we settled into leather wingback chairs around a small coffee table, Joe gave us another smile. “What questions do you have?”
I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. Callum jumped to my rescue. “How long have you been working with the Carson Group?”
“About five years, give or take.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about those pictures in the hallway and I spoke up to ask about them. “Those photos, the ones in the hall—are those before pictures?”
He smiled fondly, a different smile than the proud, professional smile he’d had on his face only moments before. “They are. That one with me in it is from our opening day, eight years ago.”
“Everything looks so different now. I can’t even tell where that taproom existed on the property,” I said, forcing myself to sound casual.
Joe chuckled, a quiet, almost sad sound. “We tore that place down when we started expanding. There’s nothing left besides the name and the recipes.”
“Oh?” Cal sat forward, clearly interested in this part.
“When Seth and Bill came in, they recommended razing it. Like I said, we kept the recipes and the brewery name, but they had a vision for how this place should look, and we went with it, full-force.”
Cal hummed but said nothing further. On the other hand, I had more questions now than I knew what to do with, but I suspected most wouldn’t be welcomed. “What was that like?”
“Efficient. Once the decision was made, they worked quickly. It took us less than a year to get this facility up and running. We have a full restaurant with an excellent chef, a completely stocked bar, a gift shop, and we offer brewery tours every two hours throughout the day. Even when it’s a day like today, a midweek workday, we’re always busy.
We have events here every Friday and Saturday night.
We’ve hosted bands and solo artists, comedians, children’s shows, all sorts of things.
It’s been a huge boon for the local economy.
We have over a hundred on staff at any given time, between the restaurant and bar and the brewhouse. ”
“And are you profitable?”
He chuckled, that professional smile coming back. “Very.”
A moment passed before I spoke again, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “Do you ever regret it?”
His eyes flashed with something that I couldn’t quite identify.
Sadness? Disappointment? I couldn’t tell.
But then Joe blinked a couple of times and the look was gone.
“Running my little independent brewery? Let me put it this way: we struggled to keep the doors open and the lights on the first year. I did almost everything by myself. We had three staff members, and they were all stretched so thin that we barely had time to breathe. When the Carson Group caught wind of what we were doing here, it was like a breath of fresh air. They changed everything. And this could be you next.”
They changed everything. That was the thought that rolled through my mind for the rest of the afternoon.
We had a nice, light lunch in the on-site restaurant, we were given a tour of the grounds, and we exchanged numbers with Joe, as he insisted that we get in touch if we had any other questions or concerns.
This could be you. Those parting words were all I could think about.
On the short ride back to the Carson Group’s offices, while we sat in the back seat of a sedan that had been sent to pick us up, Cal turned to me. “How are you feeling?”
I shook my head, my stomach sick. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in.”
“What if they want a decision today? What are you going to do?”
I shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
He nodded slowly and placed a warm hand on my thigh just above my knee and squeezed gently. “I get it.” We were quiet for a few minutes. I stared out the window, watching Santa Clara go by, with its lush lawns and clusters of trees. Eventually, Cal cleared his throat and spoke again. “Hey, Pax?”
I turned to look at him. His hazel eyes were sad and his lips were pressed in a tight line. “Yeah?”
“I’m here to support you, whatever you decide.”
“Thanks,” I murmured. “I appreciate that.” I took his hand in my own and threaded our fingers together.
Callum gave me a small smile and closed his eyes, exhaling softly through his nose.
He seemed to be enjoying the moment, so I tipped my head back against the headrest and let the sounds of the road wash over me as we made our way back to the offices where I’d have to make a choice that would permanently impact my future, no matter what I decided.