CHAPTER THREE
Jagger
Of course, they had to stick our beer table right next to the fucking Westhaven Winery table. What the fuck? Why? Just because we were both from San Camanez?
Nobody else was organized this way. They had the beer section at one end of the convention room, and wine at the other. Then there were us, smack dab in the middle, side-by-side like kindergarten besties.
Except we absolutely fucking weren’t.
I could feel the frigid glare of the ice queen on me whenever I chatted it up with a curious beer-lover who stopped by our busy table.
Clint, of course, was the brewmaster and knew ten times more about the filtration processes and all the other nitty gritty about beer making than I did. But I knew how to sell the stuff.
“This here, is our limited-edition holiday chai Witbier,” I said, pouring the proper amount into two paper sample cups, then passing them over to the interested man and woman who were all bundled up because the weather outside was frightful.
Luckily, our beer was so delightful. “In addition to the obvious chai notes, you might taste the subtle hints of vanilla, cinnamon, and even some clove.” Their eyes lit up, and they smiled as they smacked their lips, nodding.
“I definitely taste the clove and vanilla,” the man said. His female companion nodded.
Their reactions sparked more people to stop, and of course, I had to start my spiel all over again.
Which I didn’t mind, because more often than not, it resulted in sales.
Clint was busy at the other end of the table, explaining—in way too much fucking detail, in my opinion—the way he decided on the next seasonal brews, and why he would never make a Radler.
“I love beer, and I like lemonade, but I refuse to put the two together. Some things are better left separate.”
I glanced at Raina and maybe it was pure coincidence, or perhaps she overheard my brother too, but our gazes met. Hers turned frosty and narrow, and those little lines between her brows dug deep into her skull.
I rolled my eyes. Then, because I was a child—at heart—I stuck my tongue out at her before turning back to my crowd.
“Can we try the cranberry and pomegranate lager?” the man asked, pointing to the tall boy with the illustrated cranberry couple all bundled up in winter garb and holding the hands of their children, who were supposed to be pomegranate seeds.
“Absolutely.” I poured some of the lager into their paper cups and they sipped, smacking their lips at the sudden rush of tartness.
“Ooh, I like that,” the woman said. “Can we get two of the lager and two of the chai, please? The tall cans.”
“Coming right up.”
The entire event went just like that. We wowed them with our wares, worked the crowd, and sold a shit-load of beer.
My voice was hoarse by the time eight-thirty rolled around and it was time to clean and pack up.
We’d been at this for two days. Friday and Saturday.
Our stash wasn’t entirely gone, but our truck heading back to the island would be significantly emptier.
Clint unscrewed the cap off his bottle of water and took a big sip. “My feet are killing me.”
Nodding, I scooped a handful of mixed nuts from the Costco-brand bag at my feet and tossed them into my mouth. “Yeah, but it was worth it for all the money this made us,” I said between chews.
“Ready to draw names?” Gabrielle asked, coming over to our side with a big bucket of paper slips under one arm. “There are a ton of entries here.” She gave it a good shake, which sent her chunky dark-brown curls jostling over her shoulders.
Clint had his arms full of boxes and was getting ready to head to the truck, so I stepped forward, catching the evil eye of Raina over Gabrielle’s shoulder.
“How’d you guys do?” I asked, digging my hand into the bottom of the bucket and rummaging around a bit until I found a piece of paper that had been scrunched up into a ball, unlike the rest that were just folded.
I wanted to reward creativity and thinking outside the box.
“We did great,” Gabrielle said. “Sold loads of single bottles, and even had a few people sign up for our subscription program. How about you guys? Every time I looked over, your table had a crowd.”
“Can’t complain,” I said, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper. I unfurled it. “Jack Savage.”
Her amber eyes went wide. “Oh, I remember that guy. Tall, beard, tattoos. He was nice looking, and his wife was beautiful too.”
“Did you get every person who came to your table to introduce themselves?” I asked, genuinely curious.
Gabrielle snorted and a hint of a smile touched her lips. “No. But there were definitely some memorable people, and this guy was memorable. He introduced himself too. Great smile.”
“Didn’t he say he wasn’t much of a drinker, but he was entering for his wife because she had a Saturday girls’ night where they drank wine and commiserated about the exhaustion of motherhood?” Raina piped up.
Gabrielle nodded. “That’s right. I swooned a little when he said that. That’s a good man right there. Increasing your wife’s chances of winning by entering for something you don’t even want yourself.” Her eyes went all soft, and she glanced off into space for a moment.
I cleared my throat. “There are two baskets, right?”
That seemed to bounce her back to reality. “Right. Pick another one.”
My feet also really fucking hurt, and I wanted to get the fuck out of the city and back on the island.
Clint returned with empty arms, but not for long.
He loaded up another box, then took off again toward the truck.
He was just as eager as I was to get back to the island.
So I plunged my hand back into the bucket and searched around for another oddly crumpled piece of paper.
This time, I found one that was folded like a paper crane and pulled it out. “Amber Roth.”
Gabrielle’s eyes formed thin slits for a moment before popping open wide. “Another memorable one. She was this tiny, little redhead. Very feisty. Bit of a tomboy vibe from her. Even shook my hand. Did all the talking while her stoic man just stood silently behind her like a bodyguard.”
I shrugged and handed her both pieces of paper. “Cool. How do we go about getting in touch with them?”
“I’ve coordinated with the front desk of the convention center to hold the baskets for them. I’ll give them a call, let them know they won and that they can come and pick them up.”
“Cool.”
Clint returned again, and the two of us got to work taking down the rest of our table.
Even though we had significantly less stock than on Friday, it still took us multiple trips to the truck to load up everything.
We came over in two vehicles. He came over in his pickup while I drove the big cube truck with all of our stock.
That way, we could take the pickup to the hotel and leave the cube truck in the convention center parking lot.
But now, we had to travel back to the island separately.
“You get going to the ferry,” I said to him after we triple-checked that we didn’t leave anything behind at our table.
About two-thirds of all the vendors were already packed up and gone.
A few stragglers remained, including the women of Westhaven Winery.
“Go home to Talia and Brooke. I’m sure they miss you. ”
My oldest brother’s eyes turned wary. “You sure? I don’t mind waiting.”
“They could cancel sailings at anytime. Better to get in line and maybe get on, than miss the last sailing altogether. Go. I’ll see you at home.”
He hesitated for another moment, then finally bobbed his head, gave me a swift hug, tugged the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck, and was gone.
A grunt behind me had me turning around, only to see one Ms. Raina Aaronson struggling to close the legs of her upturned table.
The devil on my shoulder told me to revel in her frustration and sit back with a bucket of popcorn, but the angel—that little fucker—on the other shoulder, had my feet moving toward her.
“Here,” I said, sliding the little metal ring toward the center of the “V” of the table legs on the other side so they could hinge closed.
Her growl was not quiet at all and made a smile threaten my mouth. “I knew that.” She did the same thing to the other side of the table, successfully collapsing the legs so that the now-flat table could be stacked against the wall with the rest of them.
Gabrielle returned from outside. “Clint leave?” she asked me, bending down to pick up a box of what appeared to be full bottles of wine.
I swooped in. “Here, let me get that for you,” I said, taking it from her arms. “Yeah, I told him to go get in line for the ferry. With this nasty weather, they could cancel sailings at any point.”
She grabbed a case of empty wine bottles, and I followed her outside to their waiting cube truck, the same style as ours. “Yeah, I want to get on the road too.”
“You should have hitched a ride with Clint. Or did you bring two vehicles as well?”
“Yeah, we brought two. I’ll take the truck back, and Raina will follow in the CRV. We just wanted a smaller vehicle to take to the hotel. Maneuvering this beast in the city is a pain.”
“That’s exactly what we did.”
Together, we headed back in to finish loading up their stuff. Raina was trying to murder me with her ice queen stare as I amicably chatted with her cousin and effortlessly carried two full boxes of wine bottles—that’s twenty-four bottles—to their truck.
“Looks like you’re locked and loaded,” I said, once the last box was shoved into the cube truck. “You need a hand with anything else?”
Gabrielle was all smiles as she shook her head. “I think we’re good. Thank you, Jagger.” Her gaze fell on the baskets. “Oh shit, I need to run these to the front desk.”
I already had them in my arms. “Allow me. You get to the ferry. You’ve got kids at home. It’s all good.”