Brewing Sunshine Cosmic Joke
Brewing Sunshine
Kira
Cosmic Joke
July in the orchard was more buzz than hum.
The bees bouncing from apple to apple looking for a spare blossom, the whir of machines cutting back the strawberry plants that had finished producing, and the chipper working overtime on the branches that had fallen in the last storm.
But my favorite was the earthy scent of apples almost ready for their season.
The advancing whomp of horse hooves rushing through the acres of trees told me my best friend, Beckett Manning, was nearby. Ever since he’d traded a tractor for his horse, he’d been a menace. At least the tractor had to stay on the main path.
I ducked into the copse of Honeycrisp trees. I wasn’t quite ready to face people just yet. I brushed my fingers over the glossy dark leaves and picked off a few dead ones automatically. I supposed it was pretty basic of me, but they really were my favorite apple.
After twelve years it was a miracle that any apple would be palatable, but they were the ones I looked forward to every year. I ducked under a branch of one of the dwarf trees that were interspersed with the larger, older ones to find just the right one.
There she was along the back of the quadrant. The early sunlight left dappled golden light on the gnarled roots that popped up out of the ground no matter what we did to prevent it. Flaky bark gathered and continued to grow around the grooves I’d made my first summer.
I traced my finger over the jagged KW and year that I’d made with my pocket knife. I dipped my hand into my work pants to find the same scarred red Swiss Army and added this year with a dash.
This would be the first harvest where I wasn’t part of the chaos. I’d been a part of the orchard since I turned seventeen. Working up from seasonal picker for extra cash to lead manager of hiring.
I couldn’t say I’d miss juggling seasonal staffing with the full timers. I’d spent the last three months training my replacement, and Patty was born for the work—far more than I had ever been.
When harvest was upon us, there was a collective hum of rotating seasonal workers underfoot.
People came for day labor for extra cash—most of them were guys taking a gap year before starting college or others bumming around in search of jobs that didn’t require much more than a strong back.
We kept some, but most moved on. Sometimes they came back to us year after year, happy to work outside in the twilight of summer.
I couldn’t blame them. Central New York was pretty perfect during that time of year. It was how I’d been lured in.
That and a foolish heart that had believed it beat for the eldest Manning son.
Beckett had always walked the line of wild and responsible.
His motorcycle, denim and leather uniform, and unruly curls were like catnip for half of Turnbull High.
The fact that he could straddle the line between jock and badboy certainly helped net him any girl he could ever want.
Luckily I’d come to my senses before he could add me to the roster of his broken hearts club. But instead of Beck, or his equally delicious brothers, I’d fallen for the sprawling orchard that had expanded every year. And that was the love that had always endured.
Hooves thundered behind me and I knew my time was up.
“I knew I’d find you out here.”
I turned, raising my hand against the sun rapidly rising overhead.
I unhooked my sunglasses from my shirt and slipped them on before I grinned up at him.
His ever present Yankees cap was threaded through his leather belt on his hip, his hand draped over the pommel, and his knees gently controlling his gray gelding, Storm.
“Being predictable is annoying.”
Beck tipped back his black cowboy hat. “I prefer to call it comfortable.”
“No woman wants to be called comfortable.”
“Aww, c’mon, Key, you know it’s not like that.” He absently rubbed Storm’s side as he sidestepped at the roar of a plane overhead.
I was well aware it wasn’t like that. No man in this entire orchard saw me as a woman. I was Kira, the sturdy friend to all. Kira, the dependable. Kira, the hard worker. Kira, the one who would do any dirty job without a complaint.
“It’s fine.”
He leaned back in his saddle. “I may not know much, but I do know when a woman says it’s fine, it’s anything but.”
I waved him off. “I’m just nervy about saying goodbye to the orchard.”
“You’re not saying goodbye, you’re just moving into the taproom. You’re wasted out here in the trees, I keep telling you that.”
“It’s where you are, buddy.”
“Yes, it’s where I belong. You have always been meant for more. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to get the Brothers Three Taproom off the ground.”
I rubbed my hand along the thigh of my work pants, my palm itchy and about to turn into a faucet from nerves. “You had plenty of more qualified people inquire about the job.”
“But there’s only one Kira Webb. For years, you’ve been organizing me until I’m ready to saw your tongue off. Who got me to upgrade the cold storage?”
“We need the ability to have longer storage times for the hard cider production.”
“Who badgered me to expand distribution?”
“Justin.”
He grunted. “My brother only got the idea after you put the bug in his ear about those new pasteurizer machines.”
“We could manufacture faster than we can sell in the store. You were leaving money on the table.”
“You mean after I spent it first, as usual.”
I opened my mouth to remind him that we tripled our revenue in two years, but he was already getting impatient to move. I could see it in his body language and general antsiness that was starting to mirror in Storm’s demeanor.
I stepped forward to run my palm down the horse’s velvety nose.
“Your master just likes to argue with me, even though he knows I hate it.” He nibbled at my fingers then swung his big head over to my shirt pocket.
“You know I have something for you.” I unearthed the baby carrots that were supposed to be my snack, but inevitably became his.
“No, I just know you need to innovate and improve. The taproom is what needs your attention. You’ve outgrown the orchard and you know it.”
I huffed out a breath. “I—”
“If you tell me one more time that you aren’t qualified, I’m going to kick your ass myself.”
I growled. “You know I haven’t been able to go back to school.”
“You don’t need school, dammit. You have more experience than any kid coming out with a master’s degree, for fuck’s sake. You’re ready to move onto something more challenging, Key.”
I clenched my hands at my sides. “I know.”
“Then stop trying to find reasons to say no and just say yes. You know you’re going to, or you wouldn’t be out here saying goodbye to your damn tree.”
“I have a proposal written up.”
“Good. Show it to Laverne if you have to, but just get in there and make it work. I hired a new cider master last week and he wants nothing to do with the running of the taproom.”
“You what? Without talking to me?”
Beck grinned at me. “See, you’re already invested.”
“Well, if you looked at my proposal, I’d show you the people I’d researched to come in to work with us.”
“And I’m sure there’s a nineteen page dissertation on each candidate.”
“Five,” I muttered. I liked to be prepared for any eventuality. “Two of them came highly recommended. Stanford Lang won best hard cider of New England last year.”
Beck tipped down his hat. “And that jackass wanted triple my budget as his first year salary. I did my homework too.”
“I could have talked him down.” I had a plan to do just that as well as incentivize with a small percentage of profits if he exceeded my projected earnings. Which would be hard to do, so I wouldn’t have to pay him extra until year three at minimum.
“I have no doubt, but I think he’s a douchebag.”
“We don’t have to like him for him to make a good cider.”
“No, we don’t. But I’d rather respect the man who comes in, and Stanford Lang is an opportunist. He’d leave us high and dry within a season, I’d bet my six-digit pasteurizer on it.”
I folded my arms. “I still would have liked to be in on the decision. If I’m to run the taproom, I have to be able to work with this guy. He needs to know I’m the one making decisions, and you doing the hiring undermines my authority.”
He sighed. “All right, I can see where you’re coming from there. But I know he’s the one, Key. He’s brilliant and has the nose.”
“You and the stupid nose.”
“It’s not stupid. You either have it or you don’t. And he does. Even if he’s a little…unorthodox.”
“Dammit, Beck.”
Unorthodox was code for hell, I just knew it. Beckett had a habit of picking the underdog. I knew it because I had definitely been one of his favorites to champion.
“Give it three months and if he doesn’t work out, we can revisit your hire list, all right?”
I sighed. “Fine.”
This time he didn’t try to argue. He just lifted the reins. “You’ll like Ronan.”
“What the hell kind of name is Ronan?”
“What the hell kind of name is Kira? I still like you.”
I flipped him off.
He laughed and turned to give me a fine view of Storm’s ass. Before he let the horse break into a trot, he yelled back at me. “Say goodbye to the old you, Key! I know you’re ready.”
I walked back to my tree and brushed my thumb over the year I’d just carved into the bark. What if I wasn’t ready? What if this was all a cosmic joke and Beckett was wrong?
A smaller voice nagged at me. What if he’s right?