Chapter 1 #2
“Like I said, Matt, I think we have different visions for Sawyers Bend Brewing. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding a place somewhere else.
” Matthew had a good reputation in the industry, and he wasn’t short on employment options in this area of the country.
Between Western North Carolina, Georgia, and Tennessee, there were plenty of breweries who’d love to get their hands on him. They were welcome to him. I was done.
He studied my face, his features gradually hardening as he read my resolve, and he understood he wasn’t going to be able to get his way. The friendly expression in his eyes flicked off as his gaze chilled.
“You’re going to regret this,” he said, his voice low and hard.
I raised an eyebrow as my shoulders relaxed.
“Really? That’s what you’re going with? I’m going to regret this?” I let out a sigh. “Maybe I will. But I won’t know until I do it.” I stood, ready for Matthew to exit my brewery and my life.
He rose from the chair, stepping closer, looming over me. “Don’t expect me to come back and save your ass when this place goes under,” he said.
I gestured to the door. “Thanks for your concern,” I said dryly. “I’ll be okay. I appreciate everything I learned from you, but it’s time for you to move on. If I regret it, that’ll be mine to live with.”
“I’ve invested too much in this place to walk away,” he protested, refusing to back up when I stepped forward, trying to urge him to the door. A frisson of alarm skittered down my spine. I had two part-time employees in today, and neither was close enough to hear if I called out.
“You’ve invested your time for which you were compensated,” I said, keeping my eyes locked on his. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
Cold fury flashed across his face before a vaguely genial expression took its place. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head.
“I made you what you are, Avery. Without me, you’re nothing. One way or another, you’re going to pay for this.” He turned and strode through the door.
As much as I wanted to let him make a dramatic exit and then never see him again, practicality had me trailing him as he left, crossing from my office to the other side of the warehouse style building that housed the brewery, stopping only to grab his wallet, keys and jacket as he went.
The heavy metal door slammed behind him.
Letting out a long, slow breath, I tried to shake off my unease. The hard part was over. Matthew was gone, and I was free to start a new chapter as a brewer. I was ready for this. I didn’t need Matthew.
I looked around the brewery, drawing in the smell of hops and malt. This was my home. The invader had been tossed out. All was right in my world. Wasn’t it?
Sure, it was , I told myself. It had to be.
Shaking off my unsettled mood, I ran down a list of things I had planned for the day.
I needed to check in with the Orchard we were co-hosting the annual Halloween party with.
Verify the delivery estimates for the new labels.
Sweet talk Hank from the hardware store into installing new locks now that Matt was gone.
Call my local hops supplier and see if he could increase my usual order.
And when that was all done, I’d man the taps until Cammie showed up.
I expected phone calls or texts as word got around about me firing Matt, but my phone stayed silent.
Customers came in, drank beer, and left with a six-pack or some merch.
I met a sweet, retired couple from Michigan and a nice group of guys making the rounds of local breweries as their bachelor party.
None of it helped change my mood.
When the taproom was quiet, I stepped into the small kitchen space connected to the bar.
It had been there when I’d moved in. So far, I’d used it only for tinkering with smaller recipes I wasn’t ready to brew at scale.
It wasn’t much bigger than the inside of a food truck, but my brother Finn, a classically trained chef, was looking for an occasional workspace.
His primary job at the moment was head chef at Heartstone Manor, our family home.
He claimed he was happy feeding his family, glad to enjoy life with his new wife and son, away from the rat race of cooking in a high-pressure kitchen.
But he’d been toying with the idea of doing some pop-ups here and there.
He said he missed feeding people, but he wasn’t ready to start his own place.
I wasn’t looking to turn Sawyers Bend Brewing into a restaurant, but I thought my little kitchen off the taproom might be the answer to Finn’s itch to cook for the public and mine to level up the Brewery.
If word got out Finn was cooking, the place would be packed.
I wasn’t adverse to the increase in sales that would lead to.
I had bills to pay, and this felt like a win-win.
Matthew had hated the idea. I think he’d worried Finn would take over his territory.
Making a note that the small kitchen needed a thorough cleaning before Finn could use it, I got back to my to-do list. Work had always been my cure for everything that ailed.
But by the time Cammie showed up, I was a ball of nerves, jumping every time the door opened.
I thought once the confrontation with Matthew was over, my anxiety would dissipate.
I’d done the hard thing. What was there to be nervous about?
Instead, it only got worse. I drove back to Heartstone Manor, wishing that my father hadn’t left behind a complicated will that forced me to move home if I wanted to keep my business.
I loved my family—a surprise after so many years of keeping them at a distance—but I missed the days when I’d occupied the tiny living quarters above the brewery.
The rooms had been tacked on as an afterthought.
Drafty in the winter and hot in the summer, they were spare and small, but they’d been mine.
“I just need a good night’s sleep,” I said aloud as I drove through the iron gates to the Manor, waving at the security camera tracking my arrival. “I’ll shake off the day and start fresh tomorrow.”
I woke early, skipping breakfast to head back to the brewery, eager to take back the reins of my business. Sleep had helped, but I was still feeling off.
Pulling my car into my usual parking space at the side of the building, I sat for a second, something tugging at me.
Something wasn’t right about the brewery, but I couldn’t pin down what it was.
Getting out of the car, I locked the door and instead of heading to the big metal door into the brewery, I walked to the front, scanning the building for whatever had tweaked me as I’d driven in.
The small parking lot was empty, as it should have been at this hour, and the pumpkin display I’d arranged was bright and festive beside the door to the taproom. The open door to the taproom.
I reached out to push it all the way open and stopped cold, my hand dropping to my side.
Cammie wouldn’t have forgotten to close and lock the door. She never did. And she and I were the only two with the keys to the new locks I’d had installed yesterday.
Which meant that no matter how much I needed to see what was waiting inside, I wasn’t going in by myself. I was headstrong, not stupid.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, scrolled through the contacts, and hit the one I was looking for.