Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Garrett slid a keg into place under the branded Northern Lights banner, already sweating through his T-shirt. The festival grounds buzzed with clinking glassware, pop-up tents, the chatter of the participants, and the heady scents of yeast, hops, and grilled brats.
He’d spent more time than he cared to admit watching for Madison to arrive instead of getting his booth ready.
Too much was riding on the success of this second location.
He and Mason might own one of the most successful breweries in Minneapolis, but here in the north, they were relatively unknown and needed to prove themselves. Thirty minutes later, he was ready.
He scanned the area again, searching for Madison. She should be here by now.
And then there she was, along with Chloe, Lily Chen, Paige Turner-Reynolds, and Maggie Reynolds-Jacobs.
They waved as they strolled by his booth, all smiles.
Garrett almost swallowed his tongue at the outfits they wore: cutoff denim shorts and white tank tops under red-and-white plaid shirts, with their hair tied back in single ponytails.
They pulled utility wagons full of merchandise and started readying Madison’s booth, just two spaces down from his. Nick and Ethan followed with Nick’s pickup and helped them unload the cider.
Adam Krinke from Frosted Plains Brewing leaned close to him. “Finally adding cider to your menu? I never thought the day would come.”
“Not yet. Mason’s sister”—Garrett nodded toward Madison—“came up with a cider on her own. If she wins the cider competition, we’ll add it, if not, we won’t.” He shrugged.
Adam smirked at him with a knowing grin. “Mason’s sister, huh? She’s a knockout.”
Garrett didn’t respond. His gut-level response was to claim her as his—how very caveman of him.
“So, you and Madison?” Adam asked.
After their kiss, Garrett had thought maybe they could make something work, but he was cautious, and they hadn’t talked about what had happened or if it was something casual. He clenched his jaw. “She’s been a great help.”
Adam chuckled and joined the others gathered by Madison’s booth.
Her booth looked . . . good. Dang good. A rustic-chic display of barrels, galvanized tubs packed with ice, chalkboard signs with sassy quotes, and wildflowers in tin vases. Eye-catching without being overdone.
Madison and the other women went to work: Paige, Chloe, Maggie, and Lily sauntered through the crowd with trays of mini tasting cups like they’d just stepped out of a country music video.
Garrett cursed under his breath. Madison was playing to win.
He watched her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she adjusted one of the signs: “Try Our Stubborn Ass Cider—Bold Flavor, No Apologies.”
He couldn’t help it. He walked over.
Madison was bent slightly at the waist, straightening a basket of sample cups, her denim shorts clinging to her in a way that was both unfair and distracting.
He cleared his throat.
She looked up and smiled like she’d absolutely planned for him to be right there.
“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, all sweet honey.
Garrett picked up a can from the display and read the label.
Stubborn Ass. The painted cartoon donkey on the side of the can looked halfway between adorable and fed up. Cute. He turned the can over. The fine print read Made with tenacity, spite, and apples from just outside of town.
Madison batted her lashes. “In honor of two of my favorite men, who refused to carry my cider. I felt it only fair.”
He laughed. A loud, honest, belly-deep laugh.
“I should be offended,” he said, holding up the can.
“You should be flattered,” she replied. “It’s my best seller already.”
“I bet.”
One of the judges—middle-aged, red-faced, and clearly already a few tastings deep—stopped to take a sample from Paige, who winked at him.
Garrett glanced at Madison. “Stacking the deck, are we?”
She shrugged innocently. “I’m just a girl standing in front of a judge with a tray of cider and a winning smile.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, amused. “You want to win that bad?”
“Oh, Garrett,” she said, stepping a little closer until her mouth was within inches of his ear. “You have no idea how bad.”
The air shifted between them.
He was suddenly painfully aware of the space—how close they stood, how the wind caught her hair, how his fingers itched to brush it back. How much he wanted to kiss her right in the middle of Brewfest with cider fans and staff all around. Bold but stupid.
Instead, he gave her a nod, retreating a step before he could do something dumb.
“Good luck, Cider Queen,” he said.
She grinned. “Thanks, Brew King.”
As he walked away, the can still in his hand, he knew one thing with absolute certainty.
He was in trouble.
He spent the day handing out samples, selling Northern Lights’ most popular brews, Loon Lager and Lake Lounger, and advertising both the Minneapolis and the Deer Creek Falls locations.
The announcer’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker, muffled over the crowd’s rising buzz of anticipation.
Garrett leaned against the corner of the Northern Lights booth, a half-drunk sample cup in hand, trying to pretend he wasn’t on edge.
After naming a craft brewery from Wisconsin as the third-place winner, the announcer continued, “In second place, with high marks for crisp balance and smooth finish—Northern Lights Brewery’s Loon Lager!”
Second place wasn’t bad. Not by a long shot. He won first with his chocolate porter, happy with the end results.
Applause broke out, and Garrett gave a modest nod and wave to the people clapping around him. Chloe whistled, and Paige, Maggie, and Lily jumped up and down like cheerleaders.
The announcer continued, “Now for the much-anticipated cider category.”
To anyone else Madison would appear confident, but Garrett noticed how she shifted her weight from one foot to another in anticipation and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear—twice.
“Third place goes to Cedar Ridge Brewing.” Applause rippled through the crowd as the brewers accepted their plaque.
“And second place goes to Pine River Brewing.” More applause echoed beneath the festival tent. Madison applauded with everyone else, convinced the top prize would go to one of the remaining breweries.
Then the announcer grinned. “And first place, by unanimous decision, for originality, flavor, and unforgettable presentation, goes to . . . Stubborn Ass Cider! Northern Lights Brewery!”
The cheer that erupted was deafening. Madison let out a stunned laugh, spun in place—then locked eyes with him across the distance.
Garrett barely had time to brace himself.
Because the next thing he knew, she was sprinting through the crowd, the red-checked shirt unknotted, the shirttails flapping in the breeze.
Madison leapt into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist.
He caught her without hesitation, instinctively wrapping his arms around her waist as she laughed, breathless and gleeful, against his ear.
“I won,” she whispered. “Garrett, I actually freaking won.”
He held her tight, aware of every single point of contact, of the way her hands rested on his shoulders, her nose nearly brushing his.
“I know,” he murmured, his voice low. “You kicked ass.”
Madison pulled back just enough to look at him, her smile softening. The chaos of the festival faded—there was only her face, close to his, her breath mixing with his.
It would be so easy to close the gap. So easy to—
“CIDER QUEEN!” Chloe’s voice rang out, followed by whistles and applause as the girls descended, breaking the spell.
Madison laughed again and slid out of Garrett’s arms, cheeks flushed but eyes still locked on his for half a second longer than necessary.
As she turned back toward her booth, triumphant, Garrett stood frozen in place, heart pounding like he’d just sprinted a lap.
She’d won the trophy. But she’d also walked away with something far more dangerous.
A piece of him.