Chapter 5 #2
Winnie chokes out a laugh. “No. Not in any sense of the word.” She laughs again, and it shouldn’t irritate me that she finds either idea as absurd as I do.
I don’t say a word. I also don’t stop her when she starts asking Peter questions about bathrooms and plumbing and where the brewing equipment can go.
Winnie doesn’t suffer from the same visualization issues I do.
Between Peter’s questions and her suggestions, I start to actually get a sense of how the space will work.
With the two of them doing ninety percent of the talking, I could feel like the third wheel, but Winnie makes sure to keep drawing me in.
She has this way of making her ideas feel like my ideas.
Peter doesn’t seem to notice that they aren’t, and if I were less observant, I might not realize it either.
She’s that good at sweeping people up in her world.
A good quality. Maybe a dangerous one.
“A lot of breweries now are setting up the system in sight of the bar,” Winnie says. “No walls. That allows people to really see the magic. James, with the tanks along this wall, having the bar here would make sense. Is that what you were thinking?”
It wasn’t, but I am now. I like the idea of people being able to see the process, to be a part of the process in a small way. This intimacy is what separates craft brewing from the giant beer manufacturers.
“I like that.”
I like everything Winnie suggests. Though it would normally get my back up having someone—especially someone on her second day of work as a temp —butting in, I’m grateful. For her ideas and for her unobtrusive way of presenting them.
It almost makes up for the fact she invited half the town today. Almost.
As we finish up, Peter gives the darkening space one more look. “This is a great start. I’ll come back with some sketches and we’ll get to work. I know your timeline is tight.”
It absolutely is, a fact I’d rather forget. I need this part done so that when the equipment arrives in a few weeks, I can dedicate all my time to brewing. The bit of calm I located over the past hour dissipates like steam, leaving me hot and headachey again.
Peter says his goodbyes, and once again, Winnie and I are alone in the building. It’s almost pitch black, and we move toward the doorway, where light comes through from the newly installed lamp posts up and down Main Street.
“That was a productive day, huh, boss?”
This is where I should thank Winnie for her help. Despite my annoyance about all the people, we did get things done faster. And her help with Peter was honestly invaluable. But the words seem permanently lodged in my throat.
“How’s the website coming?” I ask instead.
“I’ve got the framework set up, but I have a lot of questions for you before I can do much more. We should really sit down and discuss—”
“I’m sure whatever you build will be fine.”
Not even remotely true. But after today, I need a Winnie break. Being around her is doing funny things to my head. Maybe we can move our communication to text so I don’t have to see her at all.
Winnie twists my work gloves in her hands. I hadn’t realized she’s been carrying them around for the last half-hour with Peter.
She tilts her head. “You don’t seem to trust or like me, but you’ve got blind faith in me when it comes to your whole website?”
“I didn’t say I don’t trust you. Or that I don’t like you.”
Winnie scoffs. “Right. You just ooze distrust and disrespect and dislike and a bunch of other disses from your pores. But sure—put me in charge of something as important as your online presence. I won’t screw it up or anything.” Her smile has a feral quality to it.
“Thank you.”
She raises one brow. “For promising not to screw it up?”
“For today.” I figure it’s best to keep it vague. I am grateful, yet somehow still resentful of the way Winnie jumped in with both feet. “Which reminds me—I’ve got another job for you.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this job?” she asks slowly.
I grin, and Winnie drops the broom. It clatters to the ground, and we both ignore it.
“How do you feel about cats?”
Her eyes widen. “James, no.”
“Your mission, should you choose to accept it—and to be clear, it isn’t optional—is to rid this building of all the strays.”
Her head jerks back. “What?”
I know she heard me, so I don’t bother answering. In a perfectly timed display, two fighting cats screech and bolt right between us. Winnie tracks them as they disappear through a doorway. “You can’t be serious.”
I say nothing, just standing here, as Winnie starts to unravel. Her eyes flash. “Now, listen here, you big—”
“Hey, kids. Are we playing nice?” Chevy left a few hours ago, but he’s back, ambling over to Winnie and standing shoulder to shoulder with the woman who is now glaring daggers—no, they’re more like machetes—at me.
“Everything okay over here?” Chevy asks.
“Fine,” I say, and Winnie must really dislike that word because the anger in her face intensifies.
“Right as a ninety-degree angle,” Winnie mutters.
“Good,” Chevy says. “I’d hate to think the two of you weren’t getting along.”
“We get along just fine ,” I say.
Winnie’s eyes become slits. Chevy’s phone rings, and he glances down at the screen with a grimace. “Excuse me a second.”
When he walks outside, Winnie and I are left simmering in an electric tension. We stare for a few long seconds, and it feels dangerous to hold her gaze for this long. She must feel the same way, because she looks away as she steps forward, holding out my gloves.
Call me selfish, call me a total Neanderthal, but I want those blue eyes on ME.
I grab the gloves but take Winnie’s hand too.
She jolts a little, then blinks up at me.
Her confusion is evident, and well-warranted.
I’ve been careful not to touch her today, even casually, because the attraction I feel without touching Winnie is bad enough.
And yet … I want her close like this. I want her closer .
It’s a terrible one, but before I can convince my thumb of that, it traces a line up the inside of her wrist.
Winnie’s lips part, and she releases a soft exhale.
Something I don’t want to name hangs between us, or maybe it passes between us like a signal or current.
For the moment, my headache is gone, replaced by a heady and heavy sense of want.
It’s deeper than just a physical connection, though it’s absolutely that too.
I feel like some invisible thread has wound its way through me, tethering us together.
“Sorry about that,” Chevy says, walking back inside.
I immediately drop Winnie’s hand, and she jumps. I feel like I’ve been scorched, starting with where our hands met and stretching halfway up my arm. The sensation only stops when I step back. Way back.
I need to regain some semblance of control, of dignity, of normalcy. My thoughts, my body, my everything are all out of whack where Winnie is concerned. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being out of control of a situation.
Even more so—out of control of my self .
Winnie bolts for the door without a backward glance. “See you later tonight, Chevy! Have fun on your date.”
And then she’s gone.
Chevy’s hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes roughly. He raises his brows, a smirk on his face. “Got dinner plans? Because we need to have a word about my sister.”