Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Winnie
The scent of fried turkey and failure hangs in the air when I sneak back over to Dark Horse.
Most of the Feastivus-goers moved to Mari’s diner to eat what was left.
Which was, essentially, a lot of pie and anything Big Mo and Mari could whip up from the kitchen.
The people of Sheet Cake always find a way to soldier on.
I suspect that James Graham, however amazing his shoulders are, may not be similarly equipped.
It’s why, when I sneak back over to Dark Horse, I come armed with two very important things.
The first is pie, and the second is my laptop with the presentation I’ve been working on with plans for Dark Horse.
I hope the pie will provide enough drugging sugar to pacify James.
And the presentation is my redemption for the disaster of today—showing him how I can be an asset to the future of Dark Horse, rather than the harbinger of disaster like I was today.
I’ve mentally crossed all my fingers and toes, accepted a pat on the back from Tank, and sat through a mini pep-talk from Lindy and Val while shoveling pie into my face. Is this the ideal way to go out on a limb asking James to keep me on in a more full-time capacity?
Not even in the slightest.
It’s more like I was thrown out of an airplane and I’m pulling all the cords I can pull, hoping one of them goes to a parachute.
I squeeze my way through the closed gate, equally careful with the pie and laptop.
The outside is still in a state of disarray with toppled tables, broken glass, and paper plates blowing like tumbleweeds in the cool breeze.
The strings of lights have been unplugged, but from somewhere inside the building, there’s a dim glow.
Cautiously, I walk inside, shivering a little. Darkness has fully fallen, and without the heaters fired up, the night air definitely has bite.
Though the outdoor space is still a mess, inside, the floor has been swept, the tables removed, and James is running a mop over the concrete. I take in the stiff line of his shoulders, the ticking muscle in his jaw, and debate my approach.
I know James is overwhelmed. Irritated. Frustrated.
I could just offer him pie and an apology tonight. Maybe a massage to work out some of the stiffness in those shoulders.
But I can’t shake the idea that my presentation will give him something more .
It’s me, offering myself up to James. Telling him I want more—not only with the business but with him .
I want to be more of a permanent fixture, both at Dark Horse and in his life.
This is my grand gesture, an apology, and an offering all rolled up into one.
“Need a hand, boss?”
James stiffens. His gaze flicks to me, then back to the spot on the floor he keeps going over and over. I have a very vivid mental image of Tank, Big Mo, and a mound of mashed potatoes that I hope will one day be funny.
“No,” James says.
Ever since I pointed out that this is his favorite word, James’s lips have curled up when he says no to me. Right now, his mouth is in what looks like a very permanent frown.
Again, indecision crowds my brain. James is in a MOOD.
I would be too, honestly. I could wait—maybe I should wait.
But everything that happened today is my fault.
I asked about using Dark Horse. I brought in all the people without thinking about permits—which is ridiculous.
Billy Waters had Pat and Lindy’s vow renewal shut down in the center of town a few weeks ago.
I have zero doubt he’s the one who called up the fire marshal and reported Feastivus.
I’d like to toss Billy into a vat of mashed potatoes.
But back to James—maybe he just wants pie and a hug? Or pie and then to be left alone? Or … just to be left alone?
Maybe it’s that part of me that just has to push, but I’m not satisfied with that. I wanted today to be about a preview for James, showing him what could be. I simply can’t leave things as the epic fail they were.
Decided, I square my shoulders. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”
James stops mopping and leans on the handle, looking as exhausted as he does frustrated. I want to walk over and brush the hair out of his eyes. But my James Graham manual tells me touching him right now isn’t what he needs.
“I’m really sorry about earlier,” I say. “I should have anticipated—”
“It’s not your fault.” The way James says this seems to imply he thinks it’s his fault. Which is wrong, wrong, wrong.
I shake my head. “We can agree to disagree on that. Anyway—I’ve got pie to go along with my apology.
” I hold it out, but James only eyes it warily.
So much for softening him up. I set it down on the table which, only an hour ago, held all the desserts.
Fishing my laptop out of my bag, I locate a folding chair and set it up in front of the table.
“Can I show you something?”
James seems to be thinking, and his eyes soften a little as his gaze moves over me. With a bone-weary sigh, he says, “Sure.”
I indicate the chair. “Want to sit?”
“Standing is fine.” He leans the mop against a wall and crosses his arms over his chest.
Tough crowd . Guess this is as receptive as he’s going to get. I can only hope he’ll lighten up when he sees what I’ve made for him.
“First of all, I want to say thank you for being willing to host today. I had hoped it would be a preview of things to come.” I grimace. “Without the whole fire-marshal-kicking-everyone-out bit.”
James doesn’t smile. I draw in a breath and pull up the presentation I’ve been working so hard on this week.
“Since today didn’t go as planned, I have something else to show you.” I click the mousepad to pull up the slideshow fully on the screen. “I’ve been working on something of a launch plan for Dark Horse.”
He flinches at the phrase launch plan , but I still think it’s going to be fine.
I mean, who WOULDN’T flinch at the idea of a launch plan after a disaster like today?
I start moving through the slides, walking him through each point of the plan, the timelines, the budgets, my suggestions—all of it.
I have an outline for all the social media, for PR, and other grassroots marketing.
There is a whole section on different themed events Dark Horse could host, as well as ideas for the tasting room and a potential expansion into the connected back building, which as of now, will be empty.
We could have a whole wall of board games for people to play or a collection of vintage arcade games—functions for the space itself beyond the beer to keep people here and happy.
I am nothing if not a fount of ideas, and after the conference, I have been overflowing with them.
I’m not sure how it’s possible for a person to grow MORE silent, but I swear, James’s silence is expanding like some kind of black hole.
It’s sucking all the air out of the room, which I’m sure is why I’m practically panting as I reach the just-over-halfway point.
His silence is starting to suck away my confidence too, and I mess up the slides, accidentally skipping ahead to one showing financials, which finally gets a reaction out of James.
Not one I’d like, since his eyes go wide and his jaw finally opens. It’s more of an unhinging, and I’m thankful when he snaps it closed again. I was a little afraid it was going to hit the floor.
“Don’t worry about those numbers just yet.
Pretend you didn’t see them.” I wave my hand in front of me, Jedi style.
“Those weren’t the numbers you were looking for,” I say, realizing I am not simply crashing and burning like a plane.
I’m crashing and burning like a meteor passing through the earth’s atmosphere.
I’m about to make impact, and I think the crater from my landing is going to be visible from space.
“Harper and Collin helped with this part, so we just made some projections based on Collin’s gym.” I had spectral phone calls with James’s siblings this week, getting help with some of the finer details regarding finances and expenses James never shared with me.
“You talked to my family about this?”
The harshness of his tone hits my bloodstream like an infection, like a poison. I’ve been able to stave off his bad vibe with the force of my hope. But now, everything in me sinks as I realize the colossal misjudgment I’ve made.
I shift on my feet, digging my fingernails into my palm. “They were able to fill in the blanks on some of the things I don’t know offhand,” I say, knowing how defensive I sound.
“You didn’t think to ask me if I wanted them involved in that?”
“They’re your family. On top of that, they’re investors and had the original business plan with all the numbers I haven’t seen. I just thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
I swallow and take a step back, my hand hovering over my laptop. My brain scrambles, seeking a way to salvage this. If I could just get back on track, I could show him the examples of other successful breweries I put together and the—
James slices a hand through the air. “Just stop.”
“But I haven’t gotten to the part where—”
“Just … stop.” James’s hands drag through this hair, and his eyes are wild. “I can’t do this with you.”
BOOM . Impact of my crashing and burning is more painful than I thought.
I swear, those few words from James have my teeth rattling and my bones aching.
Because they sound much, much bigger than a reaction about my slideshow.
There is a finality to them, a resignation that has my nerves firing and my stomach bottoming out.
James walks toward me, his face still a hard blank, his jaw and shoulders tight. When he lifts his hand to slam my laptop shut, I flinch. The sound is so incredibly final.