Chapter 23
chapter twenty-three
SEVERE WEATHER ALERT: METRO AREA STORM WARNING
Christine read the advisory twice, but the words barely registered.
She flicked the notification away with a swipe, letting her phone slip from her fingers onto the floor with a thunk. Everything sucked. Oakland still hadn’t texted her back.
Reclining in her battered leather chair, she let her head tip back against the cool cushions.
The air system hummed softly in the background, doing little to combat the stillness of the loft—the kind of quiet that made everything feel heavier.
Her oversized hoodie was bunched at her ribs, exposing a strip of skin to the artificial chill from the climate control, but she didn’t care enough to fix it.
Five days.
That’s how much time passed since Oakland ghosted her. Since she’d been left on read, her messages hanging in the void. Maybe she didn’t have her phone. Maybe she was being monitored. Maybe…
Maybe she just needed some time.
Or maybe, Christine groaned, dragging her hands down her face. She already knew what her brain was about to do, and she wanted no part of it.
Maybe she was being ghosted.
Which was a whole separate disaster that she didn’t need to spiral about right now.
The brewery. Right. She was supposed to go in early, check the auto-taps, and ensure the shipment logs synced before opening. That was the plan. And yet…
She slumped deeper into the chair.
Did it really matter if she just stayed home?
She closed her eyes, just for a second, already justifying it in her head. The storm would be brutal. Maybe they should just shut down for the night. Safety first. Or, actually, no, she could just ping the crew and let them handle things. That was the benefit of being the boss, right?
Delegation.
It wasn’t procrastination.
It was practical.
She slumped deeper into the chair.
A sudden thud—then the chaotic scrabbling of paws against the wood floor broke the silence.
Christine opened an eye just in time to see Gruit launch onto her chair. He miscalculated badly, his back paws slipping off the armrest, sending him flailing sideways in a blur of curly black fur.
He hit the ground with a dramatic huff, flopped onto his back, and made direct, pointed eye contact.
Christine sighed. “You are so embarrassing.”
Gruit wriggled, all four legs flailing like an overturned beetle. Then, just as dramatically, he rolled onto his stomach, let out a single boof, and launched himself at her again, this time, successfully belly-flopping onto her lap.
“Oof, Jesus, Gruit!”
Christine got a face full of dog as he pressed his nose to her cheek, snorting loudly before licking the tip of her nose. His breath was horrific, like he’d gotten into something he wasn’t supposed to.
Christine wheezed. “Okay, what did you eat?”
He panted up at her, smug.
Christine rubbed his head. His fur was weirdly damp. She sniffed cautiously.
“Is that beer?” She squinted. “How?”
Gruit yawned and flopped onto his side, kicking her square in the boob in the process.
Christine groaned and shoved his back leg off her chest. “You are the actual worst.”
He licked her arm in response, his tail still wagging.
She eyed him. “Alright, Gruito. I’m gonna ask you a serious question and need your honest opinion.”
Gruit perked up. A question? For him?
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Gruit wiggled, tail wagging harder.
Christine nodded. “Okay, that’s fair.”
She hesitated, pressing her lips together before sighing.
“Do you think it was a bad idea to kiss Oakland?”
Gruit’s ears twitched.
Then, without warning, he launched himself off her lap like he’d been shot out of a cannon, sprinted three full-speed laps around the loft, and skidded into the coffee table—sending an entire stack of books flying.
Christine blinked. “Wow. So, yes?”
Gruit immediately recovered, leaping onto the couch and shoving his whole face into the gap between the cushions, pulling out a leash that was stashed there and throwing it across the room. Then he sneezed violently, three times in a row.
Christine groaned. “Fine, you win. Let’s go to work.”
Gruit boofed.
Maybe getting out of here would help her, too. Maybe it wouldn’t.
Either way, she had a storm to beat.
* * *
“My life sucks,” Silver muttered, aggressively scrubbing at a water stain behind the bar.
Emerging from the back room, Dax barely looked up from his clipboard. “Oh no. What now?”
She jabbed a finger at the countertop. “Why the hell can’t these douchebags use coasters?”
Dax sighed, set his clipboard down, and rummaged under the sink. A moment later, he pulled out a tiny jar of petroleum jelly, popped it open, and, with the utmost seriousness, smeared a dab onto the stain.
“Now we wait,” he declared, like a countertop alchemist.
Silver watched him, unimpressed. “You are so weird.”
“You say that now, but when this stain is gone in ten minutes, you’ll call me a genius.”
She snorted and leaned against the bar. “Still doesn’t explain why we chose wood for the countertop.”
“You chose it. You said it looked sexier than granite.”
“Sounds fake, but okay.”
Dax rolled his eyes, grabbed two tulip glasses, and filled one with their Orange IPA before pouring Pineapple Wheat into the other. He slid the latter toward Silver. “Drink this and tell me what’s bothering you.”
Silver took a sip, watching bubbles swirl to the top. “I need to get laid,” she admitted flatly.
Dax choked on his drink.
After a dramatic cough, he wiped his mouth and shrugged. “Then do it. Find some cute lady and take her home tonight.”
Silver looked around the empty brewery and made a sweeping gesture. “Oh wow, look at all my choices.”
Dax glanced at his watch. “We open in an hour. Give it time. Some of your admirers will show up. Even in a storm.”
It wasn’t untrue. A solid chunk of their regulars did seem to come specifically for her.
“I dunno. Christine’s still spiraling about her Mormon girl drama. I should probably hang with her tonight instead.”
Before Dax could respond, a loud snap rang through the room.
“Screw this horse shit!”
They both turned just in time to see Spencer glaring at her tablet, right before she flung it across the table.
“When will I ever need to do a two-way ANOVA test? I’ll tell you when—never!” She stood and marched toward them.
Dax, ever the devil’s advocate, couldn’t resist a stats-related tantrum. “Well, actually…”
Spencer snatched his beer mid-sentence and took a giant swig.
“Thanks,” she muttered, handing it back.
Dax, blinking, recovered with a deeply nerdy inhale. “Okay, look. Stats is easy. You should understand ANOVAs because a lot of concepts build on each other. If you don’t get this now, you might?—”
“Dax,” Spencer cut in, holding up a hand. “Are you about to go full nerd on me?”
Dax narrowed his eyes. “I am a nerd, Spencer. You can’t ask me about statistics and not expect me to explain it.”
Spencer sighed, clearly regretting everything. “I don’t recall asking for help.”
“I’d like to hear more, Dax,” Silver smirked.
Dax took that as his cue to continue. “ANOVA stands for Analysis of Variance. It’s a way to compare means across multiple groups to see if differences are statistically significant?—”
Spencer groaned.
“—and a two-way ANOVA tests two independent variables simultaneously to see if they interact! For example, let’s say you wanted to see if drinking beer improves math performance?—”
“It does,” Spencer deadpanned.
Dax ignored her. “You could test beer vs. no beer as one variable and type of math problem as the second variable. Maybe beer helps with algebra but makes geometry worse.”
Spencer pointed at her glass. “Test me.”
Dax hesitated. “I feel like this is not a controlled experiment.”
Spencer grinned. “Lame.”
Silver snickered. “Oh, don’t challenge him, Spence. He lives for this kind of stuff.”
Dax, already a little red in the face, cleared his throat. “I just think you should understand ANOVAs because they’re useful.”
“For who?” Spencer challenged.
“For scientists.”
“Am I a scientist?”
“Everyone’s a scientist in their way…”
“Dax.”
“Fine!” Dax huffed. “You want a more practical example? Let’s say you’re testing which type of flirting is most effective.”
Spencer raised a brow, suddenly interested. “Go on.”
“You could test different styles: compliments, teasing, and deep eye contact across multiple personality types. That’s a two-way ANOVA. It tells you if the flirting style and personality type interact in a way that significantly affects success rates.”
Silver, laughing into her beer, clapped Dax on the shoulder. “Congrats, dude. You just made ANOVAs sexy.”
Dax flushed and sipped his IPA. “That is not what happened.”
Silver ignored him and grabbed her phone, tapping on Christine’s contact.
Voicemail.
Rolling her eyes, she muttered, “Hi Christine, we have this thing called a business to run. Come play.”
Locking her phone, she sighed dramatically. “She better not be bailing again.”
Spencer stretched, smirking. “If she does, we’ll just have to run another ANOVA on what type of beer helps people get over their exes.”
Dax groaned, rubbing his face. “Still not totally clicking, I see.”
Spencer flicked her tablet off, clearly bored with this lesson now. Dax mumbled something under his breath about rich kids, privilege, and how only the top three percent could even afford college these days.
* * *
It was a slow day at the clinic, which was fine. Slow meant time to think, and Oakland needed time to think.
The meeting with the disciplinary committee was set. In just a few days, she’d be sitting in front of them, defending herself, trying to salvage what was left of her reputation.
She already knew what she was going to say.
Her sister simply misunderstood. The rumors just spiraled out of control. She didn’t do anything gay.
If she said it with enough conviction, they’d believe her. They had to.
Derek repeatedly drilled it into her head: “Deny, clarify, redirect. They can’t prove anything. You’ll be fine.”
He would know. He’d been through this before. He always made it out the other side.