Page 82 of Best Kind of Trouble
“Did you know Bubba wasn’t using organic ingredients, Dad?” Briar asks directly, her face pale but determined.
She’s not mine to be proud of, but Iamproud.
Before he can answer, Alicia power-walks back into the dining room, a bottle opener in each hand, followed by a woman carrying white wine in a wine chiller.
Alicia’s lips tremble when she sees the other open beers. “Oh dear.”
“Would you like one too?” I ask, grabbing another beer from the holder.
“No.” She gives a sharp nod to the woman with the wine, then shoves the bottle openers at her. “We’ll all have wine,” she says imperiously. “And you can bring out the salad course.”
Within thirty seconds, she has an overfull glass of white in front of her.
Don, who has been holding Briar’s gaze this whole time, finally says, “Well, I don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about, Briar. We told Bubba to brew them organic, so I assume that’s what he did. Bubba’s a man who can take instruction.”
“Yeah, I’ll just bet he is,” I put in as the rest of us are served wine I definitely don’t want. “And I’ve got no problem takingherinstructions.”
“Oh, no more business talk,” Alicia says, waving around her wine glass after taking a swig that roughly halved the liquid. “I’m sick to death of hearing about that brewery. I thought we were finally done with it. It was my least favorite of all your businesses.”
I let myself laugh. “Really, I figured it would have been the gummy candy shaped like tits.”
She gasps, and the server hurries away.
Don, however, smiles. “Touché. Well, no worries, honey. The brewery is Briar’s problem now.”
He takes the first sip of his beer, and then his gaze narrows on me. “You made this, son?”
“I did.”
He glances at Briar, sitting under that self-indulgent sign, her expression strained, and nods. “Good work.”
I nearly laugh, because he’s talking about me, in front of me, as if I’m some bargain-basement find. But the hopeful lookon her face stops me.
I’m destroyed by the realization that she still wants this asshole’s praise.
“Well, I, for one, would much rather talk about pleasant things,” Alicia says, and takes another long sip from her wine glass. “What are you doing for the holidays, Liam?”
It feels plenty natural to smile. “Making beer.”
The server returns with a tray of salads, which she passes out, and a short, blessed period of silence follows while everyone embraces the excuse of eating to shut the fuck up. Then Alicia leads a shallow conversation about the holiday events around Asheville, which isn’t particularly interesting, given I don’t plan on attending any of them.
My eyes keep straying to Briar.
She doesn’t like being here, but I don’t think it’s just that contract she signed that keeps her coming back. She still wants approval from these people, and I know in my gut she’s never going to get it. Because if they ever gave it to her, she’d have no reason to come back.
As we’re finishing up the main course, the buzzer for the gate rings, and Alicia perks up. “That must be Melly.”
Briar takes another sip of her beer. “By all means, we wouldn’t want to keepMellywaiting.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
BRIAR
In, hold, out. In, hold, out.
I’m hardly doing well, but at least I haven’t needed to run to the kitchen to search for a paper bag. Being in this house always makes me feel like a child lost in a labyrinth. Never alone, but always alone.
I don’t like that Liam is across the table from me, seeing me like this. Meek. Quiet. Accepting. I transform every time I step through that door, turning back into Briar the Doll. Briar, the seen but not heard.
