Page 106 of Best Kind of Trouble
I pause for long enough that she beans me with the cane. “Well?”
Otis appears behind her while I’m still rubbing my head. “Liam?” he asks, as stunned as if Santa Claus had dropped by for a hang. “Holy shit, are you here to have dinner with us?”
“Language,” the woman says.
“Sorry, Grandma.”
“Do you know this large man?”
“Yeah,” he says. “This is Liam. We work together.” His eyes widen. “Wait. Is there, like, an emergency at the brewery? Did the vats explode?”
“No explosion,” I say, feeling like an idiot. “I…thought maybe Briar might be here.”
“Uh, no,” he says, his eyes full of confusion, “but?—”
“Come in, come in,” his grandmother says in a weary voice. “You’re letting all the cold air inside.”
I follow her into the house, now certain I’m an idiot. Dottie tricked me somehow, but I can’t think how or why she would have, since she didn’t know how I’d react to her hint.
“Would you like a drink?” Otis asks. “Or are you looking for Briar because of the emergency?”
“No emergency,” I say.
“So what are you doing here, son?” the woman says gruffly.
It’s a question for the ages.
I hoist up the six-pack. “I brought beer.”
She glances at the beer. “Is it good beer?”
“His beer’s always the best,” Otis says. “That’s why Briar hired him.”
Turning back toward me, she asks, “And do you like light or dark meat?”
“I’m not fussy.”
She studies me for a long moment, as if judging my truthfulness. “You can stay, but there’ll be no funny business.”
“Yeah, stay for dinner, Liam,” Otis says eagerly. “You can help me decorate more posters for the New Year’s Eve party. Sophie and your sister want to put up fifty more when they get back. It’s going to be epic.”
I’m about to say, No, I definitely don’t want to do that. I have a date with a bottle and my bed and a very, very bad mood.
But the words don’t come out. I keep thinking about what Dottie said about needing other people.
Hell, maybe therewassomething in that tea, because I’m actually thinking about staying.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, feeling sweat bead on my forehead and the back of my neck.
Half an hour later,I’m sitting at an old work table next to Otis, putting stickers on a poster covered with exclamation marks.
My brother would give himself an ulcer laughing if he could see me now. Hannah too.
“I don’t like spending the holidays alone either,” Otis remarks out of nowhere as he adds yet another exclamation point to his poster. “I’m glad you think we’re friends. I wasn’t sure you liked me. I got the impression I talked too much when we were getting the barrel room decorated for Briar.”
“You did,” I say, smiling, “but that was a nice idea. I wish I’d thought of it.”
He sets down his neon marker to get a better look at me. “What are your intentions toward Briar?”
