Page 28 of Best Kind of Trouble
“I’m thirty-one,” Briar says, holding out one finger.
“I would have guessed thirty-five,” I lie.
She and Sharon both scowl at me, so I lift my hands. “Joking. You barely look legal to drink, let alone run a brewery. I’ll bet you still get IDed to buy drinks.”
For some reason, this deepens Briar’s scowl. “They ID everybody.”
“Sure they do, Princess.”
Sharon walks away, clucking her tongue and murmuring something about men. Moments later, she’s back with the real-deal coffee.
Briar doesn’t even seem to notice the coffee set in front of her. She’s playing with a long lock of her hair, and it takes me a few seconds to tear my gaze away from her.
“What am I going to find in that notebook?” I ask, forcing my eyes to focus on her nose. “Drunken bullshit, or do you have an actual plan for the brewery?”
“I told you I have a plan,” she says, sounding disgruntled.
“Is that plan drunken bullshit?” I ask, picking up the book and starting to thumb through it.
“No!” She glowers at me, which looks cuter than she probably wants it to.
I start reading. The last couple of pagesaredrunken bullshit.
Silver beer?
Ooh, star-shaped glasses!
Dottie. Herbs. YES.
Sophie, decoration.
Hannah. I LOVE Hannah. Have I told Hannah how much I love her?
Suppressing a smile, I flip to the beginning.
New Year’s party: Drink us dry.
Midnight: Reveal of first new beer.
January: Weekly parties to launch new beers
I look up at her sharply. She was twisting a few straw wrappers together in an intricate design but now drops them.
“You want a new beer by New Year’s?” I ask. “That’s less than three weeks away.”
And the feeling in my gut…
It’s excitement. I haven’t been challenged for years. What she’s asking for…it would be nearly impossible to do it well, and that’s exactly what makes me want to pull it off.
“I know,” Briar says. “Hannah probably told you, but my father only gave me enough money to last through the end of the year. So we need…” She waves a hand around. “What’s that thing people say?” A finger snap follows. “Butts in seats. And soon. I’m hoping I can hire enough staff to reopen the tasting room next week.
“So Hannah said.”
“We can take longer to hire the bottling people. Sales reps. That kind of thing. But we need to serve Bubba’s beer until it’s gone. On New Year’s, I was thinking we could lower the price on a few of the old beers as midnight gets closer—youknow, start at five dollars a pint, then four, five, three, two, one.”
I smile at her drunken slipup, especially because despite having downed a ton of whiskey, she’s come up with a bold idea. Aninterestingidea.
“And we’ll reveal your first new beer on New Year’s Eve at midnight.” She tries to snap her fingers again but fumbles it. “A free midnight toast.”
