Page 74 of Best Kind of Trouble
“I ordered your present,” Hannah says, nudging me with her fingertips. “You’re going to hate it.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Merry Christmas. Say hey to Travis and Ollie for me.”
“Don’t forget to call Dad.”
“I won’t.”
I know Hannah wants to say more. Maybe she’s tempted to issue another warning about her friends being off-limits, but she lets me walk away so I can help Otis, thank God.
Probably because he just spilled an entire pint of beer on a guy who’s almost as big as I am.
I slip behind the bar and take over for him, freeing him to run off to fetch the mop. I don’t look back at Briar until after I’ve poured the first beer, but she’s still staring at me, a worried expression on her face.
When I glance her way again a couple of minutes later, she’s exiting the brewery with Nora, my sister, and Sophie. They gather near the front window, though, probably overseeing the unloading of those kegs. I keep glancing outside, unable to stop myself, hoping for a glimpse of golden hair.
Five minutes later, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it and keep pouring. It buzzes again.
Nope.
A few minutes later, Dottie bustles back into the brewery with a big duffel bag. She rushes up to the bar with the urgency of a doctor treating an emergency room patient.
“You sang to it, didn’t you?” she asks, her voice full of excitement. “The energy in here has shifted. I canfeelit.”
“So we don’t need the crystals?”
“Oh, crystals are always helpful, dear boy.” She pats my hand and then hurries into the back to get them positioned.
The line for free beer eventually peters out, and once everyone’s settled with their drinks, Otis gives a theatrical shudder. “Let’s never do that again.”
Ann pats him on the back. “I say that every time I go to Texas Roadhouse, honey, and I keep going back. I bet you’ll be singing your booty off again by the New Year, and if the good lord smiles on me, I’ll be singing with you. The energy of this place is making me feel young again.”
Otis and I both smile at her.
The elderly managers are, in their way, as much of a draw as the young women serving the beer.
But the real magnet is Briar.
I glance out the front windows again, but she’s long gone.
Dottie hasn’t come back either. I’m guessing the whole brewing area is going to be covered with those crystals, like little grenades waiting to break our feet or tumble down from shelves and hit us on the head.
But I’m just superstitious enough not to try and stop her. I need that beer to be ready in time, even more than I did earlier tonight. I told Briar I don’t care what anyone thinks, and usually that’s true, but I want to prove that I can deliver results.
Otis releases a long sigh. “I’m gonna go smoke a blunt,” he tells me. “Want to come?”
“No, man. I’m heading home in a minute, if y’all are good with handling this.”
“I’ll join you, sweetheart,” Ann tells Otis, and I laugh at the shocked look on his face.
“Miss Ann, I said I was going to?—”
“Oh, I heard you. I had to turn my hearing aid on so I could hear those hooligans. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard them saying you’d promised them free beer.”
She gives me a censuring look that has no place on the face of a woman who works for scratch-off tickets and beer.
“We want to get rid of the tropical IPA,” Ipoint out.
“It’s not so bad,” she says. “I mix it with pineapple juice in the evenings.” She nods at Otis. “Shall we?”
