Page 41 of Must Love Lavender and Little Lies
CHAPTER 14
GRANIK
The ale-tasting tent was brimming with people, everyone there to try out all the brewers’ new flavors. The brewmasters, proud to show off their Greening brews, called out happily to all passersby. A band played in the corner, the sound of flutes and fiddles filling the tent. Everywhere I looked, people were smiling and laughing.
As we passed through the tent, many people stopped to congratulate me, slapping me cheerfully on the shoulder.
“Granik,” Narrow, the half-giant brewer, called when he saw me, his rumbling voice rolling across the room.
“Come, brothers,” I said, leading them to Narrow’s display.
“Ah, here is the reformed bachelor,” Narrow said, grinning at me. “And where did you leave that too-good-for-you herbalist?”
“She’s in the clutches of my mother. No hope for her now,” I said with a laugh, then turned. “Narrow, this is my father and my brothers,” I said, introducing them.
“Merry met,” Narrow replied. “Now, enough talk. Let’s have a pour. Samples for all,” he said, setting out trays of sampling mugs. “I’ll join you,” he said, pouring himself a horn of ale and settling in with us at a nearby table.
Narrow’s ales came in a parade of unlikely names. There was a pale golden brew called Fairy Dust that tasted of honey and something floral, a dark stout called Moonbandit’s Potion that was thick as molasses, and a surprisingly light amber he called Lavender Sky.
“That one,” my brother Durrik said, pointing at the Lavender Sky, “tastes like your farm smells.”
“Now, that’s high praise,” Narrow said, refilling Durrik’s horn. “I used Granik’s lavender in the brewing.”
“I hope that’s not a complaint,” I warned Durrik. “Unless you intended to offend both of us at once.”
“It is not a complaint,” Durrik said.
“You wrinkled your nose.”
“I wrinkle my nose at everything. It’s just…what my face does.”
My father had been quiet through the brotherly back and forth. He turned his sampling mug in his large hands, studying it.
“Da? You’re lost in thought,” I told him.
“No, no. Just thinking. Juniper is good for you,” he said simply.
The table quieted.
“Da—” I began.
“I’m not opening a debate,” he said, his tone easy and unhurried. “Just saying what I see.” He took a slow drink. “You know, your mother and I grew up three farms apart,” my da continued. “I knew her my whole life. I knew her when she was just Annya from down the road,” he said, his gaze soft and full of memory. “And then one summer, I looked up, and there she was. The same girl. And somehow, not the same at all. And I thought, well, that’s the one.”
“Just like that?” Narrow asked.
“Just like that. Terrified me half to death.”
My brothers laughed. The sound of it was warm and familiar.
“What did you do?” I asked, before I could think better of it.
My father looked at me steadily. “I tried to convince myself it wasn’t true for a while,” he said. “And then I stopped being a fool, and I asked her to marry me.”
Narrow drained his horn and set it down with a satisfied sound. “Juniperisa fine woman. I remember the first time she stopped at the pub. She and her mother had lunch, then she came by later with a tonic because she noticed I had a cough. She didn’t have to do that. That’s just Juniper.”
“Very fine girl,” my da said. “You’re very lucky, Granik.”
“That he is,” Narrow replied with a grin. “Because if he never grew enough sense to date her, I was definitely planning to ask.”
