Page 39 of Something’s Brewing

Roman sipped. “You’re nervous.”

Garrett exhaled. “I’m . . . monitoring.”

“Uh-huh. Well, while you monitor, Ryker just shooed two barbacks out of your path and told me—direct quote—‘If he checks that tap system one more time, I’m cutting him off.’ ”

Garrett snorted. “He wouldn’t.”

Roman arched a brow. “He would. And he should. Go mingle. You’ve got a full staff, a solid system, and a town full of people rooting for this place to succeed.”

Garrett let his gaze drift across the room. Paige and Ethan laughed with Maverick Monroe. Maggie snapped photos of the chalkboard wall and casual shots of people enjoying themselves. Chloe talked animatedly with Alexis, Zeke, and Owen, Maggie’s husband, all with flights in front of them. The place was warm, humming, and alive.

And across the room, near the back hallway, Madison stood talking to one of the barbacks, her hair tucked behind one ear, one hand resting casually on her hip. She wasn’t doing anything in particular, but somehow, she still pulled his focus like gravity.

Roman followed his gaze. “So,” he said lightly, “how was that little skate-dance number the other night?”

Garrett’s attention snapped back to Roman. “What?”

“You and Madison. On the ice. Looked pretty cozy.”

“How—” Garrett cut himself off. “You weren’t there.”

Roman smirked. “Ran back for one of the girls’ water bottles. Figured I’d grab it and get out quick. But then I saw you two out there. Center ice. Music playing. Looked like a damn prom scene,” he said with a laugh.

Garrett shifted, jaw ticking. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh no?” Roman said, sipping his beer. “Because from my angle, it sure looked like something.”

Garrett didn’t answer right away. Because it had felt like something. Something he didn’t have words for.

“I didn’t plan it,” he muttered.

Roman slapped him on the back. “You think moments like that can be planned?”

Garrett glanced at Madison just as she laughed at something—head tilted, eyes bright, completely at ease in this space.

He cleared his throat. “You tell anyone?”

Roman held up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Exactly.”

Garrett shook his head, turning toward the bar to find something to do. Something to keep his hands busy.

Roman let him go but called after him, casual as ever, “For what it’s worth? It’s not a bad look on you.”

Garrett didn’t respond. He kept walking, heart knocking a little harder in his chest than he cared to admit.

The lake was still, but not silent. Crickets chirped in steady rhythm, and the occasional soft splash of water lapped at the shore.

Madison sat in her Adirondack chair, a blanket draped across her lap, eyes closed as the night cooled around her. The July humidity was finally breaking. The buzz of the soft opening had worn off hours ago, but her mind hadn’t quite shut down. She’d changed into yoga pants and a lightweight long-sleeved tee, tossed her hair up, poured herself a glass of water, and padded barefoot out onto the cement patio.

And now she sat there, trying not to replay every moment of the evening like a mission debrief.

A door creaked to her left. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t need to.

The distinct sound of Garrett’s sigh gave him away.