Page 47 of Something’s Brewing

Garrett straightened, giving the group a final once-over. “We’ve had a strong start, but let’s not coast. Keep the standards up. Stay sharp. I want this place to feel just as welcoming three months from now as it did on day one.”

“Amen to that,” Ryker said, raising his coffee mug.

Garrett glanced at the clock. “Doors open in twenty. Let’s get ready.”

The group dispersed with quiet energy, voices murmuring about keg rotations and register refills. Madison lingered a moment longer, organizing her notes, aware of Garrett watching her from the corner of his eye.

“You’re good at this,” he said quietly, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

She met his gaze with a small smile. “So are you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Garrett slid a keg into place under the branded Northern Lights banner, already sweating through his T-shirt. The festival grounds buzzed with clinking glassware, pop-up tents, the chatter of the participants, and the heady scents of yeast, hops, and grilled brats.

He’d spent more time than he cared to admit watching for Madison to arrive instead of getting his booth ready. Too much was riding on the success of this second location. He and Mason might own one of the most successful breweries in Minneapolis, but here in the north, they were relatively unknown and needed to prove themselves. Thirty minutes later, he was ready.

He scanned the area again, searching for Madison. She should be here by now.

And then there she was, along with Chloe, Lily Chen, Paige Turner-Reynolds, and Maggie Reynolds-Jacobs. They waved as they strolled by his booth, all smiles. Garrett almost swallowed his tongue at the outfits they wore: cutoff denim shorts and white tank tops under red-and-white plaid shirts, with their hair tied back in single ponytails.

They pulled utility wagons full of merchandise and started readying Madison’s booth, just two spaces down from his. Nick and Ethan followed with Nick’s pickup and helped them unload the cider.

Adam Krinke from Frosted Plains Brewing leaned close to him. “Finally adding cider to your menu? I never thought the day would come.”

“Not yet. Mason’s sister”—Garrett nodded toward Madison—“came up with a cider on her own. If she wins the cider competition, we’ll add it, if not, we won’t.” He shrugged.

Adam smirked at him with a knowing grin. “Mason’s sister, huh? She’s a knockout.”

Garrett didn’t respond. His gut-level response was to claim her as his—how very caveman of him.

“So, you and Madison?” Adam asked.

After their kiss, Garrett had thought maybe they could make something work, but he was cautious, and they hadn’t talked about what had happened or if it was something casual. He clenched his jaw. “She’s been a great help.”

Adam chuckled and joined the others gathered by Madison’s booth.

Her booth looked . . . good. Dang good. A rustic-chic display of barrels, galvanized tubs packed with ice, chalkboard signs with sassy quotes, and wildflowers in tin vases. Eye-catching without being overdone.

Madison and the other women went to work: Paige, Chloe, Maggie, and Lily sauntered through the crowd with trays of mini tasting cups like they’d just stepped out of a country music video.

Garrett cursed under his breath. Madison was playing to win.

He watched her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she adjusted one of the signs: “Try Our Stubborn Ass Cider—Bold Flavor, No Apologies.”

He couldn’t help it. He walked over.

Madison was bent slightly at the waist, straightening a basket of sample cups, her denim shorts clinging to her in a way that was both unfair and distracting.

He cleared his throat.

She looked up and smiled like she’d absolutely planned for him to be right there.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, all sweet honey.

Garrett picked up a can from the display and read the label.

Stubborn Ass. The painted cartoon donkey on the side of the can looked halfway between adorable and fed up. Cute. He turned the can over. The fine print read Made with tenacity, spite, and apples from just outside of town.