Without a Brew

by Ellie Alexander

  “He’s making me look bad in front of you. I was going to offer to go get a different beer, but he beat me to it.”

  I wasn’t going to bite. Mac had a way of flipping most situations to make him look like a victim. I had heard variations on this theme for years, especially in terms of brewing. Hans didn’t have much interest in following the family brewing legacy, but he had a natural talent when it came to pulling out flavors and building balanced beers. It drove Mac crazy.

  Despite the fact that he and Hans were vastly different, they had found a way of staying connected as adults. I credited that to Otto and Ursula’s parenting style. They had created a family that, no matter what came between them, always had each other’s backs.

  Or was I wrong? Had I imagined the Krause family as happy, healthy, and supportive because I had projected my own dreams onto them?

  “One light beer for you, brother,” Hans said, handing Mac a pale pint. “All right, should we get right to it? I don’t want to keep you too long, Sloan.”

  “I appreciate that.” I smiled.

  Hans set a stack of papers on the table. “These are the résumés for a new manager for Der Keller. I went ahead and weeded through them. We received over thirty applications. These are my top ten picks.”

  We had agreed that now that the three of us were the majority shareholders in Der Keller and neither Hans nor I had any interest in taking on a management position, our first order of business was to hire a general manager. Mac had offered to take on the role, but Hans and I were in agreement that Mac at the helm, alone, could spell disaster. He had a tendency to spend at will and flirt outrageously. I could already picture a slew of lawsuits from the female members of Der Keller’s staff if Mac was in charge.

  Instead we had decided to make Mac head of brewing operations. He would be responsible for overseeing production and distribution, and would be involved in launching our new line of cans. The general manager would be responsible for staffing issues, managing the creative team and marketing department, and overseeing the front of the house—including the restaurant, pub, bar, and beer garden.

  “Thanks for doing that, Hans.” I opened the file folder and reached for the résumé on the top of the stack. “It must have taken a while.”

  He waved me off. “Nah, it wasn’t that hard. Trust me. There were a number of applications that went straight into the trash.”

  “People who were unqualified?” I asked.

  “People who didn’t bother to answer any of the questions we asked in the job posting. If you can’t answer six basic questions and follow our instructions, I don’t think you’re a candidate for an interview, and certainly not for managing a multimillion-dollar brewery.”

  “Good on you, bro.” Mac clapped Hans on the back.

  I noticed that Hans’s forearm was wrapped in gauze. “What happened?”

  He glanced at his arm. “It’s nothing. I had a run-in with a saw.”

  “Ouch.” I winced. Hans’s wood shop was one of Alex’s favorite spots to spend an afternoon. Hans had taught him how to make everything from birdhouses to chessboards over the years. Their latest project, with Otto, had been making hand-carved canoes.

  “Don’t worry. The saw took the brunt of the damage.” Hans chuckled.

  “You need to be way more careful,” Mac snapped. “You could have sliced off your entire arm. I’ve been telling you that for years now. Your wood shop is a danger zone.”

  “Chill.” Hans held out his hands to try and settle his brother. “I’m a professional. These things happen.”

  “These things better not happen when our son is working with you, am I right, Sloan?”

  I sighed. I had a feeling that Mac’s reaction had more to do with the low level of tension between them, or was because of me. I didn’t want to fan the flames. “I know that Hans is extra cautious when Alex is around.” I handed him the résumé I had been reading and picked up another. It was time to steer the conversation in a new direction. “So far these candidates look impressive.”

  Hans nodded. “I placed them in my preferred order. The top contenders are first in the stack. I thought maybe we could invite our top four or maybe five to interview. You never know how someone is going to come across in person versus paper. We want to make sure we find someone who is going to be a good match with the staff.”

  “Agreed.” We took a while to read through each of the résumés and decide on which candidates we wanted to invite for interviews. Once we had agreed on our top five, the discussion shifted to progress on the canning project.

  “Do you have an update to share, Mac?” Hans asked, giving me a brief look of solidarity. I appreciated that he was taking the initiative to move the conversation along.

  Mac did something I had rarely seen. He produced his own file folder and proceeded to give us copies of nearly twenty pages of spreadsheets that mapped out the cost of transforming Der Keller’s bottling operation to canning, sales projections, and the PR gains we would likely receive by changing to a more earth-friendly delivery method.

  “Wow. This is great.” Hans sounded as dumbfounded as I felt. Mac normally ran into company meetings late, with a coffee or a beer in hand, totally unprepared to field any question he might get asked.

  “Amazing,” I agreed.

  The slightest tint of pink spread across his cheeks. “Thanks. As you can see from the first two pages, the upfront cost to update the bottling system is a pretty penny, but the long-term return on the investment makes it well worth the effort.”

  Mac couldn’t proceed with the project until Hans and I signed off.

  Hans asked a few questions about vendor quotes and whether our current marketing staff could create new label designs or if we would have to outsource creative work.

  “I have a meeting tomorrow with the team to see their first round of design mock-ups,” Mac answered. “I’ll email everything to you guys, and we can go from there.”

  It was hard for me to add anything because I had prepped myself for this meeting to be rife with personal arguments and bitterness. Instead, we sounded like true brewing professionals. It was a refreshing change of pace that made me wonder if maybe I could stick it out. I hadn’t broached the subject of selling my shares with either of them.

  “Anything you want to add, Sloan?” Mac asked, staring at me for a moment too long.

  “No. It sounds good to me. I can make myself available for interviews starting Monday. Really, anytime except weekends and maybe the latter half of the week, since we might start to see an uptick in business with people arriving in the village early for IceFest.”

  “Yeah, I’m with Sloan,” Hans agreed. “If we could schedule interviews for Monday or Tuesday, we might be able to have someone hired before IceFest.”

  “And throw them in with the wolves,” I teased.

  They both laughed.

  Mac made a note on his phone. “Okay. I’ll email you interview times and the label designs for the new cans on Monday. Anything else?”

  There were about a thousand issues that we were going to have to tackle at some point, but for the short term, I was thrilled with the tone of this evening’s meeting and the fact that Mac seemed to be stepping into his new role with a level of responsibility I had never seen.

  “I’m good,” I replied.

  “Me too,” Hans said. “This has been productive, but before we split up, I have something else I want to ask you both about.” His eyes narrowed and his tone turned serious.

  Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

  “Have either of you talked to Mama lately?”

  “I see them basically every day, why, are you worried about them, too?” Mac studied his brother’s face.

  Hans didn’t answer immediately. He turned to me. “Sloan, what about you?” His golden brown eyes pierced me.

  My heart flopped. I prided myself on my ability to keep my face passive. It was a skill set I had developed in foster care. But if anyone could see through
my façade, it was Hans. He had an uncanny ability to read my emotions like no one else. “Not really. I’ve been busy here.”

  I could tell that he wanted to say more, but instead he nodded. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I think something is wrong with her.”

  Mac sat up straight. “Right? I know. Something is up with her, for sure. Any idea of what’s going on with her? Is it her hip? Do you think she could be sick?”

  Hans shook his head. Then he brushed sawdust from his shirt. “I don’t know. I can’t exactly pinpoint what it is, but she hasn’t been acting like herself for a while now. I’ve tried to ask her about it, and she says that she’s fine, that it’s her hip or being worried about Der Keller, but I think there’s more to it. Maybe I’m imagining it, but it’s almost like she’s depressed.”

  I swallowed. Hans wasn’t imagining anything. He was right. Ursula was probably depressed, and I knew the reason she had been down lately—me.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  “I’LL TALK TO HER TOMORROW. I hope she’s not sick. Do you think it could be something serious? You know Mama, she wouldn’t want to worry us.” Mac’s voice was thick with concern.

  Hans shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words because it’s nothing definitive, she’s just not acting like herself.”

  I tried to buy myself a minute to think of an appropriate response, so I took a long drink of my water. “To be honest, I’ve sort of taken a step back from your family.” I felt Mac’s eyes on me. Sally’s warning burned in my ears. I kept my gaze focused on Hans. “Maybe that’s part of it.”

  He nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Could be.”

  “She’s upset with me,” Mac replied. A shade of deep crimson spread from his neck to his forehead. Mac’s pale complexion made him flush after one pint, but I wondered if his cheeks were also reddening due to his guilt. “She won’t say it, but she’s still upset about what I did to Sloan and Alex.”

  I didn’t want to have this conversation here.

  Hans must have sensed that. “Honestly, Mac, I don’t think that’s it.” He gathered the résumés. “I’ll keep an eye on her and report back if I learn anything.”

  I left them to finish their beers. My body felt shaky, like I’d had too much caffeine. The meeting had gone better than expected, but Hans’s mention of Ursula being depressed was a glaring reminder that her involvement in my past, or at least her lack of acknowledgment about who I was, was going to forever alter our relationship.

  “Everything cool?” Garrett asked, his eyes traveling to where Mac and Hans sat.

  “Cool. Yeah, better than I hoped, actually.”

  “That’s good,” Garrett said, but his raised eyebrows made me wonder if he could see through me, too.

  I had been forthcoming with Garrett about my role at Der Keller. He had been a good sounding board, and his newness to Leavenworth meant that he wasn’t entrenched in the past. It was refreshing to have a friend and business partner who didn’t know every single detail of my life—from what items frequented my grocery cart to all the gory tidbits of Mac’s romp with the beer wench. There were ample benefits of small-town life, but the one glaring con was lack of anonymity.

  “You didn’t sign away your shares, did you?” He studied my face.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Even better.” He gave me a fist bump.

  Garrett had cautioned me about giving up my shares in the profitable brewery. Most likely because he knew the amount of work and long hours that went into building a craft beer brand.

  I compartmentalized any thoughts about Ursula and my past and focused my attention on Nitro. The rest of the evening was uneventful.

  “You know, you can take off anytime, Sloan,” Garrett said sometime after eight. “You’ve been here since breakfast, and it’s slow.”

  “Okay. I was contemplating baking a breakfast casserole to bring in for the guests anyway.”

  “Or just go home and get some sleep.” Garrett gave me a concerned stare. “You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends. You’ll end up burning out.”

  “Me? Never.”

  I took his advice and left. In truth, the thought of the empty, rambling farmhouse made me want to call April and put in an offer on the property up the street right now. Being alone outside of town felt especially isolating at the moment. It was something I was going to have to get used to. Not only because of sharing custody of Alex with Mac, but in a couple years, he would be away at college and I would be entirely on my own.

  Instead of heading for my car, I found myself strolling through the village. It was no wonder that so many tourists opted to venture to our version of Bavaria each winter. I stopped to soak in the beauty of the illuminated trees and the shimmery rooflines. White, gold, and yellow lights pulsed from every tree. A trio of musicians serenaded everyone from the balcony of the nearby Hamburg Hostel. Packs of kids bundled in winter gear sledded down the snowy hill next to the gazebo, which looked like something straight from the pages of a German picture postcard, with colorful lights twisted around its cheery wooden columns. This is where I need to be, I thought to myself, as I drove past a handful of tourists strolling along Front Street holding hands and admiring the light display.

  If I have to be on my own again, April is right. I need to be in the middle of activity and feel connected like this, with people around. If I stay in the farmhouse, I’m going to cave in even more. It’s a skill set I’m familiar with. One that I spent years trying to release. I can’t go back to that life again.

  Without even thinking, I found myself steering the car into an open parking space in front of April’s office.

  This is nuts. She’s probably long gone from her office by now, I thought, but it was like someone else was controlling my movements because I turned off the car, got out, and walked up to the porch. There was one light on inside her office.

  I tried the door handle, but it was locked. So I knocked. “April, it’s Sloan. Are you still here by chance?”

  To my surprise, I heard her call, “Ja, be right there!”

  “Well, well, look who we have here. Sloan Krause in the flesh. What can I do for you, my dearest?”

  I almost ran back to the car.

  April placed her hands on her waist, which had been made at least a half inch smaller by the tightly cinched German apron. “Well, are you going to stand out in the snow with your mouth hanging open, or are you going to come inside, and we’ll write up that offer?”

  “But, but…” I sputtered. “I didn’t say anything about writing up an offer.”

  “Sloan.” April rolled her eyes. “This is my business. I can see by the way you’re bouncing your left foot and wringing your hands that you’re nervous. You are rarely nervous—at least not outwardly—which leads me to believe that you’re here for one reason alone. To put in an offer on that fabulous little chalet. I approve. So let’s go get it done.”

  She pointed in the direction of her office, which would be better described as a shrine. A shrine to all things German and to April herself. One wall was plastered with pictures of April posing in a variety of costumes and outfits. The remainder of the space was taken up with posters for every event Leavenworth had hosted in the past decade, from the fall leaf festival to Maifest. There were also awards and ribbons for April’s service to our village, and a huge pair of ceremonial ribbon-cutting scissors.

  “Sit, Sloan. Sit.” April spoke as if she was commanding a puppy. “I know you’re here about the cottage, so let’s hetzen.”

  I had to admit that her deductive skills were impressive. Her German, not so much.

  “What are you thinking you want to offer?” She started typing so fast that her fingers blurred together.

  “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe this is too rash. I should come back in the morning or something.”

  “NO.” April raised her index finger. “Plant your butt in that chair. You want this house. You need this house, Sloan
. It’s not rash. You’ve been thinking about it for more than six weeks now. We’ve toured it three times, and the owner called me this morning. They want to officially put it on the market before IceFest. The house is meant for you. Are you really willing to stand up, walk away, and let it go to some Seattle socialite?”

  Were there Seattle socialites?

  April tapped her long fake nails on her desk. “Shall we?”

  “Okay.” I sat down and exhaled. I did want the house. It was a perfect cottage, with two bedrooms, a chef’s kitchen, living room, dining room, stone fireplace, and wraparound deck on the back that overlooked the miniature golf course and had a peekaboo view of the Wenatchee River. The sooner I could move into the village, the better. The meeting with Mac and Hans tonight was proof that things had already changed. I needed to change with them.

  April suggested putting in an offer just shy of the asking price but explained that since I’d be purchasing the property with cash, it would make closing fast and easy.

  I signed the offer letter and an earnest money check. Instead of feeling nervous or like I was doing something rash, I felt a sense of relief.

  “We should have a response by the end of the day tomorrow, if not sooner,” April said, stacking the papers on her desk. “I’ll email these over tonight. Assuming everything goes as expected, you should have your new keys within a few weeks. Congratulations—or as your in-laws would say—wishing you das Unglück!”

  Did April know that her well wishes actually translated to “disaster or misfortune” in German? I doubted it, but I thanked her and headed for home. Or, my temporary home.

  I wondered how Alex would react to the news. I had taken him along on two of the showings, and he was enthusiastic, at least outwardly. He said he had always wanted to live in town. Plus Mac had been looking at a condo near Blackbird Island. If he bought the condo, Alex could easily walk back and forth between our places. I liked that idea.