The One That Got Away (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  He chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t think that’s how it works. Regardless of how much time you spend loitering here, you don’t actually take home a paycheck.”

  He winked at her and stepped through the door.

  Jamie checked his voicemails on the office phone when Brynn stepped in front of him and rubbed her finger over the fading scar on his chin.

  “She does do good work,” she said.

  He closed his eyes for a brief couple of seconds, and Brynn held her breath. Then he jerked his head back, a totally acceptable reflex now since she’d stabbed him in the face with a letter opener.

  “Thanks,” he said, his voice unusually strained.

  “You’re still mad at me,” she said. “It was three months ago, and it was an accident. Plus you got a girlfriend out of the whole deal, so you really should be thanking me. I did you a favor.”

  He laughed. “Can we take a poll tonight to see how many people would like the favor of you impaling them in the face with a sharp object?”

  She threw up her arms, her right hand knocking a shelf above Jamie’s desk where his coffee mug, the one that read Shhh…there’s beer in here, held all his multicolored dry-erase markers. Brynn caught the mug as it toppled from the shelf, but the markers scattered across the desk and the floor.

  Jamie raised his eyebrows, and she groaned. At least she wasn’t gesticulating with anything other than her hands. No danger of drawing blood. And it’s not like she was some bull in a china shop, either. That day in her office, Jamie had sneaked up on her while she was opening bills. When someone pokes you in the ribs and yells, “Boo,” you react. And Brynn reacted much like right now, her arms flailing. Only that time, Jamie’s face got in the way instead of a shelf.

  “First of all, you weren’t impaled,” she said. “It was little more than a scratch.”

  She stepped away from the desk, then stopped short before she erased his calendar with her back. How Jamie worked in such a cramped space was beyond her. He must knock stuff off shelves on a daily basis.

  Brynn sighed. Wild gestures weren’t Jamie’s thing. He was too even-tempered, too controlled for something like that.

  “It required stitches,” he argued.

  She laughed at his use of the plural.

  “Two,” she reminded him. “Two stitches and a girlfriend. You’re welcome.”

  She did feel bad about him having to take a taxi to the ER, but Annie, her friend and owner of Two Stories, had just run to the bank to make a deposit. Brynn couldn’t leave the store unattended. Now she wondered what would have happened if she had gone, if she’d been with Jamie when he met Liz. Would it have been anything more than an ER visit? This line of thinking wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

  She set the mug on his desk and helped him collect the markers.

  “Sorry,” she said. “About almost killing your mug.”

  They alternated dropping markers back into their makeshift container. For as long as they’d been friends, Brynn had only ever been reckless around Jamie, and it was never intentional. He just had a way of pushing her buttons…or scaring the shit out of her. Sometimes there were casualties, but she’d never, before her office incident, drawn blood.

  “What’s this one for?” she asked, holding up a brown marker. “A new brew?”

  Jamie smiled, the kind that was full of pride when he got to talk about his work. She’d always known he was brilliant at math and science. When, in college, he started experimenting with brewing, he quickly changed his major to business while simultaneously enrolling in online brewing classes and apprenticing with a local brewmaster. It was funny. She used to be the one who took all the chances, saw the cup as half full. But her outlook changed after high school, and now she was happy to play it safe—steady job, reliable yet moderate income, and surrounded by people she knew would always be there, like Holly and Annie and Jamie.

  “That,” he said, pointing to the whiteboard calendar behind her, “is for my chocolate stout. We’re going to launch it in the new year.”

  Brynn licked her lips. “I get an early preview, right? Before the general public.”

  Jamie kissed her on the forehead, and she sighed with relief. He wasn’t really still mad about the whole stabbing thing. The warmth that spread through her, that gave her a little tingle, that was the security of having Jamie as a friend. An accidental stabbing was nothing. They’d weathered worse.

  “Of course. How else will I know if it’s ready for the masses?”

  “And when do I get my Blue Moon?”

  Jamie groaned, but she knew it was an act. He’d always promised he’d top her favorite beer, a Belgian-style white ale from a brewer in Colorado. That’s what having Jamie in her life did. It made her a beer aficionado whether she wanted to be one or not. Forget the watered-down crap they’d drank for two bucks a cup in college. Now she could tell the difference between a lager, ale, stout, porter, IPA, you name it, and Brynn’s favorite was a beer Jamie still didn’t brew.

  “I’m not going to do it until I get it right,” he said. “You know too much now. Too sensitive of a palate. If I fuck it up, I could lose you as a customer.”

  She smiled at his appreciation of her beer knowledge. It was going to be a good night. She could feel it. In fact, she was already believing tonight’s glass would be half full.

  “Hey. What’s this?” she asked, pointing to the words “Road Trip” followed by a question mark on the calendar. “You going on a trip without telling me?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just this beer thing in California that’s happening in a couple weeks. I was maybe going to drive cross-country. I don’t know. It could be good for business, but I’m not sure I should take that much time off. I’ll probably skip it.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Jamie. You never take time off. You might actually enjoy relaxing for once.” She bit her lip as she contemplated her next question and then mustered up the breeziest voice she could find. “Would…Liz go with you?”

  Her stomach clenched as soon as she asked the question. But she reassured herself that any friend would be curious about this type of progress in a relationship. Jamie road-tripping with Liz? That would be huge, right? The forced intimacy of being in a confined space with someone for a prolonged period of time—that could make or break a couple.

  He shook his head. “She definitely can’t take off that much time. I don’t think residents actually get any time off, come to think of it. Nah. It’d just be me and my truck.”

  He put his hand on the door knob, and Brynn took a deep breath and smiled.

  “Good,” she said. “I mean, some you time would be good.”

  He nodded.

  “Are we ready to reunite?” he asked, and she knew he was referring to Spencer Matthews. Because yes. She was ready. After a decade of relationship disappointment, she was going to get her kiss—and then some—hopefully, because hello? She was twenty-seven, and it had been a while since then some.

  “Lead the way, Mr. Kingston.” And he did, straight out of his office and up the stairs to the indoor party deck that overlooked the rest of the brewery.

  It was time to find out if things would have been different had the events of that late spring night ten years ago gone differently. If anything, she’d get the chance to answer a newly resurfaced what-if.

  Finally, she thought. Everything changes tonight.

  …

  Jamie couldn’t wait to get upstairs. Parties were never his thing, but he had ultimate home-court advantage here. So if reliving high school got to be too much, he could always pour himself a pint and claim he had work to take care of in the office.

  “Mr. Kingston and Ms. Chandler. I take it you’re here for the Arlington High School reunion?”

  Brynn bounced with excitement, then leaned across the upstairs bar and gave their greeter a kiss on the cheek.

  “Is your sister here yet?” she asked. Jeremy was Annie’s younger brother. He’d worked here as a server during
his last year of grad school, but he just kind of stayed, and Jamie was glad for it. He was more of an assistant manager now, practically running the restaurant side of the brewery, and tonight he was overseeing the reunion.

  “Yeah. She’s back there talking to that asshole she dated senior year. What’s his name?”

  Jamie and Brynn craned their necks to search for Annie on the other side of the room. There she was, talking to Ryan Freeman who was, as Jeremy put it, the asshole Annie dated for an entire year. Of course no one thought he was an asshole until the students took a cruise around Lake Michigan on the Spirit of Chicago for their post-prom activity. That’s where Jamie, Brynn, and Annie found him on the lower deck of the boat making out with a junior whose date had fallen asleep after spending an hour in the bathroom trying—and failing—to keep his dinner down.

  “How does she do it?” Brynn asked.

  “What?” Jamie asked.

  “Stay friends with all her ex-boyfriends, even guys that do stuff like kiss other girls while we’re all trapped together on a boat. Kinda hard to avoid your cheating boyfriend when you have two choices of locale—upper deck or lower deck.”

  Jamie laughed, but there was a bitter edge to the sound. This was what it was going to be like—every little memory, no matter how insignificant, bringing him back. He and Brynn had gone to prom together, as friends. The mono incident had been only a week after that, the best night of his life. And then he’d pushed her away and buried those feelings because at the time he thought the only other alternative was he and Brynn breaking each other’s hearts. He had to remind himself that he was a grown man, and that heartache was a decade behind them. He prided himself on being a level-headed guy who never let his emotions get the best of him, and he wasn’t about to start tonight.

  “Not everyone holds on to ten-year grudges, B.” Then again, he thought, it seemed like Brynn held ten-year crushes, so she’d probably disagree.

  “There’s no statute of limitations on passionate emotion,” she argued, her arms crossed as her brown eyes blazed into his.

  He swallowed and looked away. It was either that or try to read something in her eyes that he knew wasn’t there.

  Jeremy shrugged. “I’m with Brynn. I still passionately think he’s an asshole after ten years.”

  “You’re a good baby brother,” Brynn said, then ruffled Jeremy’s auburn waves. He slapped her hand away, and the two laughed.

  Some things never changed.

  The party had barely started, and Jamie had already had enough. “Just get us our name tags, Denning,” he growled. He was outnumbered, and Brynn was enough of a match one-on-one. Besides, a crowd was heading up the stairs, and Jamie wanted a pint in his hand before he had to do the whole socializing thing. He snuck behind the bar to grab something that wasn’t on the menu for the rest of the guests.

  Brynn caught his eye with a knowing look. “You aren’t,” she said, but the corners of her mouth were already turning up.

  “I am,” he told her. “The only question is whether or not you’re going to join me.” His pulse quickened. Regardless of what happened tonight, at least they’d start it together, something that was just for them.

  Brynn looked from him to Jeremy.

  “I’ll cover for you two,” Jeremy said, so Brynn followed Jamie behind the bar.

  He didn’t even serve hard alcohol here, though he did have the license for it. Hell, the wine was brought in special just for the party. A brew house was meant to serve beer. If patrons came looking for anything other, Jamie was fine if they didn’t come back. But every now and then, an opportunity presented itself that required a little something extra, and tonight was one of those nights.

  They both dropped to a crouch, and Jamie reached a hand to the back of a small shelf, producing a 750 ml bottle of Jack and two shot glasses.

  “Just like high school,” Brynn said, leaning an elbow against the shelf for balance. Jack Daniels was Jamie’s dad’s go-to drink. There was always a bottle in the house, which meant there was always enough for them to sneak a shot on certain occasions.

  “Just like high school,” Jamie echoed, and he let himself remember, for a moment, what it felt like to look at Brynn with possibility. Like they had everything ahead of them and that maybe, someday—just for a moment… Then he let it pass.

  He filled each glass to the line, and they clinked a messy “Cheers,” whiskey dribbling on to the tips of their fingers.

  Jamie cleared his throat and steadied his voice. “I hope you find what you’re looking for tonight, B.”

  All he really wanted was for his friend to be happy, and she hadn’t been, not like she was when she was a kid. The Sleepy Jean he knew since their teen years had lost her spark of hope. Tonight was the first time, probably in years, that he’d seen that fire lit in her again, and he hoped he had something to do with that, even if she’d never admit it.

  “Thank you, James,” she said as her grin widened. “I hope I do, too.”

  They threw back the shots, Jamie unprepared for the severity of heat that burned its way down his esophagus. Come to think of it, the infrequency of their Jack Daniels shots in recent years made it so he never got used to it.

  And then, in her best—meaning world’s worst—German accent, Brynn declared, “Now’s zee time on Sprockets ven ve dance!”

  He laughed, loving the sight of that glint in her eye, even if it meant she was taking the express lane to buzzville. They stood just in time to see Jeremy checking in a group that had come up the stairs. He wasn’t sure who saw who first, but when Brynn grabbed his hand and squeezed, he knew it was the last he’d see of her until it was time to go home. And without warning, something equally strong yet long ignored squeezed inside his chest.

  “Brynn? Brynn Chandler? Is that you?”

  Jamie was wrong. He could handle everything up until now just fine. But hearing that voice and watching Brynn turn toward it—it was like something out of It’s a Wonderful Life. He was about to witness what would have happened had the kiss between him and Brynn never occurred. Tonight events would play out like he assumed Brynn wished they had, and he would have to stand by and let them. He had no claim on her. Jesus, every part of this night was a sense memory taking him back, and the night had barely even begun.

  Shit. Even Jamie had to admit the guy was freakishly good-looking—blond hair, blue eyes, and a goddamn California tan. That would have been enough, but the dude was wearing a suit that only a guy from L.A. could pull off—trim and tailored—even if said guy wasn’t really from there at all. But Spencer had lived in L.A. since he left for college, and there was no doubt that the California sun agreed with him.

  I have blue eyes, Jamie thought, then wanted to throat punch himself for his jealousy.

  He poured another shot. Okay maybe it was two. He kept telling himself that he was a completely different person than he was a decade ago. He owned his own business. He had just met a great girl. But then, that had never really been the problem. He met girls easily enough and had been in his fair share of committed relationships. What didn’t come easily, though, was the whole falling in love part, and he had always assumed it was because he was protecting himself, outsmarting heartbreak by never truly giving his heart to someone else.

  Jamie shook his head and laughed quietly. He just had to make it through tonight, just a few hours surrounded by memories and decade-old feelings. He loved Brynn, but he wasn’t in love with her anymore. Yet as he tried to fast-forward through how the evening would play out between Brynn and Spencer, he found it hard to breathe.

  This is what you wanted, asshole, to just be friends. Well, it’s what seventeen-year-old Jamie needed, to keep her in his life. The only other option was to risk losing her completely, and he wouldn’t have survived that.

  Everything would go back to normal tomorrow. He and Brynn would go back to normal, to their routine, to the friendship whose foundation couldn’t be rocked again. But he couldn’t shake the thought, t
he questions that kept gnawing at the back of his mind: What about twenty-seven-year-old Jamie? What did he need?

  In that moment, Brynn let Jamie’s hand go. It fell to his side as he watched her stride away from him with an ease that punched him in the gut, and right into Spencer Matthews’s arms.

  Chapter Three

  “Brynn Chandler.”

  He said her name like it was a revelation, like it was the answer to a question, and she really wanted to know what the question was.

  “Spencer. Uh, hi.”

  Not the most graceful response, but when he leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek, she decided it was good enough.

  Of course she had been thinking of this moment all day, if not all week. Oh hell, who was she kidding, she’d fantasized about it on and off for ten years. She was convinced so many things in her life would have gone differently if she had made it to that party senior year. For one thing, she would have kissed a beautiful boy, one who had grown into the gorgeous man standing in front of her. Instead she’d kissed Jamie, unexpectedly falling for the boy who put his health at risk—who missed the biggest party of the year—to take care of her. And then he’d broken her heart, not that she’d ever let on that she had fallen so hard, so fast. But, now, in front of her stood the answer. A do-over. If things went well tonight, then maybe what happened between her and Jamie could finally be laid to rest. Brynn let her eyes fall closed while Spencer’s lips brushed her skin, taking herself back ten years. This was how that night should have gone.

  As she felt Spencer pull away, she opened her eyes again to his confident smile.

  “I was hoping you’d be here tonight,” he said, and her head spun, dizzy with possibility—or perhaps the aftereffect of a recent shot of Jack.

  “Here I am,” she said, then gave herself a mental eye roll. She needed another drink, fast, or else conversation would consist of Spencer speaking and Brynn doing no more than rephrasing his words.

  “Here you are.” Then he smiled again as the sound of a throat clearing interrupted the awkward moment, reminding Brynn they weren’t alone. Not yet, at least.