Finding Emma

by K. Ryan

  Finn rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced nervously. “I wouldn’t really call myself a brewer. That’s more my dad and my uncle. I sort of help out with everything else...marketing, accounting, boring stuff like that.”

  Hmm, maybe this was the one time where I should’ve taken Mara up on her offer for a night out.

  “Well, I’ve heard nothing but good things about it,” I told him, even though I’d actually only had a conversation about his family’s business once.

  “That’s good to hear.”

  His eyes fell to his shoes again and I couldn’t believe it, but he seemed more agitated and nervous about this conversation than I did and that was really saying something. From the stiff posture against the wall, the way one hand buried itself deep inside his pocket as the other clenched around his beer bottle in a death-grip, the way any kind of prolonged eye contact seemed painful for him...all dead giveaways.

  I didn’t know how this interaction had completely flipped on its head, where I was the one feeling more in control, where I was the one with the most confidence. But there was something in those eyes, even from the few feet in between us, that I recognized. Something that looked a lot like sadness. There was a hesitancy there that felt familiar—the fear and anxiety wrapped around letting anyone in too close, but needing that human connection just the same.

  I recognized it because I felt it too.

  “Well,” Finn murmured and he pushed off from the wall to pivot back towards his apartment. “I gotta get up kinda early tomorrow. I should let you get back to the rest of your night.”

  “Okay. Thanks for...” I held up my beer bottle with a small smile.

  “You’re welcome,” he grinned from over his shoulder and kept one hand on the wall to turn back towards me one last time. “We should do this again sometime.”

  I bit down hard on my bottom lip to keep my smile from getting too ridiculous. “Yeah. We should. It was fun.”

  He grinned back at me, his shoulders square with the wall now, like indecision wouldn’t let him decide whether to head back to his apartment or closer to my patio. “Yeah, it was. Well, have a good night, neighbor.”

  “You too,” I smiled again as he waved before finally disappearing around his side of the wall.

  I’d hardly gotten a chance to get a hold of my bearings again before Oliver hopped off his chair, trotted over to me in that lazy gait I already knew so well, and jumped up onto my lap with little regard to the computer still perched across my thighs.

  “Jesus,” I muttered and managed to put the beer bottle down and grab hold of my computer at the same time before it crashed to the cement underneath us. “Hold on, okay?”

  Oliver completely ignored me, choosing instead to circle around my lap a few times before settling in, claws and all. He flexed his paws a few times and I winced, making a mental note to wear something sturdier than just yoga pants next time I came out here by him.

  “Were you annoyed you weren’t the center of attention for once?” I cocked a faux-stern eyebrow down at him.

  His little chest bopped. Meh.

  He kept right on purring, too, and I reached down to run my hands down his soft fur. My heart was still humming away in my chest, keeping time with the vibrations buzzing from the cat on my lap, but the motion of moving my hands up and down his fur eased some of the nerves to just a distant drumming.

  The whole encounter with Finn was just weird. And a little fascinating. For once in my life, I’d actually had some fun in the most unexpected of ways, but that was part of what made it so exhilarating, especially since I wasn’t exactly in the market for...whatever that was.

  And it was refreshing to see this guy, who was easily the most ruggedly handsome guy I’d ever seen, who also seemed to have no idea just how ridiculously good-looking he was. Even Derek Zoolander would have to agree.

  Lumbersexual was a thing, wasn’t it?

  With his dark, overly-long hair that he flopped away from his face, the unkempt beard, the rumpled KOL T-shirt he was wearing—that was probably a Kings of Leon reference, right?—he was obviously grooming-challenged, but I sort of liked it that way. He didn’t seem to care what he looked like or what he wore from the few interactions I’d had with him and there was something about that combined with the shy hesitancy he’d used to approach me that had me reaching for my computer again.

  I had my laptop open, balancing treacherously on my knees to make room for Oliver, finger poised on the enter key to Google Matthews Brewing Co., Finn, and everything else in between. And in one brief moment of clarity, whether it was clouded by stupidity or plain old honesty, I just couldn’t pull the trigger.

  The idea of Googling Finn’s name was so hypocritical it wasn’t even funny.

  All he would have to do was type in my full name, something he could easily find at the front of our building, and he’d learn everything he needed to know about me and then some.

  Just the thought of him actually going through with that, of him seeing everything that everyone else had seen, of him knowing all my dirty secrets...it was enough to make my fingers snap my laptop shut, startling the cat on my lap, before I could convince myself otherwise.

  I was a lot of things. A liar? Sure. A coward? Most definitely. But a hypocrite? No, that was one of the few things I felt like I actually still had control over.

  Well, Emma, I could practically hear my mom’s condescending, disappointed voice in my ear, the reality here is that you have no one to blame for your current predicament but yourself.

  It might be true, but ruminating on that particular reality wasn’t going to propel me through the rest of my sorry existence. In fact, it was the very thing that would continue to weigh me down and I was sick of lugging a dead horse around all the time. At some point, I was going to have to start seeing my life here in Milwaukee as a fresh start instead of a by-product of my momentous failure. Sometimes, though, it felt like that day might never come.

  Today, though...today felt like that dream of an actual fresh start, of a new, happy life free of drama and chaos, was right on the horizon of my painful reality.

  And now, as I glanced at the cat on my lap, whose drowsy eyes had already started to close again, I found myself looking forward to tomorrow more than I’d ever had in a very, very long time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Finn

  There was nothing more relaxing than polishing a stainless steel 150-quart brewing kettle. The running joke between anyone in the microbrewery business was that the business is 90 percent cleaning and 10 percent paperwork. That was pretty much my life, but the cleaning part of the job had become a necessity to my sanity.

  The act of physically smoothing my microfiber rag up and down the inside of the kettle had become almost meditative, soothing, easy, and numbing. Just the way I liked it. Now, at the end of my work day, this was the thing that needled everything else away, that allowed me to exorcise some demons in a way that didn’t involve me putting my fist through someone’s face. Next to strumming on my guitar, nothing else really seemed to calm my nerves.

  Everything else I did at the brewery—whether it was balancing the books, meeting with a new buyer, leading customers through the tap room, or helping my Uncle Kurt fix whatever random pipes broke that day—cleaning was the thing I wished I could do all day. So, it really was too bad that, because of everything else I had to do during a given day, I was lucky if I got to spend an hour inside one of the used, empty kettles.

  It was so damn hard to go anywhere in the brewhouse, and especially the office, without being surrounded by people. Here, inside the kettle, the only thing I heard was the muffled hum of the kettles brewing around me. It was a sound I’d grown up with my entire life and it was just as comforting and familiar as the nutty, airy scent of fresh barley.

  “Hey, Finn? You in there?”

  I blew out a deep breath and fought the urge to pound my fist against the steel. So, scratch that about peace and quiet.

  Guess
I can’t hide anywhere in this place without being found.

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “You almost finished up?”

  “Almost got all the deposits scrubbed out, so yeah,” I called back. “What’s up?”

  “Come on outta there when you’re done.”

  Great. This had all the makings of every other pep talk he’d sat me down for over the last three years and I wasn’t really in the mood for another today. At this point, I had the monologue memorized: Finn, you’re turning into me. I don’t want this shit for you, son. I want you to live your life and find some damn happiness. You’re too young to be so old.

  He’d even gone so far to tell me once that if finding happiness took me somewhere outside of Milwaukee, away from the brewery and our family business, then...that would be okay too. I didn't know how he’d managed to choke out the words, but he did it. I guess I had to give him credit for that.

  “So how’s the new apartment?”

  Shit. I shook my head, glancing up the kettle’s opening irritatedly even though I knew he couldn’t see me. He couldn’t even wait for me to climb out of the kettle to start the latest round in this pity party.

  “Ah,” I managed to croak out and hide my annoyance at the same time. “It’s fine. It’s an apartment, you know?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it…” he trailed off like he was trying to sort out his thoughts and part of me just wished he’d get this over with already so I could go back to polishing out my frustrations. “So, Slinger had a lot to say about the girl livin’ next door to you boys now.”

  I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling. Jesus, what were we, 14-year-old girls? I’d managed to go a full six months this time around without any of those three douches—my dad, Uncle Kurt, and Slinger—trying to push me towards some chick. I didn’t need any help; I just wasn’t interested and they just didn’t get that.

  We’d had this conversation already—monogamy, relationships, commitment...that shit was overrated and a pain in the ass. My dad was the perfect example. He’d spent the majority of his life toiling away in this very same brewhouse, determined not to only put food on the table, but to get my mom everything she’d ever wanted: the perfect house with the white-picket fence, the fancy clothes, the expensive vacations, the luxury car.

  The bullshit American dream.

  All that got him was hours and hours of hard, long work inside the brewhouse to make it the success it was today while my mom lived in that perfect house with that white-picket fence with her new husband and my sister, who’d chosen sides and who’d, naturally, chosen to stay with my mom.

  So, the fact that history had inevitably repeated itself hadn’t sat well with him and I could understand that. I was living that. But I also didn’t need him butting into my life, thinking he knew what was best for me, and trying to save me from his own empty existence outside of the brewhouse.

  Monogamy, relationships, and commitment had done nothing but bulldozed right through my life. Falling into that again ass-first wasn’t something I was keen on doing anytime soon.

  So, in regard to my new neighbor, the best course of action was just to say, “She seems alright.”

  Nobody needed to know I’d been thinking about Emma Owens since I woke up this morning and that she’d never drifted far from my thoughts since. I’d looked at the names on the buzzer outside our building just because I couldn’t help myself. People who’d been court-ordered to stay x-amount of feet away did shit like that. At least I’d been smart enough to make sure Slinger was long gone for the night before I went on that little recon mission.

  My dad huffed out a laugh. “Sling seemed to think she’s more than just alright.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s his problem.”

  “Alright. If you say so.”

  At least he seemed to know when to back off.

  On that note, I climbed up the ladder, swung my legs around the side of the kettle to plant both feet down on the metal walkway. Without so much as a glance over my shoulder, I shut the kettle and programmed the system to run through a cleaning cycle to disinfect the steel I’d just left.

  “Got it all?” my dad called out to me and from the corner of my eye, I could see him leaning against the metal railing with eyes fixed squarely on me.

  “As much as I could,” I shrugged.

  “Everything else squared away for the day?”

  I flipped the soiled rag over my shoulder and finally glanced at my dad. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Good,” he lifted a shoulder and then gestured with his head towards the doors leading to the tap room. “Then I think you should take off for the night. And, just so you know, I don’t wanna see your ass back in here until Monday.”

  A bitter laugh pushed its way from my chest and I crossed my arms defiantly. I knew where this was going and I didn’t like it. “Not happening, Dad. Besides, we’re meeting with the guys at Bluestone Lounge next week and I gotta—”

  “We both know you’ve got that pitch all set and you’re gonna nail that meeting just like all the others. I want you to take a few days off,” he told me, holding up both hands in defense before I could pounce. “You’ve been working too hard, putting in too many hours lately, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with slowing down. You look tired, Finn. You should take a break.”

  “Where the hell is this coming from?”

  This was the first time in...I don’t even know how long...that he’d thrown this particular curveball my way. Three years ago, sure. I could see it. But now? I didn’t realize I was such a pathetic asshole that my own father had to kick me out.

  My dad just stared me down, hands on his hips, not budging an inch. “It’s just four days, Finn. Thursday through Sunday. This place isn’t gonna burn down if you’re not here. You can take a few days off. Unwind. Drink some beers. Finish setting up your new place. Whatever you gotta do.”

  I pushed out a rough sigh and clamped down on my bottom lip.

  “And if you show up here tomorrow, I’m just gonna toss you out on your ass. And if you show up Friday, I’m just gonna do the same thing again, too.”

  Now, my eyes lifted up to the ceiling again and I tugged a hand through my hair to push it off my face.

  “I know I’ve said it so many times you’ve probably started tuning me out,” my dad pressed on and I knew what was coming next. “But you’re turnin’ into me, son. You’re married to this job and that’s not a good thing.”

  I winced at the poor word choice and he held up a hand.

  “It’s been three years, Finn. Gotta move on sometime.”

  I huffed and gestured between us, “Pot. Meet kettle. Seriously, Dad, you sound like a broken record.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I’ll shut up when it starts sinking in.”

  This time, I hitched both hands on my hips and cocked an eyebrow at him. “If I agree to this bullshit, will you start shutting up about everything? I know you mean well, Dad, but I’m 29-years-old. I’m not a kid. I don’t need you fighting my battles for me and I definitely don’t need you following me around waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  My dad threw up his hands before landing them right on the metal railing in front of us. “Serves me right for givin’ a shit. If you take a break, if you start slowing down, if you start living a little, yes, I’ll back off.”

  “Sounds great,” I snapped back, pushed off the railing and stalked across the walkway to get my ass out of the brewhouse.

  I’d made the mistake of actually telling the truth before and since I legitimately had no reason to stay here any longer, I actually did have to sulk over to my truck and drive away. At least I had the satisfaction of ignoring both Slinger, who was already behind the bar for the night, and Uncle Kurt, who’d practically chased me down from the brewhouse, on my way out.

  That would show them.

  I fisted my hands around my steering wheel and blew out a frustrated breath. My dad obviously had my best interest in my mind, but that didn’t mean I apprec
iated being all but tossed out of the brewhouse. Now, the real dilemma: what the hell was I going to do with four days off? Yeah, I had a few episodes of The Walking Dead to catch up on and some unpacking I could do, but after that? I’d drive myself insane.

  Restlessness was a feeling I knew too well. I wasn’t the type of guy who could just lay around and sleep all day. I had to do things. Fix things. Clean things. Make things. I don’t know what my dad really expected me to do with this time off, but I would probably end up scaling the walls before I figured it out.

  I trekked through the downtown sector, narrowly sneaking through a yellow light so I could speed out towards the on-ramp I needed. Sometimes all these one-way streets could be lethal if you weren’t paying attention, even for someone like me who’d spent nearly every day of my life out by the myriad of traffic on Water Street.

  The song blaring through my truck’s speakers right now really shouldn’t have surprised me, but I still rolled my eyes at the irony. If there was one Kings of Leon song I could’ve played the first time I saw my next door neighbor, it would’ve been this song, “Temple”. In reality, it pretty much summed up everything I didn’t want to feel, but just couldn’t help. Hands in my pockets, crossing my fingers for something so ridiculous it wasn’t funny.

  So I probably shouldn’t have been all that surprised either when I parked in front of my apartment building, slid out of my truck, and glanced over my shoulder, I found my new neighbor rounding the corner and heading straight towards me.

  From my vantage point, all I could do was watch helplessly and slack-jawed as she stopped short mid-step. Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans with an apron wrapped around her waist, the girl standing just out of my reach was the most arrestingly beautiful woman I’d laid eyes on in a long time.

  When her lips curved up in a barely visible, hesitant smile, my chest stuttered for a few beats and somehow, my hand lifted up to shoot her a quick wave. How long had it been since anything made me feel like this? Loneliness, combined with a severe deprivation of genuine female company, had completely warped my brain, but right now, I couldn’t give a shit.