by Tracy Ewens
“Practice and patience are the keys to good medicine” was her first-year professor’s motto. Today, that made more sense than ever.
Boyd had been at work since eight in the morning, save a break to pick Mason up from baseball practice, and now he was back at it again. He was almost done with his part of the to-do list before the Tap House opened. Plugging in the last string of lights that night, he prayed to all things holy that the thing lit up this time. It seemed crazy to him that one strand of lights made a difference, but Patrick assured him everything needed to be perfect. His obsessive brother hadn’t steered the brewery wrong so far, so Boyd kept at it and if nothing turned on, he’d call the electrician to come out one more time. They had a few days left until opening, and as every small business owner would declare, a lot could be done in a few days. Still, he held his breath and hit the switch.
“Yeah. That looks awesome,” Mason said, standing in the center of the restaurant and turning under the small pops of light. Boyd felt that skip in his heart again, the one that told him there would come a day when his son was grown and moving on to the challenges of his own life. The skip that said, “Slow down and drink it all in.” Boyd listened to that advice, even when Mason was younger. He held him a beat more wrapped in a towel after tub time and tried to climb out of his own head when Mason needed to talk about something exciting at school.
Boyd was far from perfect. He didn’t always have patience or the right answer. There were nights he put Mason to bed and questioned whether he had any clue what he was doing. But looking at his son now, growing taller and more confident every day, Boyd realized he must be getting some things right because his son was remarkable already. The thought made his chest swell with pride.
“Not bad, right?”
“This place is sick. Did you see Uncle Cade’s bar? There are chickens everywhere.”
Boyd smiled. “I know, he’s already calling it his office.”
“Badass office.” Mason was still looking around in awe.
“Hey, my office is cool too.”
He shook his head. “You have too many tanks and it smells funny.”
“It rarely smells.”
Mason pursed his lips.
“Half the time, fine, it smells half the time. But, I have copper.”
“Yeah, yeah. I guess those old wooden barrels are cool. I’ll give you second-best office.”
“Because Trick’s is…”
“Boring,” they both said together.
“Did I hear you guys dissing my office?” He high-fived Mason’s hand and pulled him under his arm. “I’m still taller than you, Little Man. And, I’ll have you know we bought a new printer last week. Something like 250 color sheets a minute. It’s impressive.”
Boyd and Mason rolled their eyes. Patrick released his nephew and folded his arms across his chest.
“You got them to work.”
Boyd nodded.
“Great.”
Mason sat at the bar, spinning on one of the stools. Boyd knew he was anxiously waiting for the three vintage arcade games being delivered to the back room.
“We still need napkin holders,” Patrick said, running his hand along one of the high-top tables.
“I thought Cade was putting a stack on each table with a brick on top?”
Patrick seemed confused. “I had not heard that, but I like it. Who’s picking up the bricks?”
“Not me.” Aspen flew in and plonked her laptop down on the bar. “Where’s Cade?” She was typing furiously and didn’t look up.
“Everything all right?” Patrick was somehow brave enough to ask.
“Well, now that’s an interesting question.” She flung her hair out of her face and met Patrick’s eyes. “If you are comfortable opening a tap house with only mugs, without any other glassware, then we’re good. I’ll bet people won’t mind drinking every beer out of a mug. I think Chili’s uses mugs, so that’s cool. Or”—she clapped her hands together as her crazy train pulled into the station—“maybe people won’t mind cupping their hands. Even better, we could pick up some Solo cups. Boyd, are you good with people drinking your beer from a plastic cup?”
Boyd had seen this type kind of emotional explosion from his mom before. There were no right answers, so he sat on the stool next to Mason, who had ceased spinning and was now observing Aspen like she was another species. Field research, Boyd thought.
“What are you talking about?” Patrick said, the brave or stupid soul.
“Where is Cade?” she said again, slower this time, as if they didn’t speak her brand of English.
“He went home. He was here early this morning for the refrigerator delivery. What’s going on? How are we opening a tap house without glasses? Are you talking all glasses except for the few mugs?”
“We,” she emphasized. “We were not in charge of the glasses. Remember several months ago when I found that great place in Santa Barbara and I wanted to order all of the glasses that day?”
They all nodded, even Mason.
“But no, that idea was shot down even after I got the guy to give us a volume discount.” Aspen returned to her laptop and hit enter, hard. “That wasn’t good enough, was it? No, Cade had a little friend, remember? Larson with the ‘glass design’ business, and I use that term loosely. She was supposed to provide an ‘indie vibe’ with her ‘inspired’ take on the traditional beer pints and tulips, remember? Because she had a great ‘sense of aesthetics.’” Aspen was air quoting all over the place.
“I’m assuming she’s not going to get them done. Have you found other glasses?” Patrick asked as if he was completely immune to all the quoting.
“No. I mean, I’m trying, but no one is going to fill a custom order in, what’s left?” She checked her laptop. “Four days? I’ve been trying to see if Larson managed to complete any of the order, but Cade broke up with her or, ‘let her down easy’ as you… males say.” More quoting, and even Patrick seemed a little nervous.
“So after that little plot twist, she’s not returning anyone’s calls. This”—she gestured up and down the bar—“this mess is why we don’t mix business with pleasure.” She put her forehead on the bar.
“Have you asked Sistine?” Mason asked.
Boyd was lost on how the knitting store woman could help, but after a pause, Aspen slowly raised her head.
“Her brother is a glassblower, remember?”
Aspen jumped from her stool and pointed at Mason like he’d won a game show. “You’re right.” She grabbed him and kissed him on the cheek. Taking her laptop, she turned to leave, mumbling to herself and then speaking aloud as if she were holding some kind of private and mobile meeting. Maybe with the voices in her head. “We need at least three hundred, but maybe if we rent some and her brother has some we can mix and—”
“Aspen.”
She turned to Patrick. “I hate it when you do that.”
“Say your name?”
“Silence me when I’m in the middle of my mind. It’s like I’m a new puppy in your laundry room.”
Boyd laughed. They’d known Aspen since they were in junior high. She was the valedictorian of their high school. Educated at Stanford. Why she hung out with them when she could be running some Fortune 500 business was beyond him.
“I don’t have a laundry room,” Patrick said, seemingly trying to assess whether their business manager had really lost her mind. “Do you have this? Do you need anything from me?”
Aspen laughed. “When was the last time I ever needed anything? I’ll let you know in the morning. Maybe you can run by the party store for the Solo cups.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, I realize that. Thanks for the great idea, Mase.” She blew him another kiss.
Mason grabbed it and mimed tucking it into his T-shirt pocket. Boyd wondered if his son truly had issues with girls, because it sure as hell didn’t look like it.
“Wait, where do you do your laundry?” Boyd heard Aspen ask as she and
Patrick both walked toward his office.
“How did you know Sistine’s brother was a glassblower?” Boyd asked when the two of them were alone.
“I ride by her knit shop on my way to baseball practice when we don’t have carpool. The other day I went in because she has this huge weaving-looking thing in her window. I wanted to check it out.”
“That led to her brother, how?”
“She gave me some sparkling water drink and some nuts. We sat and talked for a little while. She’s super cool.”
Boyd’s expression must have hinted he was still waiting for the relevant part.
“We were talking about school and girls. She told me about her brother, who lost his arm in a motorcycle accident.” Mason flinched. “He has this mechanical arm now, and I guess he crushes it with the women.”
Boyd blinked and was still lost.
“She was telling me about him, jeez. He’s different. Like me.” Mason waved his hand in front of Boyd’s face until Boyd caught it.
“Are you surveying all the villagers now?” he asked, trying to keep it light but a little concerned. “Are we asking all females for input now?”
“No, only a few.”
Boyd laughed. “Well, good save with the glasses. Maybe her brother can help.”
“I hope so. Aspen was all nuts. Women get so crazy.”
“So do men.”
“Yeah, but we don’t talk as much.”
Boyd supposed he was right. He wanted to tell him that was because most of the time men had no idea what they were doing, but that was a lesson his little man would figure out on his own. Besides, from the looks of things, Mason had it more together than all the McNaughton men combined, except maybe their dad.
The delivery truck pulled up, and Mason ran to the back room hoping to be the first one on the board for Galaga once it was plugged in. Boyd couldn’t stop thinking about the committee of female resources his son appeared to be putting together. When had all of this happened, and when would this phase end? Boyd hoped with Sistine in the picture now, it meant Mason would move on from Ella Walters. That would make Boyd’s life easier, at least that’s what he told himself.
Chapter Eleven
By Saturday morning, the glasses crisis had somehow been averted. Sistine’s brother agreed to sell Aspen everything he had and she rented the rest. She then promptly ordered the remaining glasses they needed from him, got her discount, and glared at Cade for a full day. When Boyd saw her earlier at the brewery, she was in a much better mood, which was great because the Foghorn Brewery Tap House was officially open following the 36th Annual Butter and Egg Days festivities.
Patrick’s plan called for everyone to man the beer booth for a few hours in the afternoon. It was expected that over 30,000 people would attend B&E Days this year, and he wanted as many of those revelers as they could hold at the new tap house once things dwindled down around four. That meant a long day for all of them.
When Boyd was a kid, he used to think B&E was weird, but people traveled from all over the state for his hometown’s special brand of history. It was now Mason’s turn to roll his eyes and huff his way through unloading the truck and helping set up the booth. Once they were in place and grown men dressed up like sticks of butter or cartons of eggs began circulating, Boyd set Mason free from his duties so he could get something to eat.
Boyd had finished helping Patrick with the last of the signs and was putting on his apron when he spotted Mason making his way back through what appeared to be a giant grocery store dairy section come to life.
“Hey, Dad. There’s Ella,” he said, rejoining the McNaughton clan, now in full force, and biting into a piece of monkey bread he’d no doubt bought from Vienna’s bakery, which had a line down the block.
“Where?” Patrick and Cade glanced in opposite directions like lost tourists.
Boyd handed a sample to a guy he’d talked to earlier while they were setting up. He was interested in next year’s Foghorn beer lineup. After the sample, Boyd would hand him off to Patrick. Boyd could talk beer all day long, but if this guy wanted to know about promotion, he’d be disappointed.
“Over there,” Mason said through another bite.
“The woman in front of Sift with Thad?” Patrick asked.
Boyd stayed busy, but he saw his brothers trade glances and look back toward the street.
“Damn.” Cade was so subtle.
Boyd looked over. Ella was outside of the bakery with Thad handing out what looked like samples. Foghorn Brewery was handing out samples too, but it was beer. Boyd couldn’t believe Vienna managed to get Thad, the town fire chief, to stand outside her sunshine-yellow bakery, let alone with a basket. That must be love, he thought, unable to avert his eyes.
Thad, or Thaddeus Pane as they knew him in high school, was rumored to be the most eligible bachelor among most of the female population of Petaluma. Thanks to Aspen, they all knew he was with Vienna now, and that seemed like life balancing out the good and bad.
When Thad was in high school, he wore his pants too short and spent a lot of time being banged into lockers. He was a classic underdog story. More accurately, a nerd to Iron Man story. Boyd liked underdogs, so he was happy for the Thaddeus he knew back then and the great guy they all knew now. Vienna baked like no one’s business, and she gave so much of her time to the community that the mayor gave her a key to the city last year. If there was such a thing as a perfect match, Boyd supposed Thad and Vienna were it.
Reluctantly, he found himself doing the “glance up and quickly look away” game he should have outgrown after grade school. Ella wasn’t wearing scrubs or a lab coat, which made Boyd’s feigned disinterest more difficult. She was in jeans, a white T-shirt that looked soft, and a short black leather jacket that should have come across as biker, but on her, it read out-of-town beautiful.
Dr. Ella Walters. She even sounded like she was from the big city. She and Thad laughed with Mr. Graham, who owned the hardware store and was giving out egg-shaped measuring tapes. The three of them seemed amused at some story Thad and his biceps were telling. Aspen had it all wrong. Someone like Thad was probably right up Ella’s alley. Kale eating and gym comfortable.
Yeah, not Boyd’s style at all. He wasn’t against getting his heart rate going, but it needed to happen outdoors. Hooking himself up to a machine never sounded fun, but looking down at the tight apron that hugged his middle, he struggled to recall his current fitness regimen because he didn’t have one. Too much work, too much takeout, and too much being a dad. Boyd had let himself get a little soft, which hadn’t bothered him all that much until he found himself staring across B Street at a woman he was positive looked incredible naked.
“Yes,” Cade said, coming up next to him.
“What?” Boyd concentrated on filling the sample cups.
“Yes, your beer gut has grown.”
“Shut the hell up.”
“That’s what you’re looking at, isn’t it?”
“No. I’m wondering how I manage to be the only good-looking one out of the four of us. That’s what I was wondering.”
“Uh-huh. So, the ER doc?”
“What about her? You know for a guy having so much of that calorie-burning sex, you seem awfully interested in my game.”
“So, you’re not looking over there, not looking at her?”
“No reason to look at her.” Boyd bent to get more cups, more napkins. Anything, because his brothers smelled blood again and now that they’d seen Ella, he didn’t have a convincing argument for ignoring her.
“Strange, Trick, that Boyd didn’t tell us his ER doc had legs for miles.”
“Strange indeed. Little man, did you say you and your dad were down at the ER last week?” Patrick asked.
Mason nodded, licking his fingers, clueless to the trap his uncles were luring him into. Ah, the innocence of youth.
“Was your dad talking with Ella?”
“Yeah, they got along great. She’s funny. He winked at her a
nd it was badass.”
“Did he now?” Patrick said.
Pain. In. The. Ass.
“Cade, you have a line”—he pointed—“of potential patrons to help pay for your overpriced bar.” Boyd stood clear of the small gathering of people reading the chalk boards propped near the samples station. His little brother was still focused in Ella’s direction. Hell, Cade was likely her type too.
“I’m taking a break.” Boyd untied the leather apron and set it on top of the stacked crates Patrick had set up for “ambience.” He was beginning to hate that word.
“That’s convenient,” Cade said, handing out a couple samples of Shamo Sunset.
“Isn’t it? Mason, stick around. I’ll be back.”
“Can I go see Ella?”
Boyd peeked over his shoulder in time to see the doctor toss her head in laughter and hand another sample to an older guy with a beak mask around his neck.
Christ! She really was everywhere lately.
If Ella had been in town for two years, why hadn’t he noticed her before? Patrick and Cade both stared at him as if they somehow thought he was going to bound across the festival and pull her into his arms. For a moment of insanity, that didn’t sound like a bad idea, but thankfully his sense returned.
“Okay, but stay where your uncles can see you,” he finally answered Mason.
“Where are you going?” Patrick asked.
“I… have to make some calls and we’re out of—”
Aspen moved between Boyd and Patrick to hand Cade the cashbox. “This is in case anyone wants to buy merchandise or the new T-shirts we had made for the Tap House,” she said before dumping an extra bag of ice in the front display.
Both his brothers crossed their arms, and Cade smirked.
“What’d I miss?” she asked and followed all the eyes on Ella. “I told you she was beautiful. And funny too.”
