Brew: A Love Story

by Tracy Ewens

  She didn’t laugh.

  Clearing his throat, he realized this might be more difficult than he thought. “I dropped him off this morning.”

  “Where were you going?”

  “Coming back from Clearlake. They have a new harvest of Chinook and I met Mo halfway. Today’s brew day and I wanted wet hops.”

  “You honestly have no idea that you’re speaking a language no one understands, do you?”

  “Sorry. I guess I don’t.” He stumbled over his words trying to explain. “I mean what part of that doesn’t make sense? I use hops for beer. Usually they’re dried, but Mo, the guy who grows most of our hops, lives in Clearlake. He has a fresh harvest. That means wet hops instead of dried hops, which is special. I want some for a recipe I’m trying out today.”

  “Got it. Thank you. Well, you better get back and start cooking up the hops.”

  Boyd turned in the opposite direction from home.

  “Where are you going?”

  “There’s this place that makes loaded hot dogs in Tomales and since you’re already angry, I thought we’d have one.”

  “I am”—she held up her hands and stretched her legs long, somehow making the shorts tinier—“literally covered in dust, dirt, and blood, and you thought now would be the perfect time for a date? You know, it’s a mystery you’re single.”

  He tossed her some wipes from the console of his truck that he used to use for Mason’s messes when he was little. He still kept them in the truck because he wasn’t ready to admit Mason was too old for messes, at least the ones that could be cleaned up with a disposable wipe. “Use these. You don’t look that bad, and this isn’t our first date. We need to talk.”

  She opened the package and gently started cleaning her knees. Boyd remembered the first time she touched him to clean and repair his hand. That seemed like a lifetime ago now. She was much nicer then, probably because she wasn’t expecting much from him at the time. Since looking at her knees somehow made his mind wander to other forms of touching, and not in a clinical way, Boyd kept his eyes on the road.

  Oh, how he longed for that simpler day in the emergency room when all he had to worry about was bleeding to death.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time they pulled onto the gravel parking lot at Big Dogs, Ella had managed to get most of the blood and dirt off her knees. She was still a wreck, but a cleaner one thanks to the baby wipes. Boyd turned off the truck.

  “You still carry baby wipes?”

  “Habit.”

  Ella smelled them one more time and handed the package back to him. She wasn’t sure what that was about. Did she like the smell of babies or simply the thought of a younger Mason with dirt or chocolate on his hands? Before she allowed more analysis than was necessary, she redirected her attention to being annoyed that now, of all times, Boyd decided he needed to talk.

  The night after they’d kissed, which could go down as one of her most romantic memories ever, Ella had imagined things. Since none of those things came to fruition and she’d moved on, mostly, she could admit there had been a cafe table, a long walk by the river, and a new black date dress similar, but much longer than the one Bri had decided on. The kiss and the expression on his face that followed had even rendered her stupid enough to wonder what his house was like, even imagine a shared newspaper the next morning. One by one over the past week, she’d popped those silly “this could happen now” bubbles. Never had she imagined being skinned up on the side of the road and having hot dogs with Boyd. There was no way a logical mind could conjure that up. Real life had a way of turning everything around. Whatever she’d thought would happen next didn’t and now here they were sitting silently in the cab of his truck.

  “I didn’t know you rode bikes,” Boyd said, clearing his throat.

  “I told Mason that first day at the hospital that I had a bike.”

  “Having a bike and what you’ve got going on here are two completely different things.” His hands gestured up and down her body, and Ella had to remind herself that he had kissed her and not called her since. She had to remember the unpurchased date dress, the popped bubbles. If she didn’t keep the obvious brush-off fresh in her mind and the wasted anxiety that followed, she was going to climb into his lap right there in broad daylight and kiss the crap out of him all over again.

  What was it about trucks? She had no idea because she could count on one hand how many times she’d been in a truck.

  It was an all-encompassing vehicle. This simple truck took on every part of the man sitting next to her. It was warm and smelled like plants and whatever the oil was he used on his beard. Vienna clued her in that that’s what kept his beard so soft. He smelled delicious all the time. Like a great forest or some camping trip Ella had never been on. The last time she went camping, she was at Exeter and they did a survival weekend. The staff came out to their campsite and made dinner. Ella guessed that was not legitimate camping. Boyd was legit and so was his truck, right down to the baby wipes.

  He didn’t call, she reminded herself again.

  “Well, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me. It’s not like we’re friends.”

  “Like what?” Of course, he skipped the dig and went right for the information. Ella understood where Mason got his investigative skills.

  “Like… I learned to crochet last year.”

  “With Vienna?”

  “And Bri and Aspen too. Weird how you and I run in similar circles but are only recently… acquainted, right?” She needed to get out of his truck before she blathered on about feelings she’d vowed never to entertain again.

  “What else?” Boyd asked.

  The man was impossible. Was this a conversation or an interview?

  “I have… always wanted to have a brew master kiss me and then blow me off like nothing happened. Oh, wait…”

  Without looking at her, Boyd got out of the truck and walked around, but Ella had opened her door before he got to her. They went into Big Dogs in silence and ordered. When they were seated with their laminated number, he finally met her eyes.

  “I wanted to kiss you. I’d like to do other things with you.”

  Oh wow, a man of few words, but they were good words.

  “But?”

  “But I don’t know how to do this. I’ve lived my life with one purpose for a long time and—”

  “Number forty-four,” a woman with dyed red hair and a brown uniform that looked like a mash-up of a fifties diner and a UPS driver said, placing a tray between them and taking the number without another word. Boyd placed Ella’s hot dog in front of her, took his, and put the tray behind them.

  “And?” Ella said after taking a sip of her Coke.

  “I guess that’s it. I’ve spent thirteen years raising a son. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about having a relationship before and if I did for a second or more it was, without a doubt, squashed by diapers or not wanting to screw him up.”

  “It was a kiss, Boyd.”

  He bit into his hot dog; Ella did the same.

  “That was not just a kiss and you’re not some hookup. I knew that. I felt it the first or second time I saw you.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Knew that I’d go up in flames if I kissed you and sure enough, I went ahead and did it anyway.”

  “And that was a bad idea. The flames being a metaphor, of course.”

  “It wasn’t a bad idea. A complicated one, no doubt. The flames are not the point.”

  Oh, but they were, Ella thought. Men did not blurt out that they went up in flames after kissing a woman, at least not any of the ones Ella knew. Of course, she’d never met a man who was raising a son. She had never known a man with baby wipes.

  “So, now I don’t know the next step.” Boyd continued. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding you until I figured something out.” He took another bite and washed it down with his Coke. Christ, the man was even a sexy eater. Ella guessed it was again because he was unstudied.
>
  She wondered if having a child did that to a person. It certainly hadn’t made her parents any more genuine, nor had it her sister, but her parents didn’t raise two daughters. They weren’t up in the middle of the night with a teething baby or helping a young person navigate his first crush. They delegated those responsibilities to a team of nannies and boarding schools.

  Boyd was sleeves-rolled-up raising his son, and what grabbed her around the heart and squeezed was that there didn’t appear to be an ounce of burden. He seemed perfectly content being a dad and was now struggling to tell Ella he didn’t have room for more than a kiss. Something in her wanted to slowly back away and leave him exactly where he was, but the other part wanted to love him with an intensity she’d never felt in her life.

  “Well, we are eating hot dogs while your hops dry up in the back of your truck. That’s a start. Kind of a next move,” she said. “Technically you rescued me from the side of the road. Points there.”

  Boyd smiled. He needed to stop doing that if he wasn’t going to kiss her again.

  “Thad said that would help.”

  “Did he?”

  Boyd nodded, and she could tell she’d taken some of the weight off their conversation. There was satisfaction in that, in getting out of her own way and being concerned, connecting with someone else.

  “Thirteen years. Wow, that’s a long time to go without sex, Boyd. Was that right? You said you haven’t had a relationship since Mase was born? Long time.” She grinned because he nearly choked on the last bite of his hot dog.

  “I didn’t say anything about sex.”

  “Yeah, men never do, do they?” She cleared their trash.

  Moments later, Boyd held open the door of his truck, helped her in, and just like that they were heading home. Would spending time with him always float right to the edge of something real?

  At least she was joking and appeared to be having a good time. Boyd was reminded of his first junior high dance. He’d gone with Sophia Blanch. His dad had dropped them off. “Show her a fun time,” he’d said. Boyd had no real memories of the dance, or whether Sophia had fun, but he remembered the advice. God, he hadn’t thought about being a kid, the one on the receiving end of advice instead of the one straining to come up with it, in a while. He let out a slow breath and thought of Mason’s advice. It was funny how roles switched throughout a life. One minute he was explaining the fine art of fly fishing knots to his wide-eyed son and the next he was recalling dating advice from the teenage version. Boyd certainly wasn’t going to go through with Mason’s plan, but damned if he didn’t feel like a novice.

  “How are your knees?” he asked after they’d been back on the road for a while.

  She touched the sides of her legs. “I’ll survive. My poor bike on the other hand…” Ella glanced over her shoulder at the mangled mess.

  “Did you go down hard?”

  “Kind of. It’s a race bike, which you’d think would be strong, but it’s surprisingly light. It doesn’t handle being thrown into the shoulder well. I don’t either,” she said, and Boyd wondered if she caught the metaphor there too. Of course she did. He hadn’t been out of the game that long. Women were Yoda when it came to things meaning something else. Ella glanced out the window.

  “Why did you move to Petaluma?” he asked.

  Her gaze returned to him and he thought she might not answer.

  “I wanted something different from what I had.”

  “Makes sense.” Boyd turned left. “Did you lose a patient or become addicted to narcotics you were supposed to be giving to your patients?” He felt confident it wasn’t either of those, although she had to have lost patients in her career. Didn’t that happen to all doctors eventually?

  She laughed and the sound sang right across the dash and enclosed him. She was stunning and had no idea, or maybe she did and it got in the way of her work. He guessed that was a problem for a lot of women in general but especially women who fell into some stereotype. Guys had labels too, but it seemed trickier to be a woman.

  “Watch a lot of Grey’s Anatomy, do you?”

  Boyd kept his eyes on the road. Beautiful and funny. He was in so much trouble.

  “Reruns of ER. I used to watch them when Claire and I… I mean when I was up feeding Mason every three hours. He was like clockwork.”

  Boyd knew the next question.

  “Is that Mason’s mom, Claire?”

  He nodded.

  “Huh. And they’re not close? Did something happen or…”

  “She’s in Chicago.”

  He prepared for a million more questions to follow and knew he’d have to drag out the same old story that seemed to define him. Instead, she sat quietly as if she sensed that was all he wanted to share.

  “Are you going to the Art Walk?” she asked.

  “I… wasn’t planning on it, but is that something you’re interested in?” They entered downtown and turned at the street Ella indicated.

  Boyd tried to remind himself it was brew day. He had wet hops and he still didn’t have a next step, but maybe there was no plan, no recipe. Maybe this was how it was going to be. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet. He knew that for certain.

  “I would like to go. Do you think Mason will want to come?”

  “If you’re going. Are you kidding? Of course.”

  Ella smiled. “He’s so great.”

  “Agreed.”

  “My house is there on the corner.”

  Boyd pulled over and was surprised. He had not imagined her house yet, but he wouldn’t have guessed it would be a redone historic. Navy blue and white, a phenomenal porch with potted plants along the edges. He would have thought she’d live in something more modern. That made no sense, but it struck him how little he knew about Ella. Did she want to share more and he’d not asked the right questions?

  It was odd how sitting out in front of her house could feel intimate. Once again, he felt like a sweaty-palmed kid. Christ, maybe he was the girl among his brothers after all. Stumped for something to say, he went with a modified version of Mason’s plan.

  “Cade got some new wine in at the Tap House.”

  “Sorry?” Ella said, her hand on the truck door handle.

  “You like wine. Maybe we could stop by the Tap House after the Art Walk. Art and wine. Both things you like, I’d imagine.”

  “I do.” She appeared to hesitate. “But, I also like your beer.”

  “Yeah, okay good. So, the plan is I’ll pick you up on Saturday at noon. We’ll spend some time at the Art Walk and have an early dinner at the Tap House. Are you off on Saturday?”

  What the hell was coming out of his mouth? He sounded like he was confirming a reservation. Thank you, Dr. Walters. Enjoy your trip. Mason in his head was a bad idea.

  Ella nodded, presumably that she wasn’t working on Saturday. Then she climbed out of his truck. He walked around to her side and she was pressed up against the door and laughing. Not an amused giggle, this was hand-on-stomach laughing.

  “Sorry. I’m sorry.” She held up her hand and seemed to pull it together. “Yes, that sounds like two things I would enjoy and a well-thought-out plan.”

  Ella was still smiling like someone with a secret, and Boyd knew his thirteen-year-old dating coach had been exposed. Was there a maximum amount of awkwardness a man could endure?

  He stopped her before she could get her bike.

  “Let me hang on to that. I know a guy.”

  “You don’t have to. It was my stupid mistake.”

  “No, it was some asshole’s mistake. I’ll call in a favor.”

  Her eyes softened. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Can I kiss you, Boyd?”

  He nodded, surprised by the question but happy to be moving on to something he knew he wasn’t going to screw up. Ella pulled him down by the front of his shirt to the heat of her lips. She kissed him gently, teased him with her tongue, and left him wanting so much more.


  Her eyes opened, still glinting with laughter.

  “What?”

  “How can a man like you, a man who looks like you.” She touched his beard, kissed his neck. “Someone who is so good at loving his family and making a life possibly need dating advice from me?”

  And there it was, he was busted.

  “I have it on good authority that you’re the expert when it comes to winning over women.”

  “Is that so?” She ran her hands over the front of his shirt as if that would somehow help him let her go—it had the opposite effect.

  Boyd nodded. “I meant to call. I should have called, but the truth is it’s difficult making sense when I’m around you, Ella.”

  “I’m familiar with that feeling,” she said. “I’m looking forward to our date, Boyd.”

  He turned and popped open his glove box. Might as well go all in if he’d reached the embarrassment threshold already.

  “Step one,” he said, handing her an envelope.

  Ella took the envelope and held it to her chest. Her eyes went a little glossy and Boyd hoped that was a good sign. Hoped she didn’t have some weirdo in her past who wrote her a note or some jerk who broke her heart with a poem.

  She opened the envelope, read the four lines he’d written, and pulled him back into her. The crush of her mouth was still new. Holy hell, would kissing her ever get old? She shifted and wove her hands into his hair, giving him the answer. He was already drunk on the feel of her, the taste of her mouth. And right then he knew. Knew like he knew whether to use wheat or barley, that nothing would ever be the same again.

  “I am good at this female dating advice stuff,” Ella said after she eased away and walked up the three steps in front of her home.

  “Mason’s a smart kid.”

  She turned outside her front door. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “Everything. Rescuing me and my bike, the hot dog, the kiss, and the note.” She held it to her chest again. “Connection, Boyd. It turns out you are a master at connection.”

  Their eyes held for a moment. Standing in place for a few beats, uncertain he could move, Boyd had never been so glad he agreed to meet Mo for wet hops in his entire life.