Hard Wood (Hard n' Dirty Book 3)

by Tara Crescent

  I’m not listening. Cat’s in my arms, warm and soft, and I’m crazy about her. Right now, the only thing I need to do is kiss my little spitfire. And maybe make love to her on the brewery floor. After all, we haven’t done that in a while, and once the brewpub opens, finding a time when no one is around is going to be a challenge.

  “How did you manage it?” She snuggles into me, her hand in mine.

  “Everyone in Madison knows everyone else,” I reply with a grin. “I called in some favors.”

  “Don’t be vague,” she scolds. “Tell me everything.”

  I kiss her nose. She’s adorable when she’s cranky. “Zach knows Jeffrey Shun. I called him, told him I was crazy about you, and asked him to help. Then I phoned my mom and told her the same thing, and she promised to talk to Tim Pollard. Manuel plays poker with Mina Ahuja, another councilor. And finally, Dakota talked to Sally McGee.”

  Her body has stiffened in my arms. “You did what?”

  “I told everyone and anyone that I was crazy about you, Cat,” I repeat. “In an ideal world, I’d have preferred to tell you first.” I kiss the back of her hand. “Catherine Milnick, I’m head-over-heels in love with you. I’m in love with your passion, with your energy.” I think about the list I made today. “I might even be in love with your insane obsession with to-do lists.” I stare into her eyes and put my heart on the line. “I don’t have any practice being in a relationship, but I promise, nobody will try harder than me to make you happy every single day.”

  Her eyes are shining. “I thought you wanted to keep things casual.”

  I snort. “Casual went out of the window about five minutes after I kissed you for the first time. Don’t leave me hanging, kit cat. This is when you chime in and tell me how much you care about me.”

  “So cocky,” she says teasingly, and then she stands on tiptoe and kisses me. “But you back it up better than anyone I’ve ever met.” She pulls back and looks into my eyes. “I love you too, Dom.”

  I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Vicki said she was going to be gone an hour.”

  She gives me a devilishly wicked smile. “We can’t really fool around here once we open,” she says. “I’m sure that’s a health code violation. We should probably get one last round in before it’s too late.”

  I’m already tugging her t-shirt over her head. “A woman after my own heart. Call Vicki and tell her to take the rest of the afternoon off, spitfire. We’re going to need it.”

  Epilogue

  Cat

  Opening Day

  The kitchen looks like a war zone. We bought some homemade barbecue sauce from a farmer’s market, and the guy who made it clearly did something wrong. Bottles are exploding everywhere. The kitchen floor is covered with barbecue sauce and shards of broken glass. It looks like the set of a particularly gory horror movie.

  Keisha and Vicki survey the mess, and Vicki starts laughing helplessly. “Never a dull moment,” she says, grabbing a mop and a dustpan. “Cat, stop hyperventilating. We’ll be fine. Can you call Dakota and ask her if she has any barbecue sauce? Otherwise, I’ll run to the store as soon I clean up.”

  We’ll be fine, she says. Gotta love Vicki’s confidence.

  I back away from the carnage. Adam, our new bartender, is running a damp cloth over the bar. When he sees me, he flashes me a thumbs-up. “I’m good to go,” he says cheerfully. “By the way, I Just tried the new weisse. I love it.”

  I give him a harried grin. “Thanks, Adam.” Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dial Dakota’s number. Thank heavens we’re on good terms with the restaurant next door. “Hey, Dakota,” I say when she answers. “Do you guys have any barbecue sauce we can borrow? We had a fermentation accident here. The place looks like a crime scene.”

  “Of course. I’ll send someone over. I’d come over myself, but we accidentally over-salted our tomato sauce, and now we’re scrambling to fix it.”

  Running a restaurant seems to involve balancing on the knife-edge of chaos. I’ll stick to beer. It’s a lot more predictable.

  It’s been a long road, one filled with speed bumps. The most recent scare was a series of forest fires. In May. The weather pattern was unprecedented—late summer wildfires are common, but it’s usually too wet in May for fires to take hold—and nobody was prepared. Bainbridge had been on high alert. Marmet had been evacuated, as had Barrel Beach. The flames had come scarily close to Madison.

  Crews of firefighters had driven in from all over North America to help. Dom and I had driven past a group of them wearing FDNY jackets on our way to Marmet to help Manuel empty his lumberyard and protect what he could in case wildfires swept through his town. “Check it out,” I’d said, pointing to one of them. “That’s a woman. She’s tiny, and she’s carrying as much stuff as the two-hundred-pound guy next to her.”

  Dom had taken his eyes off the road for a second. “Let me guess,” he’d teased. “You think you’ve put on weight, and you think you need to work out more.”

  “It’s the donuts for breakfast. You know I can’t resist them.”

  He’d laughed. “You look amazing, spitfire, and you know it.”

  Thankfully for Madison, a storm system had moved in. It rained for three days straight, and when it was done, most of the fires had been put out. The hyper-efficient fire crews took care of the rest. Everyone in Madison had heaved a sigh of relief—forest fires wreak havoc on tourism—and gotten back to work.

  Which brings us to today. Opening day is finally here.

  “Penny for your thoughts, kitty cat.”

  “Dom,” I exclaim with pleasure. “I didn’t expect you until noon.”

  He holds up a jar. “Dakota said you needed barbecue sauce.”

  “Thank you.” I smile at my boyfriend. Boyfriend. Even saying that word sends a thrill of delight through me. Dominic Wilde is my boyfriend. I want to scribble his name on the back of my books and put little hearts all around it. I refrain—I’m not a teenager—but every single day, I pinch myself a little. I’m so lucky.

  The two of us walk to the front. I stick my head through the kitchen door and whistle in admiration. It’s sparkling clean again. “Vicki cleaned.”

  Keisha looks up from the pile of potatoes she’s methodically cutting into slices. On the other side of the counter, Jamie is pulverizing some cabbage. “Coleslaw,” he explains, feeling my gaze on him.

  “Ah.” I set the bottle of barbecue sauce down and get out of their hair. As I make my way to the bar, where Dom is chatting with Adam, I catch a glimpse of the front windows. There’s a line of people outside. “No wonder Dakota sounded so stressed about her sauce,” I remark, sitting down next to Dom. “I heard that people line up outside her place in tourist season, but this is the first time I’m seeing it in action.

  Dom shakes his head. “Cat,” he says, his voice vibrating with laughter. “That’s not a line for Dakota’s. That’s the line for the brewpub.”

  “No way.” I jump off the stool and rush over to the window.

  Holy shit, Dom’s right. I see a lot of familiar faces in line. Jack Egan, Vicki’s father, is there, a wide smile on his face. Vicki’s two brothers, Travis and Eli are there too, which I didn’t expect. The three of them are talking to Liam, who appears to be holding his own just fine against the protective male Egans.

  Zach is there, his arm around a dark-haired woman. That must be Penny. Sandra is there, talking amiably to Manuel. Luke and Ruby are in line too, which I’m really touched about, because I know how hard it is for them to take time off in tourist season. Gino is there, along with a collection of his friends. “Wait a second,” I call over to Dominic. “Is Gino of legal drinking age?”

  “Turned nineteen a week ago,” he replies. “I personally checked his ID.” He saunters next to me, a pint of beer in his hand. “The advantage of dating one of the co-founders,” he grins. “I don’t have to stand in line like the other suckers.”

  I laugh. “I noticed you came through the
back door.”

  “I had to. My mom’s chomping at the bit. Trust me, if she sees me with a beer, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  My phone beeps at me. Vicki appears out of nowhere with a pair of pint glasses in her hands. She gives me one. “This is it,” she says. “You ready?”

  I clink my glass against hers. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Bring it on.”

  Three hours later, the early rush has died down, and I can finally catch up with people.

  Dom’s chatting with Zach, Penny, and their friends. There’s four of them, three guys and one woman. I notice Dakota can’t stop staring at one of them, a big guy with ink running down one arm.

  “Cat, come sit down.” Dom makes room for me on the glorified picnic bench, and I slide in. “Thanks for your help,” I tell Zach. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  He lifts his shoulder in an easy shrug. “Don’t mention it,” he says. “Cat, you haven’t met my wife Penny, have you? Cat Milnick, Penny Suttermyer.”

  We shake hands. “I love your beer,” she says. “This session IPA is as textbook as it gets. Beautiful, balanced flavor. Great depth. What kind of hops did you use? Citra, Cascade, and Amarillo?”

  My mouth falls open. The dots connect. “Suttermyer as in Suttermyer Brewing?”

  She grins. “Guilty as charged. My father is Matt Suttermyer.”

  Holy crap. Suttermyer Brewing is one of the oldest microbreweries in California. Along with Anchor and Sierra Nevada, they’re widely credited with reviving craft brewing in North America. Suttermyer is legendary. Penny is beer world royalty.

  I suddenly understand why they have bottles of Pliny the Younger in their beer fridge.

  The other guys introduce themselves, as does the woman. They’ve been enjoying the beer—they’re all a little loud and loose, but in a good way, not in a douchey way.

  I chat with them for a while about beer. When the conversation devolves into an argument about lagers, I nudge Dom. “Did you know who Penny was?”

  He laughs. “Of course I did. And before you ask me why I didn’t tell you, it’s because I knew you’d just freak yourself out.”

  I punch his arm lightly. “Jerk.”

  Dakota’s still checking out the guy at our table. Julian something. “Check it out,” I whisper to Dom. “Look at Dakota. She’s totally eye-flirting with Julian. And he’s interested too.” Hey, I love a good romance as much as the next person. I’m only human.

  He looks from Dakota to the guy at our table, and then he shakes his head. “Poor Julian,” he murmurs. “You think I’m a commitment-phobe? Dakota is far worse.”

  I discreetly check out Dakota’s expression. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I think you might be wrong.”

  He puts his hand over mine. “Everyone’s having a great time,” he says. “You totally pulled this off.”

  “I know.” I’m still in shock. “Adam had to change kegs twice. We sold twice as much in the last three hours as we’d projected for the full weekend. At this rate, we’ll be paying off our loans early. Maybe I can even start looking for a place in summer.”

  “You could,” he agrees. “But does it really make sense to buy a place?”

  “Umm, yes. Why not?”

  A smile tugs at his lips. “I was hoping you’d just move into my place.”

  I stare at him, eyes wide with shock. “Did you just ask me to move in with you?”

  “I just did.”

  “But I’ll be in your space all the time.”

  “That’s sort of the plan, Cat.”

  Somebody pinch me. This can’t be real. A wide smile breaks out on my face. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  I wrap my arm around him. A brewpub of my own, and a smoking hot boyfriend who just asked me to move in with him? I’m the luckiest person in the world.

  Epilogue

  Dom

  Valentine’s Day

  Her hand goop and her face goop and her hair goop are all over my counter. We’ve added another refrigerator exclusively for beer. My regular juice glasses have been replaced by Cat’s collection of pint glasses from every brewery she’s visited.

  At least we kept my furniture. “Of course we can,” Cat had said, her voice deadpan. “After all, you have the best wood.”

  Despite all the changes, I couldn’t be happier. Because along with Cat’s stuff, I get Cat. And that makes everything worthwhile.

  Besides, let’s be honest. Her pint glasses are far more interesting than my plain, boring juice glasses.

  It’s Valentine’s Day. Cat has to work. She’s going to get back at six, after a long day on her feet. I’m willing to bet that my hyper-competent, list-obsessed girlfriend has somehow forgotten to eat lunch. She’ll be starving.

  And I’ll be ready with a nice, romantic, meal. At least, that’s the plan. As I survey the chaos on the counter, I get the sneaking suspicion that I might have bitten off a bit more than I can chew.

  I call my sister. Once she’s done laughing at me, she’ll help out. “I’m trying to make a lasagna. I’m looking at this packet, and it says I don’t need to cook the pasta first.”

  She snickers. “You’re making lasagna? That’s a bit ambitious.”

  “It’s Valentine’s Day. Are you going to mock, or are you going to help?”

  “What, a girl can’t do both?” She laughs out loud, and then she relents. “Okay. It sounds like you bought the no-cook kind of noodles. You don’t have to cook them in advance, but when you’re baking, add more sauce than the directions call for.”

  Okay. I think I can do this.

  “Want me to come along and help?”

  I frown. Something’s going on with Dakota. My sister hasn’t been dateless on Valentine’s Day in living memory. I’ve asked her about what’s going on, but she refuses to talk to me.

  Her offer to help is kind and generous. But if Dakota comes over, Cat will insist she sticks around. Not tonight. Tonight, I have other plans, plans that involve Cat and me being alone. “Nah, I’ll get through it.”

  She chortles again. “Worst case, you can always order pizza. Mention my name. They’ll give you a discount.”

  Everybody’s a comedian.

  I hustle like crazy. I cook. I tidy up. I light candles and dim lights. I put flowers in a vase. It’s worth it when Cat walks in and stops dead in her tracks. “Whoa,” she says softly. “Wow.”

  I walk over, a blindfold dangling from my fingertips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Cat.”

  Her eyebrow rises, and a smile dances from her lips. “A blindfold and candles. I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

  I love everything about this woman. “Put it on, kitty cat. We’re going to play a game.”

  She holds her hair up while I slip the blindfold over her eyes. It’s actually a sleep mask, the kind they give you on planes. It’ll cut out most of the light, which is exactly the way I want it. Today, I don’t want Cat peeking.

  Once the blindfold is on, I take her hand and lead her to the dining table. “Sit,” I order, pulling out a chair for her, and directing her into it.

  “Okay. Not where I thought we were going, but I’ll go along with it.”

  My lips twitch. “You thought we would head straight to the bedroom? Give me some credit, spitfire. I have a little more imagination than that.”

  “Ooh. Fighting words.”

  I laugh as I move into the kitchen. Opening the beer fridge, I pull out the bottle Penny sent me this morning. This year’s edition of Pliny the Younger. Cat is going to love this.

  I reach for a pair of champagne flutes. The moment Cat takes off her blindfold—I’m counting on her being so excited about the beer that she pulls it off—she’s going to snark about serving the beer in the wrong glass.

  But I have a plan. One that’s been in the works ever since I asked her to move in.

  I fish the ring box from its hiding spot in the back of the pantry and flip it open. We’d gone up to Toronto the week before Christmas. The second I’d
spotted this ring in the window of an independent jewelry store in Parkdale, I’d known this was it. A gray diamond surrounded by six sparkling pink tourmaline gemstones. Just like Cat, the ring was beautiful, and it was fun. It was meant to be.

  I drop the ring into one of the flutes. My hands are shaking. I’m ready for this step. Is Cat? I really hope so.

  I pour the beer into the flutes and carry them back out to the living area. Cat’s squirming in her seat. “This is really weird,” she says. “I thought I could handle a blindfold just fine, but it turns out that I like to see what’s going on.”

  “You want it off?”

  She considers my offer and then shakes her head. “I’m fine now that you’re back out here.”

  I kiss her forehead, and then the tip of her nose, and for good measure, her soft, lush lips. We’re both a little out of breath when I pull away. “Your surprise.” I guide her hand to the stem of the flute, and she wraps her fingers around it.

  “Champagne?”

  I grin. She’s trying to sound enthusiastic for my sake, but she loathes champagne with a passion. “How dumb do you think I am, kitty cat?”

  She takes a sip, and her face fills with pleasure. I’m yanked back to almost a year ago, when she tasted the Pliny for the first time. Her face had filled with the same pleasure then, and I remember thinking that I wanted to be the one who put that look on her face.

  I still do. I want to put that look on her face for the rest of our lives.

  She takes another sip. The first sip was about pleasure. The second sip, she’s going to try to figure out what she’s drinking. She’s going to be analyzing the hop profile. Trying to figure out the alcohol percentage, the IBU—thanks to Cat, I sound like a beer geek—trying to figure out what she’s drinking.

  Sure enough, that’s exactly what she’s doing. “Hang on,” she says slowly. “Dom, what am I drinking?”

  “It’s a surprise, kitty cat.”