At Last

by Addison Fox

And now here they were, a few days later and on opposite sides of a shockingly wide chasm.

  “That is part of the reason, you know. You are Nick Kelley, hometown hero. You’ll bring some cachet to the Unity, especially here in Brooklyn. And you’re also the devil I know.” The smile that didn’t reach her eyes faded, replaced with whispers of acceptance. “And for reasons I don’t fully understand, you seem as attached to this place as I am. Philip’s a good guy and so is Tommy. They support you.”

  “Or they support the money I’m willing to put down.”

  Her gaze was hard and penetrating as she stared up at him. “I may not know or understand all your reasons, but you’re not buying this place just for an investment. There are a hell of a lot better ways to get a return.”

  “Why do you think I am buying it?”

  This time she did turn the door handle, her words echoing in her wake as she passed through the portal. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Louisa scanned the list she’d prepared on Sunday night and booted up her computer. She might have been out of the rat race for two decades, but the discipline and focus that had marked her ascent in the business world had never left her. She kept a running to-do list—updated every Sunday night—of what needed to be completed for the week. Business was separated from personal, which was further separated into tasks for the boys, the house, and herself.

  The boys.

  She shook her head as she admitted to herself that her sons occupied less and less time on her to-do list. They were men—long grown—and they were well able to take care of their lives. Oh, she still nagged at each of them to get their annual physicals, and always confirmed they didn’t need help with their tax returns, but she was no longer the one who made their dentist appointments or took them shoe shopping. Nick, Landon, and Fender were abundantly capable of taking care of themselves.

  Longing for those early days when they first became a family filled her before she firmly tamped it down with a steady mix of pride and common sense. Her boys were wonderful men. Still a bit rough around the edges, and more affected by their childhoods than any of them would readily admit, but grown and successful, each a man in his own right.

  They’d each made their lives into something strong and valuable, their interests shaping who and what they’d become. All while the four of them had made a life together. For both those blessings she’d be eternally grateful.

  Kincade’s betrayal had nearly broken her, but the gift of motherhood had put her back together, piece by piece. And in the glue that was the love of her sons, she’d become stronger than she was before. More vibrant. And far more able to love than she could have ever imagined.

  With one last glance at her to-do list, Louisa fired up her e-mail. She’d glow in her boys’ accomplishments later, when she got the update on whether Nick’s deal finalized at the Unity. For now, she had things of her own to finish up, tasks to complete before she headed out for the day. She wanted the borough presidency, and at noon she would be speaking at a local business owners’ luncheon in Sheepshead Bay.

  Her e-mails finished loading, and she did a quick scan for anything urgent when her gaze hit on a subject line that stopped her cold.

  BROOKLYN DESERVES BETTER.

  But it was the glance at the sender’s name that had memories two decades past revisiting in her mind as if they’d happened only yesterday. To the days before motherhood, and PTA meetings, and annual tax prep for half of Park Heights.

  Back to the days when she’d been an adulteress, intent on loving another woman’s husband.

  Chapter Six

  Bright afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the bottling room as Emma walked Nick through the last stages of the brewery tour. While she’d understood on a very real level how important the Unity was to him, she had to admit that three hours after she’d deliberately set out to bore him to death, he seemed more interested than when they’d started. Which boded quite well for him and their deal.

  Damn.

  The first hour had been plenty awkward as they shared a few odd moments along with those reminisces from high school that kept intruding. But even she had to admit those distant memories of him had nothing on the man he was now.

  Interesting.

  He was interesting. And interested, if the past three hours were any indication. He had a curious mind, and he’d leaped to several conclusions she’d already been thinking about as improvements.

  It would be easy to assume Nick Kelley was a one-dimensional man. A good man, as Philip had been quick to assure her, but a retired sports star playing off his semicelebrity right here in his old neighborhood. How humbling to realize that he wasn’t easily contained in one small box, outlined by a narrow list of defining characteristics.

  In fact, how humbling to realize the man she’d painted in her mind over the past fifteen years had somehow morphed into some sort of fantasy instead of a person.

  Had it been because of Cole?

  She certainly hadn’t spent her marriage pining for another man. And the day she’d inadvertently mentioned going to school with Nick had been nothing more than innocent conversation. Yet Cole had taken it the wrong way, and as the marriage went more and more sour, images of the hometown hero had changed Nick in her mind.

  “I told you this was the best part.” Nick expertly drew two pale ales from one of the sample kegs they kept at the end of the brewery tour and handed her one. He took a long sip from his glass, and she noted the light stubble that had begun to grow along the lines of his chin and neck.

  “I won’t argue with you there.” She took her own sip, the taste comforting and familiar, a soothing balm to the odd train of thought. “Although I’m afraid a few sips are my limit. I’m running on a seriously empty stomach.”

  “I thought I was the only one getting hangry. Let’s go grab something then.”

  “Hangry?”

  Those blue-gray eyes that were so compelling shined a pale, nearly translucent blue in the bright sunlight. Even with their mercurial color, the humor behind them was unmistakable. “You’re so hungry you’re liable to get angry.”

  “That makes an odd sort of sense.”

  “Answer me one question before we go: Why beer?”

  “Why beer what?”

  “What’s the appeal? I realize it’s your family and in the blood, but I just listened to you for three hours, and you love this place. You love beer.”

  She considered for a moment, more than a little surprised by the question. And even more surprised to realize no one had ever asked her before. “It’s my life. I remember coming here, my grandfather carrying me around on his shoulders when I was little.”

  “Legacy.” Nick held up a finger. “There’s one.”

  “The smell.” She leaned into her beer and took a long sniff. “I love the smell.”

  Nick held up a second finger. “Not what I was expecting, but okay.”

  “You don’t love it?”

  “Sure. It’s beer. But sexist as this may sound, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a woman say the same thing.”

  She shrugged, well aware her interests weren’t, strictly speaking, a career choice for a lot of women. “It’s not the beer itself, but what it means. The beer-making process goes back millennia. And that scent . . .” She breathed deeply of her glass. “It’s natural. Real. Like the scent of tea, or tobacco, or wine. It’s a product completely of the earth.”

  Nick sniffed his own glass, his eyes closing briefly before his gaze settled on her.

  “Interesting point.”

  “And you can’t discount the very best quote in the world.”

  “Which is?”

  “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.”

  “Ben Franklin?”

  She shook her head, “It’s generally attributed to him, but from what I’ve been able to find, not really his. But I like it anyway.”

  “It’s a good one.”

  “It’s what we do. We
make happiness in a glass. I get to do that, every single day.”

  It was silly and simple, and she’d tried explaining that thought to a few of her friends at Siebel, only to get more than a few cockeyed looks. So she’d shut up about simple joys and had gone about finding hers once again. Finding her center.

  She wasn’t about to explain that to Nick, but in her degree she’d found herself once more. Although she and Cole had still been together, their married life had been falling to pieces around them, and her education had been the one thing in her rapidly vanishing world to provide grounding. She’d gone back to her roots in order to remake her life.

  So it was more than gratifying to see the understanding light up in Nick’s eyes. He extended his glass, clinking it lightly with hers. “To happiness, then.”

  “To happiness.”

  The toast still lingered in her mind fifteen minutes later, as Emma found herself walking into the welcoming, garlic-scented air of Gino’s Pizzeria. The lunch crowd had dissipated, and except for a woman and her children at a table in the back, the place was empty.

  “Emma! Nick!” Gino’s withered voice still carried as he smiled at them both from behind the counter. “I hope you came hungry.”

  Nick patted his stomach. “Always.”

  They put in their orders and took the empty glasses Gino handed over the counter. Once both had filled up at the self-serve counter, Nick picked a spot on the far wall.

  “Thanks for the time today. You didn’t need to do that, and I appreciate it.”

  “You think I’d welch on my end of the deal? And on day one?”

  “No, but—”

  “I meant what I said earlier. I’ve been operating under the assumption I’d come home from Chicago with a degree and a job at the brewery. My father’s decision to sell to you has put a big kink in that, and I need to get my feelers out to find something.”

  “I still expected you’d want me to lose.”

  “I want the brewery, but I want it fairly.” She took a sip of her Coke, the sweet, bubbly, sugary drink a boost. “Besides, my pride’s on the line.”

  “And mine isn’t?”

  She didn’t anticipate such a direct rebuttal and had to admit she hadn’t considered her deal from his side. It might be embarrassing to have her personal stake go up in flames, but what about Nick? How would he feel if he lost the brewery? In her rush to make a deal and get that stay of execution he’d mentioned, she hadn’t thought through all the angles.

  As sympathy wrapped around her like ribbons, she fought for some levity. What else could be done? They’d made their agreement and were both in it now. “Well, all I know is I don’t want you going around telling anyone I’m a bad teacher.”

  Gino’s grandson approached their table, a tray with their lunch held high. The boy worked quickly, but Emma didn’t miss his worshipful stare at Nick. She also didn’t miss Nick’s gentle smile and kind word for the boy as he laid down three slices for Nick and one for her.

  Was she really looking to go toe-to-toe with the hometown hero? Nick Kelley was part local celebrity, part sports god, and now well-known neighborhood proprietor.

  Once the boy left, Nick reached for the shaker of pepper flakes. “I’m not changing my mind, Emma. I intend to learn everything you throw at me, and pass your test.”

  “Then let’s eat our pizza. We can discuss those ideas we both had for improvements.”

  Nick let himself in the back door of the End Zone and headed straight for his office. He hadn’t anticipated spending the majority of the day over at the Unity, and he had a list of inventory that had to be ordered before five.

  To be fair, he hadn’t anticipated anything about today. He’d thought he would walk out the Unity’s doors the proud new owner of a brewery, and instead he’d had a sizeable lesson in patience, humility, and good old-fashioned chemistry.

  The literal sort of chemistry—he almost laughed at the irony, although he couldn’t deny that Emma fascinated him.

  What the hell was he doing buying a brewery?

  The thought had dogged him all day, and he’d dutifully tamped it down, refusing to give in to the layer of doubt that only grew as Emma Vandenbu—nope, Emma Bradley, walked him through the Unity.

  The woman knew her shit, that was for damn sure. She understood every facet of the brewery, and knew how to make a product. There was no way Peter Vandenburg knew just how accomplished she’d become. If he did, he’d be a fool to continue with the sale.

  And Nick had no fucking idea what to do about that.

  She deserved her legacy. Or a shot at it. But damn it, he wanted his future. He had plans. And they didn’t involve backing off for a pair of warm brown eyes and killer legs.

  The sound of voices hit him before he even had the door open, a hard punctuation to the unsettling thoughts he couldn’t shake off.

  “The zombies can’t win that early. It makes the game look rigged.”

  “The game has to get progressively harder. This is one of the key areas early on where a player levels up. They have to feel a sense of accomplishment.”

  Nick pushed open the door, not surprised to see his brothers attached to his couch. Fender sprawled in the corner, and Landon sat at the edge, a laptop balanced on his knees. “I vote for the zombies.”

  Fender shot him a pointed glare. “You would.”

  Both had helped themselves to sodas from his small office fridge, and Fender gestured with a Mountain Dew. “It’s discouraging to a kid. They just get into the game and they get eaten by . . .” he leaned forward, “ . . . a great gaping maw of blood and guts. It’s nasty.”

  Landon shrugged. “It’s the zombie apocalypse.”

  Curious to see the great gaping maw of blood and guts, Nick circled the couch to look at Landon’s screen.

  “I think nasty is why this brand of entertainment appeals to ten-year-old boys,” Nick said. He leaned forward, attempting to confirm he was seeing what he thought he was. “Is that a finger dangling from the mouth?”

  “Yep. Awesome, isn’t it?”

  Nick patted Landon on the back. “So this is what you do in that loft studio all day.”

  “You’re damn right I do. Or at least I do when I’m not programming jewels that explode once you get three of them in a row.” Landon snapped his laptop closed. “And one of these days, it’s going to pay off.”

  “Speaking of paying off, when do I start getting my free weekly shipments of beer?” Fender’s smile was genuine, his normally stoic resting face lighting up at the thought of beer.

  “Hell yeah.” Landon leaned forward. “Fuck the zombies. How’d everything go today?”

  Nick searched for the right words in the face of his brothers’ enthusiasm. He’d thought he was okay with it—the deal with Emma and the request for time that would give him a more thorough overview of the business—but something held him back.

  “Not as I’d expected it to.”

  “And?” Landon pressed.

  “Vandenburg’s daughter is back and she’s not interested in selling.”

  “Emma?” Landon asked.

  “You know her?” Nick shot back, his earlier embarrassment returning in a flood. How had he been so stupid to forget her?

  “Last time I checked, you did, too.” When he said nothing, Landon pushed on. “Does she have a choice?”

  “Technically it’s Peter’s to sell. But with her mother’s shares, she can make a stink and hold things up for a while. Potentially jack with the price.” Although, to be fair, he admitted to himself, money hadn’t been a part of the discussion.

  At all.

  It had been about the facility. The product. The legacy.

  “So what’s next?”

  “You’re looking at the newest apprentice at the Unity Brewery. Today was a tour of the facility and the beer-making process. Tomorrow’s an outing with one of their sales guys. I’m not sure what’s on for Wednesday.”

  “I heard Emma’s back.” Fender took a lo
ng sip of his soda. “I also heard she was in here Friday night.”

  Nick wasn’t sure why the comment stuck in his craw, and he refused to analyze it. Instead, he went on the offensive. “Who knew there was that much gossip going down in your body shop?”

  “You’d be surprised, but I didn’t get it at the shop. Patty told me when she foisted a plate of potato skins on me earlier.”

  Damn his best barmaid and her ability to read a room like a football field. The woman missed nothing, and somehow always managed to see opportunity in the middle of a mess. He should be grateful, as that’s how he’d gotten her to stay on in the first place, when the End Zone wasn’t much more than a dream. But, damn it. . . .

  “Patty also said Emma spent some time in your office. Something about a black eye out front.”

  Ignoring the deliberate hunt for information would only make Fender hunt harder, so Nick did his level best to play it off. “That asshole I told you about Sunday. The one on something Friday night?”

  “The one Hector threatened to pop his arms off?” Landon’s voice was tinged with the anticipation of the grisly. Clearly a trait he’d channeled into his zombies.

  “That’s the one. Emma was leaving the bar and ended up on the wrong end of the asshole’s fist.”

  Undeterred, Fender pressed on. “And you took care of her.”

  “Got her a few Advil, and Patty fussed over her.”

  When Fender said nothing else, Nick headed for the minifridge. He’d learned long ago to leave off arguing with his brother. The asshole won every round anyway.

  He skipped the Mountain Dew in favor of a water before settling into his office chair. “You’re not here for a recap of my day, so to what do I owe the pleasure? And who wants to help me order olives?”

  “I did enough inventory of my own this morning to cross my eyes, and I hate olives. But I do love a good seafood boil.”

  “One’s typically not found at the other.”

  “Thank God.” Fender breathed. “Anyway, Mac Owens was in the shop today and told me about the one his brother’s throwing tonight over in the park. Ten bucks a head and all the seafood you can eat.”