by Liz Crowe
“Here, drink this.” Evelyn put half a glass of stout beer in front of her. Elle picked it up, sipped then put it back down.
“I can’t. I’m too nervous.”
“It’s pretty simple, really.”
“I know. It’s just… I want him to be certain, you know? He jokes with me all the time about letting me back out or whatever but I’m afraid he’s the one who wants that.”
Evelyn perched on the arm of the chair in the guest bedroom of Trent and Melody’s lake house. Somewhere beyond the door a baby let out a squawk, then quieted. She took Elle’s ice-cold hands in hers. “Elle, if Ross Hoffman were more in love with you I don’t think he could get up every morning and function. He’d be laid out by it, crippled, and unable to move much less run that amazing restaurant with you.”
“I know, I know.” Elle patted her hair. She’d cut the dreadlocks shorter, but they still hung to her shoulders. For today, she them pinned up on her head, fixed in place with a comb that served as the bridal veil. “It’s why I made him wait this long, you know. To actually get married. I needed proof, I guess.”
“Well, now you have it. He worships the ground you walk on, woman. If I were the jealous type and not already blissfully in love with my husband, I’d be green with envy.” She smiled and brushed Elle’s forehead with her lips. “Now, let’s do this thing, shall we?” Evelyn winced and put her hand to her back.
“Baby kicking?” Elle asked.
“Nonstop,” Evelyn said with a smile. “Come on, before you change your mind.”
Elle nodded, and rose. She had on cream colored, pure silk sheath, unadorned and simple, ideal for her figure and skin tone. For her flowers, she’d chosen a spray of edelweiss. Taylor was her maid of honor. Evelyn and Melody her attendants.
She paused at the top of the long flight of steps from the deck down to the grass where nearly two hundred people were standing and looking up at her. She scanned the crowd and saw familiar, smiling faces, including her brothers’ wives and their kids, even old Doctor Joseph, who was waving at her. She smiled and waved back.
Her attendants took their places then Eric marched down the aisle in a pair of khakis and a crisp white shirt, open at the neck, with a red rosebud pinned to it, matching the men. He stood in front of Ross, their rings on a satin pillow held tight in his hands. Her brothers and Austin flanked Ross, who stood, his hands behind his back, his smile for her and her alone. He also wore khakis and a white shirt, but his boutonniere was a tiny clump of edelweiss, matching her bouquet.
The music, performed by a string quartet and harp, set up under a white tent near the temporary altar, changed. She took a breath, and started down the steps, gripping her bouquet in one hand to the strains of Pachelbel. When she reached the last step, something latched on to her legs. She reached down and picked up the girl, decked out in a fancy white dress that was already stained with something that looked like strawberry ice cream. “Mama, why cry?” The girl patted her cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears.
“Mama is happy,” she whispered in German to the girl. “Liesl, why aren’t you down there with Taylor, where you’re supposed to be? Where is your flower basket?”
“I wanted to walk with you, to see Papa.” The little girl’s German was as flawless as her English. “Please, Mama. I don’t like it down there without you.”
“All right, my darling.” She patted her back.
Taylor shrugged and mouthed, “Sorry.”
Elisa smiled at her, then put Liesl on the ground and took her hand. The music was still playing, the song with the heartbeat like cadence that she had always loved.
“Walk with me, baby girl.”
“Okay, Mama,” the child said, beaming up at her with Ross’ dark blue eyes, through a nearly uncontrollable mass of ash blonde curls. Elle brushed her hair out of her face, then straightened again and met Ross’ eyes. His grin widened. If ever a man was more wrapped around a child’s finger from the moment of her birth, she never knew one.
“Papa is waiting for us. He told me to tell you to hurry up!” Liesl whispered loud enough for the back rows to titter with amusement.
“Yes, my love, I know that. Just give Mama a moment to enjoy this.”
“Oh. Okay.” They waited. Ross frowned at her, then shrugged and pretended to walk away. Austin put a hand on his arm. She started walking toward him, never more conscious of the importance of this day, three years past her trial, two and a half years since the birth of their first child, two since opening the hottest new restaurant in the Midwest.
They’d chosen an old theater in the rapidly reviving Detroit to renovate. And now, thanks to Trent, Melody, Caroline, and of course, her beloved, her hero, the man who drove her mad with frustration and equally mad with lust, they were, by any standards, a huge success. Elle had been adamant that she be allowed to hire women newly released from prison, and that program had also been so key to their success.
They lived within walking distance of their business, in a huge loft, overlooking the Detroit River, had two smelly dogs, who were currently splashing around in the lake behind the ceremony, and their Leisl—born a terrifying seven weeks too early but was now happy and healthy.
She stopped and let go of her daughter’s hand. The girl ran to Taylor, as if conscious of the moment between her parents. Ross held out his arm. She took it and they faced the officiant. As the music faded, she leaned into him, going up on her tiptoes so she could whisper something in his ear.
“It’s about time,” he said in German. “We’re never going to get to five Hoffmans if you don’t pick up the pace a little.” He put a hand on her slightly rounded stomach. “I knew it already. I could tell from your taste.”
She smacked his arm. The crowd laughed. The officiant cleared his throat. “Shall we?”
“By all means, hurry up though, because I just found out my princess over there is getting a baby brother.”
Liesl squealed and started jumping up and down. Elle sighed. “Sorry,” she said to the man standing in front of them. “He’s a real mouth-breathing idiot sometimes.”
Ross turned her and kissed her hard, bending her back and making everyone clap and catcall. He let her go, smiling that smile that reminded her how lucky she was every single time she saw it.
“That was out of order,” she insisted, straightening back up and handing her bouquet to Taylor who gave it to Leisl.
“I know. Just practicing.”
“Get on with it, please.” Elle focused her attention on the man in front of them, her natural nervousness about the extreme level of her current happiness fading, finally.
“Yeah, hurry up, Rev, before she changes her mind.” His deep blue eyes shone as he gazed at her. “Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens.”
Elisa nodded at him, her eyes swimming with tears. “I know,” she said in English.
Glossary
Armleuchter: A dimwit (literally “a candelabra”)
Arschgeige: Arsehole (literally “arse violin”)
Aus: Stop!
Bewegungslegastheniker: Clumsy (literally “movement dyslexic”)
Dein ist mein ganzes Herz: You have my heart
Kinder: Children
Küss mich: Kiss me
Lustmolch: Someone who is sex obsessed (literally “a sex newt”)
Mousbär: a term of endearment (literally “a mouse bear”)
Schatz: a term of endearment (literally “treasure”) as in Mein Schatz (My love)
Schlappschwanz: Wimp (literally “limp dick”)
Trantüte: Slowpoke (literally “a bag of whale blubber”)
Trottel: Fool
Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens: You’re the love of my life.
One of the most sentimental phrases in German and, due to its intensity, not one you’re likely to hear often. Its translation is literal and its meaning is strong.
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Brewing Passion: Tapped
Liz Crowe
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Excerpt
Chapter One
The man must be out of his ever-loving mind.
Evelyn tried hard not to yell, or otherwise overreact, ever aware of her reputation as one of the sole females in this testosterone-soaked world of beer sales. But she simply could not stand for this sort of manipulation.
She rose to her feet. “I won’t do it.”
From his position behind the desk, her boss, Grant Taylor, president of TriCity Distribution, tipped back in his chair and appraised her from head to toe. “He asked for you specifically. And I am certain I don’t have to remind a professional such as yourself that Fitzgerald is our best craft beer brand—one of our only craft beer brands and the one I hope to use to build a better beer portfolio.” He feigned a pitiful look.
“You look like a constipated crocodile when you do that.” Even as she accepted that her day had just grown that much worse, if it were cosmically possible, she slumped back into the chair on the other side of his desk.
“Evelyn, honey, it’s not that bad. He’s a good guy, really.”
The foul liquid that passed for coffee at the TriCity offices polluted her throat, giving her a few seconds to think. After only two years in the beer and wine sales business, she’d found her niche, and she even had an incentive trip to Barbados from the Corona guys nearly within her grasp. A day spent—more like wasted—trying to shove hipster beer down the throats of savvy buyers at her best stores would not get her any closer to that goal. Evelyn stared out of the window at the annoyingly perfect blue sky.
“Grant, you know I need a heads-up longer than an hour. Seriously, I have to shuffle the whole sales day. Jesus. I don’t even know where—”
Grant held up a hand. “Spare me, please. I know you’ve already committed where Fitzgerald products are placed to that gorgeous, top-selling brain of yours. You sold more of their amber, IPA and Winter Spice bullshit than anybody. Don’t kid a kidder.” He grinned at her.
Stress bloomed in her chest and spread, bringing a familiar anxious mantra to the forefront of her mind.
This stupid job is the only thing between me and the homeless shelter.
Nothing would make her jeopardize what she’d built out of, essentially, nothing. A two-year associate’s degree was all she’d been able to afford before she’d started working in a trendy downtown craft beer and cocktail bar. When a TriCity sales rep had mentioned they were hiring and how much she could make in commission, she’d jumped at it.
Who knew she’d be a sales star?
“Fine. But if you think I’m gonna suck up to the Chosen Son of the Fitzgerald fortune, you are sadly mistaken. He can ride in my car and go on calls with me, but he’d better understand that I have a full day already set and I won’t be giving him any special attention.” She drained the last of the caffeine then set the mug down on Grant’s desk with what she hoped sounded like a decisive bang. A sudden puff of air blew past her, ruffling the papers on Grant’s desk.
Her boss’s eyes widened. He pointed to something behind her and started to open his mouth.
“No,” she cut him off. “Don’t say another word. You know I’m right. Everybody knows he’s just a trust-fund baby, opening a brewery with his daddy’s money, then gallivanting around the world, getting his degree”—she hooked her fingers in the air around the word—“in brewing science. Jesus. Who needs a degree in that? He should just stick to improving his golf handicap and deflowering debutantes.”
The petulant sound of her own voice annoyed her, but stories like Austin Fitzgerald’s made her the maddest. She’d been raised by a single mother who’d waitressed by day and, she’d later learned, turned tricks at night while the young Evelyn had done homework and watched TV at her aunt’s house. Her mother had died during Evelyn’s second year of college, forcing her to quit after she’d figured out that the modest funeral would eat up every cent her mother had managed to save.
Grant cleared his throat and stood, buttoning his suit coat. She watched him, her brain still on fire with helpless frustration. Even if she’d agreed to haul Fitzgerald around, she had no plans to sell craft beer that day.
“I need to schmooze my wine buyers today, Grant. I can’t be babysitting this guy.” The back of her neck tingled when the ends of her hair fluttered in another sudden breeze. She frowned, observing her boss stick his hand out as if about to shake hers, a big smile pasted on his face.
“Well, if I weren’t deathly allergic to both golf and debutantes, that might have been a career choice,” came a low, raspy voice from right behind her.
Evelyn’s entire body broke out in goosebumps.
“Grant, good to see you again,” the voice continued.
She gritted her teeth and rose, giving Grant what she hoped was a sufficiently withering look before turning around. Deep green eyes met hers. She was struck dumb by their depth and humorous sparkle. Dark jeans and a simple navy blue crew-neck—undoubtedly cashmere—sweater, brown box-toe loafers and a camel-colored dress jacket completed the look. He would have been at home on a GQ model as easily as he navigated a brewery floor. Close-cut dark-brown hair topped a clean-shaven, angular face.
A face that seemed pretty amused by her at that moment.
“And you must be Evelyn Benedict, saleswoman extraordinaire.” His smile lit up the room, rendering Evelyn speechless. Grant nudged her arm until she stuck out her hand. Austin’s warm, firm grip lingered long enough to make her uncomfortable.
“I see she’s mesmerized by the size of my…trust fund already.” He glanced over her shoulder at Grant then at her, pinning her in place again with that intense, still amused gaze. “Austin Fitzgerald, the albatross around your neck for the day.” He gave her palm a friendly squeeze before letting go. “At your service.”
Austin’s gaze remained squarely on hers. She had on her best thrift store designer suit over a silk blouse open at the neck. Used to men eyeballing her from tip to toe, she found it refreshing for one not to automatically zero in on her cleavage.
“Never had such a lovely babysitter before, Grant. Thanks.”
She swallowed when his eyes narrowed, then frowned as he gazed quickly up and down her front, lighting an unwanted and unexpected fire in her belly. Since when did she like it when some guy checked her out in such an obvious way?
He shrugged, sidestepping as if to get out of her way, the moment between them over. “Ready to go when you are. Rumor has it you have a big day ahead,” he said, the expression on his handsome face suddenly neutral.
“Yes. I do.” She strode past him, needing to regain her composure. Loud, masculine laughter echoed in her ears all the way to the ladies’ room. She splashed water on her face and stared in the mirror while her heart took up a loud drumbeat in her ears.
He is nothing but a spoiled-rotten trust-fund brat. No matter if he wears it like a stockbroker-slash-daytime drama hero. I do not need this distraction right now.
Austin tried to focus on the guy behind the desk as they stood in the claustrophobic office. But his brain spun with a combination of fresh perfume and sudden, kneejerk lust for the woman who’d just stalked out of the room.
The day suddenly looked a lot better—less ‘annoying ride-along crap’ and more ‘honest to God, get to know a beautiful woman.’ He had countless headaches back at his brewery to deal with. Didn’t need the time away any more than she seemed to want him around, but he grinned at the sight of her rich golden-blonde hair and deep blue eyes when she emerged from around the corner. Her expression was flat. He sensed her determination to resist whatever had occurred between them earlier.
Yeah. Not if I have anything to do with it.
“After you.” He held out a hand and followed her down the narrow hall toward the parking lot door, adjusting himself behind the zipper of the stupid jeans he’d grabbed off the rack yesterday, desperate for something to wear that was suitable for selling and not brewing.
Good Lord, but she’s hot.
Alarmed at his in
stant, adolescent response to her, he held the door open. She breezed past him. He had to shut his eyes against the quick breath of light, clean scent that invaded his nose again.
He helped put his sample bottles in the trunk of her one-step-from-the-graveyard car, then climbed into the immaculate interior, watching as Evelyn pulled out her itinerary for the day and studied it, a frown marring her perfect face.
“Okay, so I’m trashing this, I guess.” She tossed the papers into her briefcase with a sigh. “Let’s hit it, shall we? By the seat of our pants? Not the way I usually like to approach a work day.”
“Yeah, good plan.” Without even realizing he was doing it, he touched the hand she had resting on the gear shift between them. It was meant as a ‘we’re in this together’ sort of gesture. Nothing more. She stared at it, then up at him. Utterly unprepared for the spark that leapt from her skin to his, he swallowed hard and jerked his arm back.
“Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing his own thigh while she backed out of the parking space. Trying to quell the alarm rising in his chest, he risked a glance at her while they waited at a light. Her angry stare made him smile and hold up both hands. “Don’t nail me for harassment, okay? My mommy and daddy won’t bail me out anymore, or so they claim.”
Her quick laughter was music to his ears.
“I’m sorry. I was just…” Her jaw clenched and he had to force away the urge to run his finger over it if only to get her to relax. Such a beautiful woman should not be so uptight. A surge of protectiveness nearly suffocated him.
Wow, Fitzgerald. Get a hold of yourself.
For a guy who’d never worried about where his next meal—or his next pair of designer sunglasses—would come from, Austin remained fairly introspective. He was well aware of his reputation, but hearing it tumble from Evelyn’s mouth earlier had pissed him off, making him want to prove something to her.
The fact that he’d finally given in to his mother’s harping on about marrying the Masterson girl had honestly slipped his mind since laying eyes on the gorgeous creature behind the wheel. He suppressed an inward groan at his dilemma. But couldn’t resist encouraging the connection between them. He somehow sensed she’d love to play along. Some light flirting, nothing more or less. Harmless, really.
