“It is,” River said. “We can have one or two specials a season.” He told them a little about his own thoughts—the beers that had worked best at Big Catch, which he could mimic without copying, plus a couple of more experimental ones he wanted to try. Some of the barrel-aged ones would take months.
Jack’s phone made a buzzing noise, and he flinched. “My car’s here,” he said. Georgie’s eyes rounded with surprise, and she shot another look at River. Whatever that phone call had been about, it had lit a fire under Jack, enough so that he’d summoned a car immediately.
They all got up, and River shook Jack’s hand. Georgie and Jack had an awkward moment where she went in for a hug, and he tried for a handshake.
“I’ll be in touch soon,” he said, and then he left. Georgie’s gaze followed him as if he were a puppy running off and she wondered if he’d ever find his way home. Once the last of him disappeared from view, she turned to River.
“So what now?” she said. “What needs to happen first?”
A slow grin stole over his face. “Let’s hire some cleaners. Then it’s time for you to make your first batch of beer.”
Chapter 15
“This is it,” River said as he put his key into the lock of his heavy wooden front door. He looked relieved when the lock turned. “Well, at least I know that Aunt Dottie won’t be here waiting to ambush us.”
“What?” Georgie asked, wondering if she’d heard him wrong.
They’d called an outside cleaning crew to come clean up the bubbles and empty and sanitize the tanks. Georgie hadn’t had the stomach to stay and watch, but Aunt Dottie, who had shown up in response to a call from Josie, had insisted on supervising the cleaning. She’d assured Georgie that everything would be okay—Mercury was rising and the stars were aligned for a change. Georgie was nervous about leaving the task to the older woman, especially since she’d shown up with her pink sea salt lamps and started some chants to disperse bad energy with a sage stick. But River had assured her that while his aunt had some odd beliefs, she was a stickler for cleanliness. They would be better served working on their new brews.
Now, standing in front of his front door, he gave her a wry grin that held a playful look. “Nothing. Go on in.”
He pushed the door open, and she took a hesitant step over the threshold, surprised at the smell of fresh bread, but then she recognized it from Beau’s house and realized it was the smell of brewing beer. She was surprised, and more than a little bit pleased, to discover that she liked it. She associated it with River now.
Her gaze wandered around the open living room and dining area, curious about River’s home. You could tell so much about a person from their personal space, and she was relieved to see that River’s loft was warm and homey…and littered with shredded toilet paper and pillow stuffing.
“Oh shit,” River said, coming up short behind her.
She was about to ask him if he had a rat infestation when a tiny bundle of fur came bounding out of the kitchen and slammed into River’s feet. He bent down and scooped up the furball, holding the cutest puppy she had ever seen up in front of his face.
With a mock scowl, he said, “Hops, how did you get out of your kennel?”
She laughed. “I didn’t know you had a puppy.” But then she felt foolish. How would she have known he had a puppy? She barely knew him, yet for some reason, she felt like it would have come up in conversation during their multiple discussions about Jezebel the night before.
A grin lit up his eyes. Had she ever met a man with more expressive eyes? His were always so full of humor and kindness, even at the brewery today when everything had gone to hell. But she shouldn’t notice things like that. Especially given their professional relationship. She told herself that good bosses made sure their employees were happy, but she knew that was a stretch.
No good boss made her employee happy the way she wanted to make him happy.
Boy, was she in trouble.
“I didn’t until this morning.” River balanced the fluffball’s belly on his palm and turned the puppy to face her. “Georgie, meet Hops; Hops, this is Georgie.” The puppy’s feet began to paddle as though it were swimming. River laughed and held the puppy close to his chest. “Hops is a foster. Maisie caught me at a weak moment this morning and twisted my arm into taking him.” But as Georgie watched him rub the puppy’s head, she wondered how much arm twisting had really been involved.
“And you named him Hops?” She couldn’t help grinning. Somehow it fit.
His gaze darted to the puppy’s head, and he looked slightly embarrassed. “It’s kind of a tribute to Beau.”
Guilt nipped at her momentary happiness. It felt like she was stealing River’s inheritance. Still, she’d made a promise to Jack, and that was important to her too. She didn’t want to break her word to him, particularly not when things were still so fragile between them.
“Hey,” he said, misinterpreting her sudden somberness. “I didn’t mean to upset you about Beau. After this afternoon…” He grimaced, then gave her an earnest look. “It’s going to be okay, Georgie. I won’t let you fail. I promise.”
His words and his tone, so earnest, brought tears to her eyes. How could she keep this from him? “Um…can I use your bathroom?”
“Of course,” he said, worry crinkling the bridge of his nose. “But I’m concerned about what you’ll find there. If he pulverized all of the toilet paper, there’s some under the sink. I’m going to take him out anyway, so that will give you a moment to yourself.” River grabbed a leash off the kitchen table and headed out the front door, the puppy still cradled in his strong arms.
Like she wanted to be.
Don’t be a fool, Georgie. She went to the restroom, smiling a little as she changed out the toilet paper, and when she washed her hands, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. If she could see the guilt in her eyes, would he?
When she returned to the living room area, River still hadn’t come in, so she took a moment to survey the space. He definitely couldn’t be accused of buying his pieces from a furniture showroom floor, but while his furniture was obviously older, each piece looked well-worn and loved. He was a man who found value in things others might discard, and she sensed he had a deep loyalty to those he cared about. More guilt washed over her.
She needed to get a handle on that or she’d never make it to the Brewfest Competition next March.
Torn, she ran her hand over a cracked leather side chair, letting herself think about River sitting there, reading one of the books from the case. Multiple photos lined the fireplace mantel—Dottie and Beau with a mountain view behind them. River with a man around his age, both beaming. They stood in front of a banner that said Brewfest Competition, and River was holding a blue ribbon. An older photo of a beautiful woman with long blond hair and River’s eyes, only hers looked troubled, taken in what appeared to be a jungle. But it was a photo of River with a cute woman with curly red hair that triggered an unexpected surge of jealousy.
Georgie was falling for him, something she could not do. Coming here had been a bad idea.
The living room and dining area were strewn with the puppy’s mess, so she started picking up the ripped tissue and fluffy batting. She had a good portion of it scooped up when the door opened.
“Georgie, you don’t have to do that,” River said apologetically as Hops trotted in next to him on the leash. They were a funny sight—the six-foot-tall River walking a puppy who was all of nine inches tall. He looked all kinds of adorable…and the puppy was cute too.
“I was just standing around,” she said, giving him a nervous smile and a shrug, her hand full of stuffing and damp toilet paper. “Figured I might as well help.”
River squatted next to Hops and unhooked the leash. The puppy bolted for Georgie and zeroed in on the bow on her right shoe.
“Apparently he has a thing for shoes,” River said with a chuckle.
Georgie picked him up with her free hand and giggled when he nibbled
on her fingers.
River quickly took the trash she’d picked up and then cleaned up the rest and dumped it. After he examined the carrier, he declared it defective and murmured something about Maisie setting him up. Georgie wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not, but he seemed good-natured about it, so she supposed it didn’t matter.
She loved that about him. He’d found the place a mess, and instead of blowing up or getting frustrated, he’d taken it in stride. She could only imagine the reaction her father or brother would have had. Or even her past two boyfriends.
Turned out all of the men in her life had perpetual sticks up their asses. Maybe Asheville had more men like River. Only when she thought about dating men other than River, a heaviness settled on her chest. An overall wrongness.
That wasn’t good.
“So,” she said, stroking the puppy. “About making beer. You’re gonna teach me?”
“Sure am,” he said, washing his hands at the kitchen sink. “How about we head back to my office, and I’ll start gathering what we need to make our first batch.”
His office? That had her intrigued, but for some reason, it also made her think of Jack. Maybe because Lee had found out about him in their father’s office.
What had that phone call been about, anyway? It was none of her business, but it had her worried. What did she really know about him other than that he was a bar manager in Chicago and half of his DNA belonged to her father, which wasn’t exactly a positive tick in the character column? Still, she’d gotten the impression he was fairly trustworthy, albeit slightly intense. She’d only just met him the day before, but it was obvious something had upset him. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t opened up to her. He barely knew her, and on top of that she was a full-fledged Buchanan kid. He probably resented the hell out of her.
“I keep wondering about Jack’s phone call,” she said as she followed River through the door across from the bathroom. When he’d called it his office, she’d imagined a desk with a computer, but instead she found a futon pushed against a wall with a window and a wall of shelving on the opposite side. The wooden shelves were lined with bottles and tubing, and all sorts of equipment that looked like it belonged in a laboratory instead of a spare bedroom, as well as multiple containers of grains and pellets, all neatly labeled.
“I’m sure he’s okay,” River said, his eyes focused on her. Hops made a little sound as if in agreement, or maybe support.
The tension in her shoulders eased at the tenderness in River’s voice, and she made herself take a mental step back. A romantic entanglement with him was a very bad idea, professional reasons aside. He was the person who inherited the brewery if it failed. It was hard enough to keep that secret without the added guilt that would come with dating him.
“Yeah,” she said, breaking eye contact. She gestured to the shelving with her free hand. “This looks like serious business.”
“I suppose it is,” he said as he stood next to her. “Like I said, I made most of my test brews at Big Catch, but it wasn’t uncommon for me to work on some here. Blue Whale was created in my kitchen, and it’s one of our biggest sellers.” His smile dimmed some. “I guess it’s not ours anymore.” Then he seemed to shake it off. “Since we’ll be working on an autumn line, we’ll need to incorporate flavors associated with the season. What comes to mind?” he asked, grabbing a giant pot from the shelf.
“Pumpkin. Apples.”
He nodded in approval. “We could make a hard apple cider. Beau never branched outside of beer, so if you’re looking to freshen up the brand, a limited fall cider might be good to throw into the mix.”
She liked the sound of that. “Yeah. That sounds great.”
“We can start on something basic. Maybe an East Coast IPA? Beau’s never had one on his menu. IPAs are usually more hop-heavy, so it might seem fitting given our new friend here.” Grinning, he shot a glance at the puffball still cradled in her arms. “But the hops make IPAs bitter. Given your scorecard I think you’d like an East Coast IPA. They’re fruity and have a slight kick of bitterness at the end. They use less hops and rely on yeast for a good portion of their flavor.”
“Yeah, sure,” she said, nodding her head. “You’re the genius, River. You do whatever you think is best.”
“We’ll work on it together,” he said cheerfully as he opened a double closet door and revealed multiple glass carboys on shelves, a couple of which were filled with dark brown liquid. “We’ll focus on a few varieties of malt I know work well together, and then we’ll play with variations of hops. We’ll finish it off with a British yeast.”
“Okay.”
She set the puppy down and helped him carry all their equipment and containers of grain into the kitchen. First River told her the importance of sanitizing every part they would use, starting with the stockpot. Next he weighed the grains on a scale and put them into a cheesecloth bag, then measured out multiple pellets and put them into small glass bowls, explaining why he chose those specific blends and amounts to create a subtle play of flavors. “I went a little heavier on dry hops with Big Catch’s East Coast IPA, but if we tweak it enough, hopefully it will be different enough to be distinctive. I hope it’ll be even better. But we’ll try several different versions so we can see which one we like best.”
“It’s like black magic,” she said in awe.
“More like years and years of experience. I’ve made literally hundreds of batches. Some more successful than others.” He laughed. “When I was a kid, Beau always encouraged me to experiment. He let me have free rein, even when he knew the outcome in advance. He was always a firm believer in learning from experience.”
Was that what Beau had intended? For River to gain experience running the brewery for a year, then gain financial control? But Beau could have had no way of knowing she’d hire River as their brewmaster. That part was pure coincidence. Still, while Georgie hadn’t gotten a decent look at the pots and equipment, River had said it was going to need updating. The brewery was cash poor, and it would have to be closed for who knew how many months, which meant Georgie would have to use her own money to keep it running. And if they lost the business, her money would be lost too.
But losing the brewery wasn’t an option. Georgie was a Buchanan, and Buchanans didn’t lose. Ever. She was going to give this her all, and if they survived after the Brewfest Competition, she’d buy Lee and Adalia out so she could offer River a third of the ownership, something that had been lacking in his collaboration with Finn.
Feeling better about her decision, Georgie grabbed her notebook and pen from her purse. “Okay, start from the beginning, because I want to learn everything.”
His eyes twinkled. “There’s that pen again. I’ve been waiting.”
Chapter 16
They’d made three batches of IPA, each with subtle differences to the grain ratio. The first time Georgie had just watched him, the second time she’d helped with the measurements, and the third time he’d let her do it all on her own.
He’d liked watching her work. She’d had a determined look on her face the whole time, a nice change from whatever dark emotions she’d been left with after Jack’s disappearing act. She had indeed taken notes while watching him earlier, extensive notes, and she’d referred to them at least a dozen times, a tiny line appearing between her eyebrows.
There was no denying Georgie Buchanan was a force to be reckoned with. Still, she knew how to cut loose when she let herself. He’d told her she could pick the music while she brewed, and straight-faced as could be, she’d turned on a ’90s boy band, and proceeded to laugh hysterically at his attempted politeness.
God, he loved seeing her in his apartment, all the more so because she was making beer, his beer. The pull he felt toward her was more powerful than ever. But he wasn’t going to push her. She’d had enough people pushing her every which way. He would have denied it until he was blue in the face, but Aunt Dottie had him indoctrinated just enough for him to hope that maybe the pink cr
ystal had meant something. If waiting was what it took, he could wait. He would wait.
“All right,” he said after they poured the water in—okay, so he’d helped with that part—“time for the capping. Feels like there should be a ceremony or something.”
She looked up at him with shining eyes, her hair pulled back again to avoid getting anything in the brew.
“It kind of does. I can’t believe I made beer. I mean, I know it has to sit for weeks, and then carbonate for weeks, but still. This is pretty awesome.”
“Enjoy your drumroll,” he said, tapping against the kitchen counter. “It’ll have to suffice.”
Grinning, she went to cap the carboy. Which was when Hops, who’d been napping in the living room, darted toward them and took a flying leap. He’d aimed himself at Georgie’s arms, perhaps hoping she’d cradle him again, but she fumbled catching him, and he ended up falling onto the top of the carboy before she could grab him.
Could the dog fly? He’d never seen such a tiny animal soar so high.
Hops gave a scared yelp, snuggling into Georgie’s arms. She’d scooped him up quicker than he would have thought possible.
“Oh no!”
For a second he thought she was lamenting the fate of her beer—which, fair enough, they’d dealt with enough tainted brew for one day—but then she lifted the little dog, examining him carefully for any injuries.
Damn. He really wanted to kiss her.
Instead, he stepped closer and put a hand on her arm.
“It’s okay, Georgie. He didn’t get hurt. He’s just a little scared.”
Their eyes met and held, something passing between them, but Hops gave another little yelp and pushed into River’s arms. He snuggled the little puppy closer, kissed his head, feeling Georgie’s eyes on him, and set him down.
“I never knew a dog could jump that high,” she said, sounding a little flustered.
“Me neither,” he said with a grin. “He must have some basenji in him.”
Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set Page 320
