Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set

by Grover Swank, Denise

  She’d still thought about chucking the addendum. It had been on her mind all morning, pricking her like a bramble bush. She could say no. That’s all it would take. But something had held her back. At first she’d thought it was the part of her, the small part she hated, that still craved her father’s and brother’s approval, but now that she was with River, she realized what it really was.

  One look on his face when he’d walked into her office had made it clear he’d be more than willing to pick up where they left off very early in the morning. And she wanted that. She wanted him almost enough to say the hell with their ridiculous deal and reach for him.

  And that was why she slid that damned piece of paper toward him. Because her hesitation didn’t have anything to do with her family. Not anymore.

  She knew she could lose herself in River if she allowed it to happen, and she’d never given any man control over her heart. Now wasn’t the time to start. She’d seen what had happened to her mother. She’d had a promising career as an art history professor, but she’d never gotten beyond the associate professor stage. Her interests, her drive, her ambition—they’d always taken a back seat to Georgie’s father. His whims had controlled everyone in the family, and the wisdom of retrospection told her they’d all but crushed her mother. Georgie had vowed to never let the same thing happen to her—to never let a man become her be-all and end-all—and she’d never been tempted before. It had never been an issue. But she’d only known River for a matter of days, and she was already thinking about him far too much. It scared her. Last night was fine…more than fine…but she stood behind her original decision—it couldn’t happen again. Which meant no River in her bed, or her in his, as the case may be.

  “I know…” Her voice was rough, so she paused and cleared her throat before starting again. “I know we’ve already agreed to this, but my brothers insisted that all the employees sign it.”

  His gaze was on the paper for several seconds, and for one brief moment she was terrified he’d get up and walk out of the room, leaving Buchanan Brewery. Leaving her. Not that she could blame him given the way her family was treating him.

  Given the way she was treating him.

  Finally, he released a short laugh and tilted his head, still not meeting her gaze. “That’s good. For a moment there, I was about to take it personally.”

  “I didn’t write this up, River,” she said just a little too quickly.

  That was what prompted River to raise his eyes to hers, a sad smile lifting the corners of his mouth. There was a novel’s worth of messages in his gaze. Empathy. Regret. Sadness. Respect. “I know. It’s okay, Georgie. You’re right. This is what we agreed to.”

  So why did this feel so wrong? So sullied. Like making him sign that paper cheapened what had been hands down the best night of her life, with the kindest, most thoughtful…the sexiest man she’d ever known.

  A lump filled her throat and she glanced down at Beau’s desk…her desk now. She was in charge, which meant she had to make the hard decisions and stand by them.

  “I don’t need to have anyone look this over,” he said, searching her desk. “The offer is more than generous. Do you have a pen?”

  His willingness to sign the offer letter, which he clearly hadn’t read from start to finish, put her in a panic.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “There’s a noncompete clause my brothers insisted on. You really should seek legal advice.” That had been Lee’s doing as well. Last night, he had emailed her, Jack, and Adalia a draft of River’s contract, drawn up by none other than the lovely Victoria. It was hard not to think it was some form of retaliation, or at least response, for ignoring her father’s request for a business proposal. Jack had responded promptly, wholeheartedly agreeing with the noncompete clause. Georgie had upped the offer significantly over what Lee had proposed, and she’d planned to strike out the noncompete language, but Jack had called her at seven thirty this morning, insisting she leave it in.

  “What happens when River finds out he would have gotten it all if we’d failed?” Jack had asked. “What’s to keep him from jumping ship and either starting his own brewery or going to someone else’s with the sole intent of running us into the ground?”

  “He’s not going to do that, Jack,” she’d said with a sigh, her heart heavy. “He’s not that kind of a guy.”

  “And you know this how?” he’d demanded. “Because he’s obviously interested in you?”

  “That’s not fair, Jack,” she’d snapped. “And it’s damned insulting.”

  “We need him to sign it, Georgie. After we make it to the one year mark, we can offer him another contract without a noncompete, and he’ll be none the wiser. The one Lee came up with only runs through next April anyway.”

  That had been another sticking point for her—the short term of the contract. It was for less than a year, which seemed insulting, but then again, she supposed it wouldn’t matter if they lost the brewery. Still, River didn’t know about the deadline, so she’d figured he was bound to question it. Only he hadn’t. He’d almost signed without even reading it.

  Because he trusted her.

  She felt like she was going to be sick.

  His voice tightened, as though he were being strangled. “A noncompete?”

  “Just for Asheville,” she said. “And a two-hundred-mile radius. You could go to the West Coast, though,” she quickly added. “Or you could get an attorney to make a counterproposal.” Please, please get an attorney.

  “I take it that’s your brothers’ doing as well?” he asked, staring at her with so much intensity, she wondered if he was trying to read her soul. Did he see the stains of her betrayal?

  “Get your attorney to make a counteroffer, River.”

  “Are you planning on firing me?” he asked, his gaze holding hers.

  Why had she agreed to this? Jack wasn’t even here. He’d run off to do God knew what, because he still hadn’t deigned to tell her. “No. Definitely not.”

  “What about your brothers?”

  “I’m giving them small concessions so I can fight for the things I really want. And I really want you, River,” she said before she could stop herself. She quickly looked away, frustrated by how unnerved she felt. How she hadn’t just meant she needed him for reviving Buchanan. “I need you.” She glanced up at him. “They won’t fire you. You have my word.”

  An emotion flashed in his eyes, one she didn’t know how to interpret, but it wasn’t anything joyful.

  “Pick your battles,” he finally said, the words soft but also full of disappointment.

  She knew what he wasn’t saying. She might be willing to fight for him, but only halfway. “Take it to an attorney,” she said. “Or to Finn. Let him look it over and give you advice.”

  He stared at the document for a good five seconds before he rose slightly and grabbed a pen off her desk. He signed both documents with a flourish, then slid them across the desk. “Now that that’s out of the way, we’ve got work to do. We’ve both agreed we should keep Beau Brown, but another popular beer is…”

  Georgie tried to focus on what he was saying, but deep inside she was freaking out that he’d signed those papers so easily. She’d sworn that she would fight for him. She only hoped she could live up to it.

  Chapter 28

  He’d made it almost two weeks. That was something, wasn’t it?

  Professional Georgie hadn’t so much as cracked. Not that she’d given herself much of an opportunity—a lot of the time they spent together they had some sort of chaperone: Aunt Dottie or Tom or another employee, or Jack on whatever video app she used. Still, he’d catch her looking at him sometimes, a longing in her eyes that made him want to say to hell with it and reach for her, except he couldn’t do that. And not because of some stupid piece of paper. He couldn’t do it because he’d promised her.

  Sometimes he wondered what he was doing. It was too hard, being around her constantly and knowing he couldn’t be with her. Especial
ly since he clicked with Professional Georgie just as well as he did with the Georgie that let her hair down. They shared a vision, and he knew that for the rarity it was.

  They’d taste-tested a few beers and ciders together one afternoon to narrow down the flavor profile he was trying to achieve with the new brews—the level of hops from bottle A, with the fruit finish from bottle B—and he’d been reminded of that first night. Of the promise he’d felt between them. Of the freedom of not having to worry about things like professionalism and paperwork.

  At least they’d decided on the beers they were making, plus he’d gotten in batches of Beau Brown, Lurch White, and Donuts for Dottie. (Beau hadn’t been too creative in the naming department, but it had been part of his charm.) The party planning was going full steam ahead too, both for the Kill the Keg party, which they were calling Bury the Brewery. Somewhat ominous, but the bigger launch party they were already planning for fall would be Buchanan Brewery Rises. Jack had commented that at least it was better than We Cleaned the Piss Pots, Please Come Back. Georgie had, of course, insisted on being involved in every stage of Aunt Dottie’s after-party planning (in the nicest but firmest way possible). Still, he knew his aunt would have surprises up her sleeve. She always did.

  The worst part of the last week was not having anyone to talk to about it. Finn would’ve told him he was nuts for signing that contract. Perhaps rightly so. But he still wasn’t talking to Finn. There’d been some check-in texts from the other Big Catch staffers, some invitations for drinks, but he didn’t feel up to it yet. They’d want to talk about the sale, about Finn, and most certainly about Buchanan. He didn’t. Finn had texted him a few times too, saying he urgently needed to talk to him about something, but he’d ignored the messages—in fact, he rarely picked up his phone anymore. Every time he did, there were at least fifteen texts about Jezebel. Plenty of people had seen her, but much to Aunt Dottie’s consternation, they all had a common approach: run and then text River.

  Of course, by the time he got to the intersection where they’d seen her feasting on trash or chasing a child into a tree, she’d be long gone. He could have blocked their numbers, but the sadness in his aunt’s eyes whenever she spoke about the cat prevented it.

  Aunt Dottie talked to him, of course—she’d insisted on him coming over for dinner three times in the past week, but she always tried to hearten him, to reassure him that the stars were aligned in his favor and the tea she’d tricked him into drinking had left distinct hearts in the leaves at the bottom. Somehow her encouragement made everything harder.

  And then there was Maisie—she’d been avoiding him like he had the plague, all while insisting she did. Something he wasn’t so sure he believed given he’d called the shelter a few days ago and Dustin had acted surprised, and then interested, when he’d said Maisie was sick.

  “Reallllly,” he’d said, drawing it out, and River could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind.

  He wanted to make things right, but he wasn’t sure how if she wouldn’t talk to him. Giving her space hadn’t worked. It was Thursday afternoon, just a couple of days before the big Buchanan closing party on Saturday, and he wanted her to be there. So he’d decided to ambush her at the shelter. Something he could do since it was technically his day off. (Sure, he’d spent the morning in the office, but truth be told, he’d only gone so he could see Georgie.)

  He came bearing expensive coffee and the right kind of muffins, and he felt oddly nervous. The last thing he’d meant to do was hurt her, but it seemed like he wasn’t doing anything right lately.

  One of the volunteers he recognized—luckily not Dustin—let him in, and pointed him toward the playroom when he asked for Maisie.

  “She’ll be grateful for the coffee,” the volunteer said with a smile. “She’s been pulling long hours with Beatrice all week on the new funding drive.”

  Which meant she almost certainly hadn’t been sick, not that he’d really believed her story. Still, it put a pit in his stomach that she’d lied to him. That she’d gone out of her way not to see him. That she’d left him like Georgie, like Finn, like Beau. But he could still make things right with Maisie.

  He had to.

  He knocked on the door, using the secret knock they’d developed as teens, and instead of answering, she just opened it.

  She did look tired. Her hair was still wet, flatter than it would be in a few hours when it finally dried and the curls sprang up, and the circles under her eyes made it look like she hadn’t been sleeping.

  But something inside of him eased upon seeing her. The look in her eyes told him she was glad he was here. That she didn’t want him to leave.

  “I come bearing gifts,” he said, lifting up the cup and the bag.

  She lifted an eyebrow, and before she could say anything, he preempted her with, “And yes, it is the right kind of muffin.”

  “Thank God,” she said, taking his offerings. “Otherwise I would have had to send you back, and you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  She ushered him in, and he felt all the relief of being wanted.

  Part of him had expected another avalanche of puppies, but the dog in the room was one he hadn’t seen before, a red husky.

  “A new kid?” he asked, nodding to the dog, who’d padded over and was sniffing him with interest. Smelling Hops, no doubt.

  “Meet Tyrion, the escape artist. Owner was watching too much Game of Thrones, confused huskies for direwolves, and realized they’re a lot of work.”

  She shrugged, but he caught the flash of righteous anger in her eyes. It would never sit all right with her that people abandoned their dogs, or their children.

  “Good thing he found you,” he said, and meant it.

  He sat down at the table and looked up at her, feeling for all the world like that kid again.

  “You were sick?” he asked.

  She blew a few stray hairs out of her face and sat opposite him. Took a swig of the coffee that probably burned her tongue. “I felt sick, but maybe I kind of, sort of exaggerated.”

  “I know I was harsh last week,” he said quickly. “It wasn’t because of anything you did. It just felt like the world was against me.” He paused, swallowed. “Or at least against me and Georgie.”

  She must have heard something in his voice, because her eyes softened even more, the sympathy there a welcome balm.

  “And I should have listened a lot better,” she said. She paused, then added, “I guess I’ve just never seen you go this gaga over anyone before. I was worried—I am worried—and I didn’t know what to do. But I’m ready to listen now if you want to talk.”

  And he was, and he did. Of course, he didn’t say anything more about his night with Georgie. Maisie knew, sort of, and the details were between him and Georgie. He also didn’t mention the noncompete or the addendum to the handbook. Midway through the telling, Tyrion padded over to the table and sat, his posture regal, to listen too.

  “The party’s Saturday,” he finished. “You’ll come, right?”

  “Maybe,” she said, popping the last piece of muffin. “It’s been a bit of a nightmare around here. We’re short on funding, again, and we need to put in another big push this weekend. I’ll be there if I can. And by there, I mean at Dottie’s after-party.” She grinned. “I’m no fool. I know where the real fun’s at.”

  “Of course,” he said, a return grin tugging at his face. “And if you need any help with the fundraising, just let me know. Maybe we can do some sort of event or drive for you once the brewery reopens. I’ll talk to Georgie about it.”

  “Thanks. And while we’re talking about Georgie…” Maisie leaned over, giving Tyrion a pat, and didn’t look at him. “I know it’s hard, but maybe she’s right. It sounds like you work well together, and it would be a shame to mess with that for something as unsure as a relationship. Especially since—”

  He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. Especially since I’ve never had a long one. But Maisi
e, this is different. Georgie’s different.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “I can see that. But all you can do is wait. Sometimes that’s all a person can do.” The way she said it almost held a note of bitterness. He was about to ask her if she was okay, but someone knocked on the door.

  “Maisie,” the volunteer from earlier called. “One of the foster families is calling. Adonis needs to go to the vet.”

  Genuine worry flashed on Maisie’s face. “He has a heart condition,” she explained. “I’ve got to take this, but maybe we can get lunch sometime soon.” She wagged a finger in his face like a schoolmarm. “I still need that computer.”

  It had been ruined, along with a lot of other stuff. The house was still a bit of a mess, but Georgie, with her siblings’ approval, had brought in contractors to update it while they fixed the damage. He couldn’t help but wonder if the others did anything beyond order her around and okay her choices.

  She’d shown him pictures of the downstairs in one of those rare moments they’d been alone together. Her hand had grazed his as he took her phone, sending a rush of sensation through him, and she’d kept it like that—their hands touching—for longer than needed. Their eyes had met as he handed it back, and she’d opened her mouth to say something—

  Only for the video app to ring with a call from Jack.

  Jack was great at getting in the way, even from Chicago, although perhaps that wasn’t entirely fair.

  “You got it,” he said, giving Tyrion a pat as Maisie led him out of the room.

  He headed back to his car, feeling restless, and found himself driving somewhere unexpected. The cemetery. Beau had a nice spot, beneath a large oak tree, and someone—he suspected Aunt Dottie—had left a bouquet of hops.

  He felt a little uncomfortable being there, like it was maybe stupid of him to try talking to a dead man, communing with one. A quick glance told him no one was around, and he sat at the base of the grave and looked up at the sky, as if to see Beau’s view from down below.