“River.” She looked into his eyes. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t handle any of this well. The brewery should be yours. I’m going to sign my part over to you in the morning, and I’ll do everything in my power to convince my sister and brothers to do the same. It’s not right—”
She stopped, as if finally registering he was shaking his head.
“I don’t want that,” he said. “And Beau didn’t want it either. He wanted you and your family to be a part of what he’d made. I’m sorry for the way I reacted yesterday… I felt blindsided, and I didn’t stop to think about what all of this was doing to you. You were backed into a corner, and instead of offering you a hand, I turned my back on you. Which is something I never, ever want to do again.”
He took her other hand as he said it, and she let him, looking at him with something like wonder. “Georgie, I want to do this with you. All the way. I’ve never in my life felt more fulfilled than working with you. Being with you. And I don’t want to hide what we have.”
She cringed a little at that. “I know. I’m sorry about my brothers. But I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
“You don’t need to worry about that anymore,” he said. “I talked to Jack, and he agreed to back off. And from what I understand, Adalia made a lot of headway with Lee.”
Shock radiated from her. “You did that for me?” A pause. “I feel like this has to be an incredibly vivid dream. Jane Eyre was my favorite book in high school, and you are pretending to be a fortune-teller. Don’t think Adalia’s the only one who noticed that scarf earlier.”
“Oh, there was no pretending,” he said with a chuckle. “I gave readings for five people, and I stuck to Josie’s one-fourth rule. It was brutal for poor Kevin in sales.
“So what happened in Jane Eyre?” he asked, pulling her closer. “I can’t say I’ve ever read it.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, the man Jane loved pretended to be a fortune-teller so he could say things to her he wouldn’t say out in the open.”
“Huh. That’s messed up.”
“Yeah”—she arched her brow—“he had to be careful because his crazy wife was living up in the attic.” She glanced up dramatically.
River huffed a laugh. “And this was your favorite book?” He pulled one of his hands away, but only so he could gesture toward the window. “Don’t worry. All my crazy is out in the open, and if you still want to be with me after seeing all of this…” The donkey wandered by, chewing on some of Aunt Dottie’s flowers, as if to punctuate his point. “…I’m all yours.”
She kissed him then—a soft kiss that quickly turned fierce, and by the time she pulled away she was panting.
“I love you, River.”
The surety with which she said it, the fire in her eyes…he’d never felt happier and fuller than he did in this moment. Than he did with this woman.
“Hey,” he said, running his fingers down the curve of her cheek, “I was going to say it first.” Then he sucked in a breath, bolstering himself for the words he’d never said to a woman before, other than his near brush with Blanche. “I love you, Georgie.”
He kissed her first this time, savoring the taste of her, the closeness, knowing he never wanted to pull away. He tugged Georgie the rest of the way onto his lap, hands on her hips, her curves, any part of her he could touch, and she slid a hand under his shirt, running it across his abs.
He went to take it off, which was when he saw Lurch giving him a thumbs-up from outside the window.
“Um, I think we should probably get out of here,” he said to Georgie, pulling back a little.
Her gaze shot to the window, and she jumped a little in his arms. “Yes, please. Immediately.”
“Should we look for your other shoe?”
She glanced down at her foot and shook her head a little. “No. Let’s not chance it. Maybe Josie will find it.” A side of her mouth ticked up. “She’s good at collecting my clothes.”
He stood up and pulled her up with him, Georgie’s eyes widening as he lifted her into his arms.
“I’m pretty sure there’s probably at least a dozen abandoned crystals on the floor out there,” he explained, “and I don’t want you to hurt your feet.”
She tipped her head up and kissed him at that, and he almost forgot Lurch was at the window, and there were people outside the room waiting for fortune readings, and this whole party was a massive disaster unfolding around them. But when he edged back toward the bed, she poked him.
“No, we need to get out of here before it’s too late. If we don’t hurry, there’s going to be a fire or a flood, or who knows what, and we’ll never have the chance.”
He opened the door, ready to sneak out—although how he was supposed to do that with the boss in his arms, he didn’t know—only to find everyone gathered in a semicircle at the end of the hall, Aunt Dottie standing next to the Beau statue, Adalia grinning at them from Beau’s right-hand side, in front of an enormous cake. It had been decorated with surprisingly accurate renditions of Georgie and River.
“Surprise!” Adalia said. “Dottie spent hours working on it. It was my idea! Want to make the first cut?” She held out a knife, and it was only then River caught sight of the computer set up in the corner, Jack watching everything unfold with a look of fascinated horror, as if wondering what he was in for if, or when, he did move to Asheville.
“Sure,” he said, because why not.
He exchanged a look with Georgie, who said, “You better not cut off my nose.”
The moment was weirdly, wonderfully perfect. He had a feeling they’d remember the day Buchanan Brewery closed down for years to come. That one day they might tell heavily edited versions of this story to their kids.
He leaned down to kiss Georgie again, in front of everyone, and they all whooped and cheered.
Epilogue
“Oh, my God,” Adalia groaned. “If I’d known you two would be so disgusting, I never would have orchestrated getting you back together.”
Georgie and River were sitting hand in hand in the wicker chairs on the back porch, watching Hops romp around in the backyard. Jezebel, who was surprisingly tolerant of the puppy, sat in a dry bird bath watching like a prison yard guard.
Laughing, Georgie said, “From what I heard, Dottie had a lot to do with it too.”
River raised his free hand. “I’m pretty sure I should be included on that list.”
Georgie shot him an ornery grin. “Of course you were.” She turned to her sister, who stood in the open doorway. “And we’re not even doing anything.”
“You’re holding hands.”
River chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to look at her. “You’ve never struck me as a puritan, Addy.”
Georgie smiled to herself. River had taken to Adalia’s nickname almost immediately, as had most of the staff at Buchanan, but Dottie was quite adamant about calling her Adalia, saying her name fit her too well to alter it.
Adalia shuddered. “Gross. Why would you insult me like that?”
Georgie turned to face her sister, a huge grin on her face. “I’m confused as to why you’re upset.”
“You’re like an old married couple, content with just sitting together. Watching your dog. It’s gross.”
Amusement lit up River’s face. “So what would you have us do?”
“You can start by coming inside. I have something important to show you. You know, before you officially give up the ghost and check yourselves into an old-age home.”
Georgie glanced at River, and she saw something knowing in his eyes. He had some idea of what Adalia intended. Interesting. Well, she was grateful for whatever had caught Adalia’s interest. So few things did, lately.
Adalia had become a near hermit, something completely unlike her. Other than the parties two weeks ago and going to the brewery, she hadn’t ventured out at all. Her sister wouldn’t even give in to Dottie’s persistent coaxing to “make something fabulous with her.”
Georgie wasn’t su
re what to do or how to help. She’d already cornered Alan Stansworth into dropping the legal charges against her sister. The Monday after the party, she’d called him up and coldly informed him that Adalia had photographic proof that she had created the sculptures he’d appropriated, and unless all charges were dropped, she would be hiring the very best attorney the Buchanans could find to ensure the art community knew exactly who he was and what he’d done. The charges had been dropped that very afternoon.
When Georgie called Adalia into her office to tell her as much, Adalia had said, “Georgie, I don’t have any photos of me making those sculptures.”
Georgie had given her a conspiratorial grin. “You know that, and I know that, but apparently Alan Stansworth doesn’t know that.”
“You bluffed him,” Adalia had said, gaping at her. “I never knew you had it in you.”
Georgie had winked. “Did I mention that I considered going to law school? There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
“So I’m finding out.” Adalia had given her a rare serious look. “Thanks, Georgie. For everything. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Georgie had gotten up from her desk and given her a hug. “That’s what sisters are for. I’m here, Addy. I’m not going anywhere.”
And apparently neither was Adalia. Which meant Georgie would have plenty of time to figure out how to draw her out. She’d hoped that making the Stansworth problem go away would do it, but what had happened obviously left scars.
So of course she would do Adalia’s bidding.
She shot her sister a look. “Okay, I’ll bite. But only if you do the dishes from dinner.”
River laughed. “I love your devious side.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Adalia lifted her hands in front of her face. “Now you’re really being gross. Are you going to leave Hops back here, at Jezebel’s mercy?”
“He’ll be fine,” River said, glancing at her over Georgie’s shoulder. “He knows better than to mess with her, and if anything she’s happy to have a minion.”
“Which seems fitting since they’re the new mascots for the brewery,” Georgie said. It had been her idea to use Hops, who was surely cute enough to sell beer, and Adalia’s suggestion that Jezebel would be an inspired choice to market the sours River was making. “Speaking of which, are you still good with handling the photo shoot next week, Addy? We’ll need to buy a thousand sardines for Jezebel.”
An emotion Georgie couldn’t name flickered in her sister’s eyes, but it passed just as quickly. “I’ve got it covered. Now, get inside before I have to lasso you. I really don’t feel like watching a YouTube tutorial right now.”
Georgie laughed at that, but that look weighed on her. She’d been seeing variations of it for weeks.
Adalia preceded them inside, and Georgie got up before River did and held out her hand to him. He grinned at her as he accepted the boost. “I love it when you go all knight in shining armor on me.”
“I know you know what this is about,” she murmured, without any heat. She liked River’s surprises, the side of him that was a little more like Dottie than he realized. Just last week, he’d given her a long silver necklace with a beautiful pink crystal pendant. Made, he told her, from the pink crystal she’d thrown at his head that first night.
When she stepped inside, hand in hand with River, it took her a moment to understand what she was seeing on the kitchen table. Adalia stood in front of a six-pack of bottled beer, which was something of a mainstay around her house these days. But when she took a closer look, she gasped…
The label had an artistic rendering of Hops on it in bright, almost psychedelic colors, and it read, Hair of Hops, Buchanan Brewery. It was eye-catching, it was gorgeous, and it was 100% Adalia. Except that name…
River squeezed her hand, his eyes alight with pride. “Your first beer,” he confirmed. “Adalia helped make it special. I thought we could try it for the first time together.”
“What he means is that I did the most important and vital part,” Adalia teased.
“You haven’t tried it yet?” Georgie asked in bewilderment, looking up at River. “Not even when you were bottling it?”
“No,” he said, “which felt extremely weird, I won’t lie, but I wanted to do this with you. It’s our first collaboration beer.” A slow smile stole across his face. “It’s the beginning of an era.”
“Which will really be a bummer if it sucks,” Adalia said. She grabbed one of the bottles and nodded to the porch. “I’m going out there to puppysit my nephew.” A pause. “And also because I have a feeling some PDA is going to come out of this.”
“Oh, you’re right about that,” River said, gazing at Georgie as he said it. That look was all heat, and it sent tingles through her, but she snagged her sister into a hug as she walked by. “Thank you,” she said in a low voice. “It’s beautiful, and I know the rest of them will be too. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“So am I,” Adalia said, and from the emotion in her voice, it was obvious she meant it. “Now go have your beautiful moment with your perfectly adequate boyfriend.”
“Aw, Addy, I knew you liked me,” River said. He hugged her too, though, and Georgie felt the gratitude of knowing that at least one person in her family had accepted him with open arms. Lee and her father were furious, and Jack didn’t necessarily approve, but he’d been pacified by whatever River had told him. She was surprised by how little it fazed her. Her family had a long history of toxic relationships, but she was breaking the mold.
After the door shut behind Adalia, River went to the table. Georgie assumed he’d gone to get the bottles, but instead he started up a drumroll, just like he’d done the day they made the beer. Funny how it was obnoxious when her father did it and perfectly charming when River did it.
“The moment of truth approaches,” he said in an announcer’s voice.
“I suppose this means I have to open them?”
“I suppose so. I can one-handed drink, but only Finn can open a bottle that way,” he said, continuing with the drumming.
She sighed dramatically as she popped two of the bottles open and handed him one. The smell was right, but she didn’t let herself hope too much. She’d liked the smell of certain beers and hated the taste.
River stopped the playful drumming and clinked his bottle to hers.
“What if it’s no good?” she asked, suddenly worried. Obviously, anything River made would be good, but she was the one who’d gone through the steps for this one, and then there was the whole issue about the possible hair contamination.
“Impossible,” he said, his tone absolute. He put his bottle down and pulled her to him. Setting her own beer down so quickly it nearly splashed, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her, deep and passionate, as if she were something to be savored, and when he finally pulled back, she wasn’t thinking about the beer, or her worries about the brewery reopening, or about anything other than River.
“We made this together,” he whispered in her ear, “and that means it’s going to be the best beer ever. Until the next one, and the next one, and the next one. Because we, Georgie Buchanan, are meant to be together in all things.”
He pulled back, his eyes gleaming, and grabbed the two bottles, handing one to her.
This time, they both took a sip at the same time, their eyes on each other.
The flavors were in perfect balance, the carbonation at an ideal level, the beer utterly drinkable.
“The perfect balance,” she said, feeling the happiness fizz through her. “Just like us.”
River set his bottle down, and she did the same, and they were reaching for each other just as Adalia called out from the porch. “Um, guys. I thought this was a twist top. Can you come help a girl out?”
And because River really was the perfect man—perfect for Georgie—he pocketed the bottle opener with a flourish, grabb
ed the beers in one hand, and put the other around her.
“I think this means we might have to put dog hair in all of our beer,” he whispered.
And somehow it was the perfect thing to say.
About the Authors
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Denise Grover Swank was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became nomadic, living in five cities, four states and ten houses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.
A.R. CASELLA lives in Asheville, North Carolina with her three-year-old daughter, Frances, her husband, Devin, and their two cranky old dogs in an extremely small bungalow. Hundred-year-old houses don't come with many closets or bathrooms, it turns out, and while they all love the charm of their house, it would be even more charming if the chimney weren't crumbling. A.R. is also developmental editor, and she spends her days editing and writing in between being ordered around by her real boss, Frances, to draw thirty different renditions of Thomas the Tank Engine on the outside sidewalk, make rhinos out of Play-Doh, or create snacks out of ingredients that do not currently reside in the refrigerator. It's a tough gig, but someone's got to do it! She co-writes the Asheville Brewing series with Denise Grover Swank.
To keep up to date with our shenanigans and plans, including some extra bonus material, please subscribe to our newsletter: https://mailchi.mp/dgswank.com/dgsandarcasella
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