by Meg Benjamin
“For this. For…” He paused, fumbling, and she realized he was as wordless as she when it came to what had happened between them.
“It was my pleasure,” she said slowly. “Believe me. My absolute pleasure.”
He chuckled, a quick explosion of breath in the darkness. “Yeah. It was that.”
She waited for him to say something more, but he stayed silent. After a moment, she curled herself against his side, tucking her head beneath his chin, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Maybe silence was best. Maybe it was best not to venture into the swamp of what it all meant. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it just was.
Go to sleep, Bec. You’re obviously not up to the task of sorting everything out.
Obviously. But she’d still like to know what he felt.
…
Wyatt lay still in the darkness, staring at Bec’s ceiling. Not that there was much to see. Acoustic tile covered what he assumed was industrial skeleton—rafters and hanging wires, probably. He had to give Bec credit. She’d made zero effort to turn her apartment into a hipster cave as tenants in Denver undoubtedly would have. The apartment still looked a little like a poorly converted office.
Probably appropriate. She might be thinking of turning it back into an office once Antero Brewing found its footing again. Which might happen sooner than she’d anticipated, thanks to their work this evening.
He had the malt. With any luck, Bec could convince Angel to sell her the yeast. Antero Brewing would be back in business and turning out superlative beer.
And he would be back in Denver.
Yes, he would. He’d always known that was the goal. So had Bec. He’d take the barrel of Zoria and turn it into a spectacular event at Quaff, the kind of thing that got written up in Craft Beer and Brewing, to say nothing of the Denver Post. His customers would come back to stay, and all would be right with the world. Well, with his world anyway.
Maybe Bec could come down for the dinner. She could talk to his customers, make them want more Antero beer. Maybe she could stay for a couple of days. Or longer. Maybe…
You never talked about anything beyond the Zoria. And you can’t talk about it now. True enough. Talking about it now would be sort of silly. Particularly since he had no idea how Bec felt about the future. Getting out of debt and finding the ingredients for another batch of beer had been her goal. And now that goal had been accomplished. What made him think she’d consider anything beyond that?
Because we just had the greatest sex I’ve ever experienced. Because she seemed as into it as I was. Because whenever I look at her, I ache deep inside.
All of that was true—and irrelevant. His feelings for Bec didn’t matter a damn. He had a business in Denver, and he’d come up here with a specific purpose. And she had her own business here in Antero, where she needed to stay. She had a purpose too, for which she’d needed him.
That purpose was almost completed. His stay was almost over. He needed to take the barrel of Zoria back to Quaff and set about scheduling the party. Promising or planning for anything else would be unfair to both of them.
He closed his eyes, trying to run through his usual checklist. How could he make the party unique? What would make it memorable? Maybe he’d invite Carl Dudley to speak. Maybe he’d get in touch with one of the beer tours and see if they wanted to set up something special. The legendary Zoria. Have a glass for… He sighed. He had no idea what to charge. And thinking about it made him feel tired. More tired.
He glanced at Bec, curled on the bed beside him. Her red curls were spread across the pillow like silk. Asleep, she looked like some kind of fairytale creature. Small and delicate, meant to be protected. He wanted to do that. To be her protector. To be her lover. To be her…
Her what, exactly, Montgomery?
He didn’t know. And he felt as if he were moving into unknown, slightly frightening territory. Plus once Bec was awake, he was pretty sure she’d object strongly to being compared to a helpless woodland creature. She was the Brewmaster of Antero, after all, the creator of Zoria, a legendary figure all on her own.
She muttered something in her sleep and turned onto her back. His heart thumped almost painfully. She might not be as small and vulnerable as he’d made her out to be, but she was still lovely. And he wanted her. He just wasn’t sure he should have her, at least not now.
Outside, he could hear the croak of frogs near the river, the sound of the morning breeze moving through the aspen. The mountain waking up. Soon, Bec would wake up, too. Then they’d say…what? Here’s your beer. Nice meeting you? It seemed to him that there should be more to them than that.
Go to sleep, idiot. He should. He would. He pulled her closer again, pressing his face against her hair, smelling the slight scent of lavender and new grass, of Bec.
He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
…
Bec told herself she wasn’t nervous about having coffee with Angel. They used to do it all the time back before the disaster that was Colin Brooks and his disappearing act. Even when Bec had been a full-time brewmaster, she and Angel still took their coffee breaks together, at least until things started to come unwound.
She blew out a breath, pressing cheese curds down in the colander to drain. You needed to apologize. Now’s your chance. True. But given the way she’d been avoiding Angel, a simple apology might not be enough. Maybe some groveling was in order.
So what? If I need to grovel, I’ll grovel. The possibility of having Angel back as a friend again was worth groveling over. She only hoped groveling would work.
At ten, Ruth leaned into the cheese room. “Your coffee date is here,” she said dryly.
Bec had sort of expected to grovel for Ruth too this morning, given the way Carol had limped home last night. But Ruth had seemed oddly unconcerned. “The kid trips all the time,” she said flatly. “She’s getting better about it, fortunately.”
Bec wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but as long as Carol was okay and Ruth was unconcerned, she figured she was good.
She pulled off her apron and the cap she wore over her hair, heading for the dining room.
There were actually several people sitting at the circle of tables—their coffee break crowd. Angel had snagged a table at the side where she sat with one of the fishpond-sized coffee cups that were the Salty Goat’s specialty. Bec bit her lip. They each had one of those cups at home. For a while, they’d even kept them on one of the shelves in the back of the deli so that they could use them whenever they came for their morning coffee.
She wondered what she’d done with hers. Maybe it was back at the brewery with all the other stuff she’d moved from her apartment.
Angel glanced up as she approached the table. Bec tried a smile. “Morning.”
Angel nodded back. “That it is. Have a seat.”
Bec pulled back the other chair and dropped down opposite, placing her coffee cup on the table in front of her. “I need to get this done first, before we talk. I’m sorry, Angel.”
Angel’s eyebrows went up. “Sorry for…?”
Bec took a breath. “For screwing up the mess Colin left when he took off, for letting our friendship go, for being an asshole. I’m sorry for all of that.”
Angel took a sip of her coffee, her lips moving into a smile. “That’s pretty thorough.”
“If I missed anything, tell me, and I’ll apologize for that too.” Bec managed to pick up her coffee cup with something like self-confidence, although she definitely didn’t feel that way.
“No, I think that does it.” Angel frowned slightly. “Just tell me why you started avoiding me. And Abe.”
Bec took another breath, trying to loosen the tightness in her shoulders. “I was embarrassed. And ashamed. I’d promised you all so much, got you to share my hopes for what could happen. And then it all went away. Like overnight. Just poof.” She shrugged. “Like the reverse of magic, whatever that is.”
Angel’s frown deepened. “But none of that was your
fault. We knew that. Colin was the guy who pulled out without any warning. He left you high and dry, with bills to pay—the rat. We were all pissed at him, not at you.”
“Maybe,” Bec said slowly. “But I still felt responsible. I’d pulled you into this thing, and you ended up getting burned.”
“Colin paid some of the bills; at least he was honest as far as that went,” Angel said slowly. “And I did some experimenting with the yeast.” She gave Bec a quick grin. “Some interesting rolls came out of that, but I don’t make them that often.”
Bec blinked. Angel must still have some of the yeast around if she was using it in her bread.
Angel’s frown was back. “Of course, Colin also cancelled a lot of orders, which left Abe holding the bag since he already had the malt on hand.”
Bec winced. “I didn’t know that. I mean, I could probably have guessed. Shit. I need to apologize to him too.”
Angel nodded. “Yeah, you do. But he doesn’t hold you responsible. He was able to sell the malt he had, so it wasn’t a disaster.”
“Good. I’m glad he made his money back.” Bec picked up her coffee cup again. “What have you been up to for the last year?”
Angel grinned, shaking her head. “No, no, not so fast. We still haven’t covered recent events.”
“Recent events?” Bec hid behind her coffee for a moment.
“Who is Wyatt Montgomery, and what’s going on with the two of you?” Angel’s grin turned wily. “He’s cute. Abe said he’s from Denver.”
Bec nodded. “Yeah. He owns a pub there.” No way in hell would she use the words gastropub or Quaff around Angel—or anybody else from Antero.
“And now he’s up here?” Angel folded her hands below her chin, batting her eyelashes. “Tell me more.”
Tell her more. Bec took a breath. Once upon a time, Angel had been the one she confided in, the one she told things like this. Now she felt a little weird about doing it. “I’m selling him the last of our beer, the barrel of Zoria.”
Angel lost her smile. “I didn’t know you had anything left.”
“Just the one barrel. I was sort of saving it.” Although she couldn’t say what she’d been saving it for. Maybe it was for Wyatt.
“And you’re giving it to this guy?” Angel frowned. “Why, Bec?”
“I’m not giving it to him. I’m selling it to him, like I said.” She toyed with her coffee cup for a moment. “Plus, I made him do some things for me to get the right to buy it.”
“Do some things?” Angel was still frowning. “Do what?”
“Get me the ingredients for another batch of beer,” Bec blurted. “The hops and the malt.” She paused. And the yeast. But that had to come from Angel.
Angel blinked at her, then stared down at her coffee. “You’ll want my yeast, then.”
“I do.” And I want your friendship. And I want the past year to be a bad dream. But she wasn’t sure Angel would believe her if she said it. “If it’s available.”
Angel sighed. “I don’t know whether it is or not, Bec. I mean, last time things went to hell pretty fast. What do you plan to do differently this time around?”
Bec leaned back in her chair. It was the first time anybody had ever asked the question, although it was logical. She wondered why nobody had come up with it until now. “This time I won’t depend on anybody until we’re solidly on our feet. No outside investors. No going for the big time. Just local beer. Until people get used to us again. I’ve got my dreams all whittled down to normal size, believe me.”
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you whittling your dreams down. None of us do. Hell, we all got on board because we believed those dreams of yours. They made a lot of sense. You make fantastic beer.”
“Thanks. But I want to do it right this time around. I want this version to work.”
“Who’s going to help you? Liam?”
Bec shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ll do a lot of the work myself, hire some part-timers to help me with the big stuff until we get enough brewed to start making a profit.”
“No bottles?”
Bec sighed. The bottling line had been the last big expense that Colin had subsidized. “Not yet. We don’t have enough bottles and caps to make it profitable.” And I don’t have enough money to buy more yet.
Angel leaned her elbows on the table, holding her coffee cup in both hands. “You’ve thought this through.”
“I have. I think it’ll work. Eventually.” If you sell me the yeast. Otherwise, I’m toast.
Angel took another sip of her coffee, then she shrugged. “Okay. You can have the yeast. And everybody will cross their fingers for you.”
Bec allowed herself to smile. Finally. “I hope so. Lord knows my own are going to be crossed and recrossed.”
“Now, about Wyatt Montgomery.” Angel batted her eyes again.
Bec felt her cheeks flush hot. “What about him? He’s a friend.”
“A good friend?”
Bec shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “Sure.”
Angel’s brow suddenly furrowed. “Is this guy a friend too?”
“What guy?” Bec turned to look over her shoulder to see a man walking toward them. He looked like a tourist—his khakis and polo shirt were a lot more expensive than anything he could have bought around town. His black hair was stylishly cut, something else that didn’t seem native to Antero. “I don’t know him.”
The man stopped at her table, smiling with a kind of smirk that Bec found vaguely annoying. “Ms. Dempsey?”
“I’m Rebecca Dempsey.” She drew herself up slightly.
The man’s smirk became more pronounced. He should have been handsome, with his deep blue eyes and the hint of a dimple beside his smile. Instead, Bec found herself wanting to punch him. “I’m Christopher Threadgood,” he said. “I’d like to have a word with you.” He glanced at Angel as if he expected her to scuttle away.
Bec shook her head. “I’m busy right now.”
“Oh, I think you’ll want to talk to me,” Threadgood said. “It could be worth a lot of money to you. I’m in the market for a barrel of Zoria.”
Chapter Sixteen
Angel left almost immediately, which made Bec feel grumpy. They’d been having a good conversation, and nothing about Christopher Threadgood made her think he’d be any kind of substitute.
Except she really did want to know what he’d heard about the Zoria. And from whom.
Carol brought him a cup of coffee that he must have ordered as soon as he came in. He didn’t bother to do more than glance at her as he picked up his cup. Carol didn’t look impressed. Neither was Bec.
“I’ll get right to the point,” he said, giving her another smirk. “Whatever Wyatt Montgomery offered for your barrel of Zoria, I’ll double. And my place, the Red Wolf, is a bigger draw than his dive will ever be. If you want entry into the Denver craft brewing scene, you’ll go with what I offer.”
Bec managed not to clench her teeth. He was offering a lot of money, but he was obviously a dick. Plus, Wyatt had earned that barrel, and she wasn’t about to screw him over, even for Threadgood’s cash. She managed to keep her voice neutral. “Could I ask how you heard about my Zoria?”
Threadgood gave her a negligent shrug, as if the question was almost too minor to answer. “Your Zoria has a certain…reputation. One of those legendary beers that people talk about, even though they’ve probably never tasted it. I’m out to give today’s beer connoisseur a chance to see if the legend is justified.”
“You realize Antero Brewing has been inactive for a year,” she said carefully.
He shrugged again. “You over-expanded and lost your backers. Typical start-up overreach. It happens.”
Bec gave him a long look. What he said was true, but it was only a small part of the story. And his attitude sucked. “Then what makes you think I have any Zoria available now?”
The smirk was back, in spades. “I have it on excellent authority. Your co-owner, in fact
.”
Bec frowned. “Colin? I didn’t know he was in contact with anyone about Antero.” Given that he’d made it very clear he no longer considered himself a partner in her business. Or her life.
Threadgood shook his head impatiently. “Not Brooks. Your other owner. Your brother.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. Liam. She should have known. I will personally dismember you, Liam Dempsey. She took a moment to sip her coffee until she got her voice back under control. “Liam isn’t authorized to sell any of our stock. The assets belong to the brewery, not him.”
“A good attorney could probably prove you wrong, but let’s say for the moment I accept what you’re saying.” Threadgood leaned back in his chair, cradling his coffee cup in his hands. “I’m not negotiating with your brother. I’m negotiating with you.”
No, you’re not. “I’m not interested in negotiating, Mr. Threadgood.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You shouldn’t let personal feelings get in the way of the future of your company, Ms. Dempsey. Montgomery can be charming. That shouldn’t have any bearing on whether or not you accept my offer. You need money. I’m willing to pay you a lot. That’s all you should be thinking about right now.”
Bec kept her hands flat on the table, resisting the temptation to gather them into fists. She had no intention of punching Threadgood, not that the idea wasn’t appealing. “My brother shouldn’t have discussed the Zoria with you, Mr. Threadgood. I’m sorry he did. I’ve already made other arrangements, and I don’t go back on my word.”
Threadgood’s smirk finally disappeared. Instead, he looked seriously annoyed. “You’re making a mistake, Ms. Dempsey. A big one. Selling your stout to Montgomery would be bad for everyone involved. I’ll stay in contact with your brother. I suggest you talk this offer over with him. I’ll give you until tomorrow evening to make a final decision.” He pushed himself to his feet, deliberately looming over her. “Good morning.”
Bec glanced up at him, then shrugged. “Yeah.”
She watched him stalk out of the dining room. Carol came to the table to collect his coffee cup. “Who was that guy?”
