Love on Tap (Brewing Love)

by Meg Benjamin

  “Debatable, but let’s move on. To be a credible gastropub, you need the best craft beer you can get. That means moving beyond the big guys like New Belgium that everybody carries. You need the small, interesting breweries. That’s what brings you the craft beer enthusiasts. That’s what gets you into the restaurant and bar reviews. That’s what gets you rated highly on Yelp. That’s what keeps your bar packed. We both know that.” Given that they were both competing for the same breweries, they both knew it well.

  For the first time, Threadgood looked faintly uneasy. “What about it? I give them good exposure. And I sell a lot of their beer.”

  Wyatt nodded. “You do. So do I. So do a lot of pubs around the Denver area. But the thing is, the really good craft brewers don’t have to sell to you—or to me or to any of us. The really good guys can have their pick of bars. And they could choose not to pick yours.”

  Threadgood stared at him blankly. “They’d lose money.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t. Or if they did, they’d pick it up again elsewhere. They don’t need you, Threadgood. And once they see these pictures and hear the story that goes along with them, they’re not going to want you, either.”

  Threadgood tried for another sneer. “You’re going to go to each of these breweries and show them these pictures and tell them your sad story? You’re talking about a lot of time here.”

  Wyatt gave him his first real smile. “I wouldn’t mind doing that, as a matter of fact, but you’re right. It would be time intensive. On the other hand, there are enough brewers’ newslists and newsletters and organizations that I could probably reach most of them without leaving my office.” He paused, considering. “Actually, I might start with the guys I know personally, send them a group email or something. I’ve got quite a mailing list of my own by now.”

  Threadgood stared at him, eyes burning. “I’ll sue you.”

  “You could try,” Wyatt said slowly. “Of course, that would raise an even bigger stink. And it would give me a chance to play David and Goliath.” He let his lips slide into another smile. “You’d be Goliath, needless to say.”

  Threadgood sat silent for a few moments, staring down at his tapping fingers. Then he looked up again, one eyebrow arching. “What do you want?”

  Wyatt tamped down the rush of elation. Don’t celebrate yet. “You offered Liam twenty thousand. That strikes me as a little inflated—I assume you meant to negotiate Bec down after she took your offer. We’ll settle for fifteen.”

  Threadgood gave an incredulous chuckle. “You’re kidding.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Not even slightly.” And not feeling even slightly guilty about it.

  Threadgood stared at him for a moment longer, then shrugged. “What do I get for my money?”

  “You get my pledge that I won’t pass these pictures on to anyone else.” Of course, he couldn’t answer for Liam Dempsey, who’d been apoplectic when Wyatt had emailed him the shots.

  “I want the pictures,” Threadgood snapped.

  “I can send you some copies.” Wyatt smiled again. “Like I said, there are a lot of them, and I don’t own them all. But once people hear that you’ve paid off, they’ll probably be less likely to pass these along to others.”

  Threadgood’s eyes widened in outrage, but Wyatt smiled again. He could wait out Christopher Threadgood with one hand behind his back, particularly when his face was turning such an interesting shade of purple.

  After another long moment, Threadgood sighed. “I’ll write you a check.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Cash. Or a certified check. Your personal check’s no good.”

  Threadgood grimaced again. He looked like he was gritting his teeth. After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet and walked across the room. Wyatt watched him push aside a somewhat bleak modern landscape to reveal the wall safe behind it. After a few twists of the dial, he pulled open the door and reached inside.

  Wyatt blinked. He hadn’t really expected Threadgood to have fifteen thousand dollars in cash lying around, but apparently he did. Rich people never ceased to amaze him. Threadgood thumped a stack of bills on the desk in front of him.

  Wyatt took his time counting them. He figured he’d earned the right to jerk Threadgood around a little bit. “Fifteen thousand.” He tucked the bills into the plastic grocery bag he’d brought along just in case, then pushed himself to his feet. “Nice doing business with you.”

  “If you ever set foot in my place again, I’ll have you thrown out in the street,” Threadgood snarled.

  “Not a problem. I don’t ever expect to be here again. By choice.” Wyatt turned and headed for the door.

  “Montgomery,” Threadgood called after him.

  Wyatt turned, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

  Threadgood gave him a vicious smile. “How do I know you’ll give that money to Rebecca Dempsey?”

  Wyatt blew out a long breath. “Trust me, Threadgood, I would never have gone to this much trouble for anybody else.”

  Threadgood’s mocking laughter followed him down the stairs until it was drowned out by the booming techno in the main room below.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bec studied the gyro plate in front of her. She’d gotten takeout from Selig’s to eat in her own kitchen, but now she’d discovered she wasn’t that hungry. She should have been. She’d been working all day at the Salty Goat. After that, she’d worked at the brewery for another two or three hours.

  She’d been following this same schedule all week. Having Liam’s help had meant she could produce a bigger batch of her first new beer. But the two of them still weren’t able to do as much as a full staff would do, even with occasional help from Abe.

  Plus, of course, both of them were working around their own full-time jobs, which made for some weird hours. They’d spent most of a night doing the mashing, then another night doing the lautering step where they separated the grain from the liquid and added the hops.

  The rest of the process had been fairly straightforward, but it had still taken time. Now the ale was fermenting with the yeast for a while, and she could get a little rest.

  She only hoped she hadn’t made any awful decisions about the beer or the rest of her life because of exhaustion.

  It shouldn’t have been surprising that the story of the smashed barrel of Zoria had made its way around town. But the reaction most people had did surprise her.

  Nobody shook their heads and said she was a screw-up. Nobody told her to give it up. And nobody let her withdraw into her own little blue funk.

  Abe and Cooper were both on board with the idea of something other than imperial stout, something that she could produce more quickly. They’d offered advice on the best hops and malt after she used up the supplies from Wyatt, and they’d offered her credit. After a night of soul searching, she’d taken them up on it.

  Thanks to Wyatt’s provisions, she was fermenting a wheat beer that should be finished and ready to sell in a couple of months, as opposed to the year the Zoria had to age before she’d be ready to release it. Now she was getting ready to start work on an IPA.

  She hadn’t been able to pay in full for either the new hops or the new malt. She made down payments for both with money Liam gave her. She wasn’t sure where he’d gotten it, and she didn’t ask, but she noticed he was getting around on foot these days rather than on his trusty mountain bike. Maybe he needed the exercise. Or maybe the mountain bike had found a new home.

  Right now the most important thing was to get more than one beer working. Nobody asked too many questions about what that would mean in the long run, including her.

  Angel had called her the day after the Zoria disaster.

  “I heard,” she said flatly. “What are you going to do now, and what can I do to help?”

  She’d taken a deep breath, pushing away her automatic reaction. Take the damn help, Rebecca. “An IPA. We can do it more quickly. What kind of yeast do you think I should use?”

 
“There’s a supplier in St. Vrain who has a nice strain of ale yeast. Not too expensive, and I can vouch for you. I’d try them first—it should work well with an IPA.”

  Bec’s chest felt tight suddenly. “Thanks. Thanks, Angel. I’ll call them.”

  “No problem. I’m still working on the wild strain. When we get down to Zoria again, the next batch will be spectacular.”

  Bec closed her eyes as she disconnected. She wasn’t going to blow it this time. The beer might be swill, and the brewery might go toes up, but she wasn’t going to lose her friends again.

  And they were back in business. When she wasn’t longing for sleep, she let herself feel elated about that.

  Of course, the elation never lasted too long. It would be a couple of months, at least, before they had anything to sell. They were back in business on a very limited scale, doing one beer at a time. They were living from barrel to barrel, which was perilous, given the number of disasters that could happen. But it was better to have a small inventory than to have no inventory at all.

  And Antero Brewing existed again. With Rebecca Dempsey, Brewmaster, back in charge.

  She hadn’t heard from Wyatt. She hadn’t expected to—she had the note, after all. I’ll be back. Yeah, well, that would be easier to believe if he gave her a call occasionally.

  You sent him away, Rebecca.

  She had. She definitely had. Idiot girl that she was, she’d sent the man away. Something else to berate herself over when she had the time. Colin had left her on his own. Wyatt hadn’t wanted to leave, but she’d made him go. At the time, it had made sense—she was in disaster mode, and she didn’t want anyone there to watch her sink. Now it made no sense, but she was stuck with it. The next move would have to be Wyatt’s.

  She sighed. She didn’t have time for moping, no matter how much she felt like she wanted to every once in a while. She had a brewery business to get up and running and a cheese-making job to hang onto. For now, she needed to hold tight to everything she had.

  And maybe a few things she didn’t have.

  She heard a door open on the brewery floor. “Liam?”

  “Yeah,” he called back. “Just wanted to check on how things are going.”

  She stepped through the door to the brewery, leaving her gyro to languish on the kitchen table. “About like they were a couple of hours ago. There’s not much to do except wait for it to ferment. It’ll be around a month before it’s worth tasting.”

  Liam nodded, running his hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. I wanted to see if everything was…okay. You know, make sure nothing had happened.”

  To make sure she hadn’t made another catastrophic error that would set them back by several thousand dollars more. “Nothing has happened. Everything is fine. The beer’s fermenting and conditioning. It just needs time.”

  She tried to keep her voice neutral, but some vinegar slipped in nonetheless.

  He held up his hands. “I know, I know, I didn’t mean to imply…”

  She shook her head, then took a deep breath. Water under the bridge. “It’s all right. I know I made a mistake—a big one. I don’t blame you for being concerned.” Although she was still sort of convinced that she’d put the brake on that forklift. Obviously, no matter what she thought, she hadn’t. Cooper had checked the brakes and said they looked okay to him, or as okay as they could be, given how beat up the forklift had gotten in the fall from the loading dock.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Liam said quietly. “I told you that. Repeatedly. The whole thing was…an accident.” He looked away, staring at the far wall of the brew floor, his lips compressing into a thin line. “A real nasty accident.”

  “Yeah, okay.” It was an accident that had well nigh broken her heart. But Liam and the others had almost made up for it. She might have lost the Zoria, but she had her friends back.

  Which doesn’t entirely make up for it. No, it didn’t. But it was a start. “Anyway, there’s not much more to do around here now except wait.”

  Liam took a breath. “Yeah, well, I was thinking last night. We could start on another batch. In fact, we probably should.”

  She frowned. “Another batch of wheat beer? I’d rather wait to see how this one turns out first. I may need to make some adjustments in the recipe.” She’d be peddling this batch to the taverns around town. They weren’t ready for wider distribution yet.

  He shook his head. “You should start with another batch of Zoria. So it can be aging while we get the other lines up and running.”

  She blinked. Liam hadn’t mentioned the Zoria since the forklift had gone over the side. “I’m not sure we should take that much time on something that won’t be drinkable for a year. Right now we should concentrate on the IPA. We need a quick turnaround on brew time and some quick sales to get back on our feet. That should give us enough money to go for a longer-aging brew.”

  “We can do both,” he said quickly. “The Zoria can be aging while we put out the wheat beer and maybe get more IPA or a red ale going.”

  Bec shook her head. “We don’t have the money for all of that. We’d have to buy more ingredients on credit and maybe even start the bottling line again—we can’t afford all that yet.”

  Liam shrugged. “Cooper and Abe will both extend more credit if we need it. I assume Angel will too if you tell her it’s for the Zoria. Let’s go big.” He gave her a slightly lopsided smile. “We’re going to win this time, kid. We’re due.”

  They were definitely due for a change of luck, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to go as far as Liam was. “Let me think about it for a little.” She shook her head as his expression soured. “I’m not saying no. Just let me consider it. It’s not a bad idea—I just need to work it out for myself.”

  He sighed. “Okay, take some time. But I’m right about this, Bec. If we’re going to be back in business, we need to take it all the way.”

  She nodded slowly. After all, she’d been the one pushing for the brewery to re-open. But she’d also been the one who’d made reopening that much more difficult by smashing their best remaining asset. “Maybe we do. Give me a couple of days to work out all the expenses and how much time it will take. Then maybe we can go for it.”

  Liam grinned. “That’s my kid sister. You always could take a dare better than anyone I know.”

  “And you always were better at issuing dares I couldn’t pass up.” She reached up to give him a quick hug.

  Liam’s face flushed slightly as he smiled. “I better get back to the tavern—technically, I’m on dinner break.”

  “You want my gyro? I decided I wasn’t that hungry.”

  His smile broadened. “I would love your gyro. I won’t even gripe about the extra tzatziki.”

  A few minutes later, she watched Liam stride across the line of trees that edged the drive, heading back to his other job. One of the best things about this whole disaster cycle was the fact that they were working together again—she’d missed him. She’d even missed being dared.

  All her life, he’d made her stretch, even if she hadn’t always succeeded in what she’d tried to do. Of course, she’d gotten her nose bloodied more often than the more cautious types. But it didn’t hurt to dream a little, even if she finally decided not to risk a new barrel of Zoria right now.

  She locked the outer door and headed back to her apartment. Perversely, now that she’d given her dinner away, she actually felt sort of hungry. Fortunately, she had some goat cheese and crackers, although she did get a little tired of the Salty Goat’s product after a while.

  She’d just settled down with dinner and a beer when the doorbell rang in the brewery. Given that the doorbell was usually for deliveries, she had no idea who could be ringing it at this time of night. She sighed, putting her dinner aside for the second time, and headed for the brewery again.

  She pulled open the door to find Wyatt standing on the other side.

  …

  Wyatt had entered into that level of exhaustio
n where he didn’t really remember what it was like not to feel tired. He’d put in a full day at Quaff, making sure he could take off again for the rest of the week. The fifteen thousand in cash from Threadgood had made him so paranoid he’d packed it away in his briefcase, then locked the briefcase in his desk before locking his office.

  And then he’d worried that somehow he’d lose the briefcase on the drive to Antero. Maybe it would fall into a chasm somewhere. Maybe it would accidentally catch fire. Maybe he’d forget where he put it. By the time he got to town, he was running on fumes, his mental health hanging by a thread.

  But when he saw Bec standing in the darkened doorway of Antero Brewing, everything left his mind except for her. He took a deep breath, expanding his lungs to see if he could slow down the sudden hammering of his heart. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She frowned slightly, one eyebrow raised. Not exactly the way he’d pictured her when he’d thought about this reunion.

  He tried for a smile. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  He reached for his briefcase, which he’d kept at his feet, as he’d kept it in the front seat next to him all the way from Denver to Antero.

  Her eyebrows arched up.

  Now what have I done?

  “Staying long?” she asked.

  Crap. “No, well, not exactly. I mean, I’d like to stay, but that’s not what I’m thinking about. I’m carrying stuff in here that I need to give you.”

  When had he become so spaced? Possibly on the drive from Denver, or possibly during the sleepless previous night, which he’d spent watching his briefcase while expecting one of Threadgood’s goons to show up and steal it away.

  Bec stepped back, waving him inside. He thought about reminding her to lock the brewery door, then decided he needed to calm down. But seeing her again didn’t help to calm him.

  He followed her through the darkened brewery toward the glowing rectangle of light that was her apartment door. There was also the dim light of an indicator gauge near one of the fermenting tanks that he didn’t remember seeing before. “Are you fermenting something?”