by Melissa Blue
Maybe it was.
But she’d asked. So, he gave the question all the consideration she’d given it. “Five, six months ago my brother sat me down and told me he wanted to brew liquor. It meant he’d stay here, home. I gave him capital for it without question.”
“Because he was staying home?”
“Partly. When he signed up for the military it was more…resigned. He was smart enough to pass the tests. Physically strong enough to get through boot camp. Mentally sturdy enough to do the rest. It was…he was… He could fit into the peg, and he could send us money. Brewing was a passion.”
She rested an elbow on her thigh then put her chin in the palm of her hand. “That tells me not a thing about you.”
Ruthless. Not giving him an inch to wiggle-free. Marcus would love her. And she’d…Fuck. He wanted to howl out a laugh. She’d probably call Marcus his former work wife.
He narrowed his gaze on her. Maybe she understood something he couldn’t see and wanted him to say the words. She did that.
Grant took and breath then said, “But it does. Kincaid was passionate, and I did what I do. I came in with a much steadier head. I looked at Baird’s books. It’s a wonder that man didn’t sell before now.”
“But what do you want Grant?”
His heart knew what he would choose. His head seemed to be catching up. He hadn’t been happy for a while. Not since Marcus had left as CEO. Grant still felt the thrill of a deal. He still liked breaking down numbers. He liked origin stories.
But he didn’t love any of it anymore.
“I…” He didn’t love it at Scotland, International. “I want a partnership. I want a team. I want something that feels like family. If I happen to take over the world at the same time, even better.”
She snorted. “You’re such a CFO. Are you passionate about brews?”
“Aye, and I’m starting to be swayed by the sappy origin story of two brothers—one a squaddie and the other a businessman who wanted a family business.” He paused, really looking at her. He had no doubt she’d taken apart his every word with the intent expression she wore. “Is that all your pushy questions for the night?”
“One more.”
He braced, still reeling from what he’d said—from how he’d felt centered for the first time in a long time. “Ask.”
“You’re going to be gone for a few days. I would like…Maybe…Would you like to cuddle with me?”
That request had cost her something dearly to voice. He could emotionally kick her in the teeth as she would say.
“Aye. I would like that.”
It took a bit of maneuvering, but eventually they ended up spooned with her curled in front of him. His arm cut across her chest. She used his limb as a resting post for her chin while one hand wrapped around his forearm.
Because his life currently lived on the precipice of change, he said, “Want another story before we go to sleep?”
“Yes.”
“I was twenty-six. Work kept me busy. For her, I made the time. I shouldn’t have. She was an admin in my department. For a year, I left work as early as I could to spend time with her. We did everything from eating to waking up next to each other every day. I told not a soul.
Then, one day, Gabby was transferred to payroll. Every other day we met up then once a week. The writing was on the wall, so I didn’t fight the end of our relationship, but I was a mess. I had thought she’d been the one. A few years later we ran into each other during a lunch break. I poked around to find out why she’d lost interest.”
“What did she say?”
“She’d fallen for me, hard. She had seen us married and happy.”
She shifted against him, her body telegraphing she needed to know the rest. He hoped it wasn’t just curiosity, but that she needed to know his very make-up. At some point between his talk with Mia and now, Grant needed Tasha to care.
“I don’t understand,” Tasha said. “She loved you. That doesn’t just fade after a few months.”
“Not once in that year had I said anything that made her believe I felt even remotely the same. She saw the way I talked about my friend Marcus or my family. She knew I could express how I felt about a person.”
Tasha looked back at him, her gaze narrowed. “And the reason for this story?”
He kissed the tip of her nose, a laugh fighting to fall out. “One, it’s a lie that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’m going to be gone in a few days and probably won’t be able to text or call you much, if at all.”
She turned to face him. “That still doesn’t explain the story.”
“The short story is that I’ve learned to be forthright when I am unfortunate enough to experience the inconvenience of emotions.”
“I just want you to know I am trying very hard to not laugh. ‘The inconvenience of emotions’ needs to go on a t-shirt that you wear once a week.”
“Tell me I’m lying. Feelings are inconvenient, especially the complicated ones. They never come when you have the bandwidth to deal with them properly.”
“You’re telling the whole truth and nothing but. But…”
Aye. Learning a hard lesson didn’t mean suddenly being braver or smarter than before. He had to close his eyes. “I’m falling in love with you, lass.”
At her catch in breath, he had to open his eyes to drink in her face. Shock had lifted her brows and parted her mouth.
Eventually, she schooled her face into something emotionless. “Isn’t it too soon?”
Remembering a conversation with his brother, Grant said, “Define love.” He added, “And if you can, tell me, how does it fit a time schedule?”
She pursed her lips. “That’s a hefty word. It’s a complicated one, because you can love someone and not want them in your life. You have to choose it. How can you make a choice like that when you don’t even know me? Like, what are my parents’s names?”
“You flew half-way across the world to help a friend. You did it to keep me in check because you thought I was a rogue actor.”
“Wouldn’t that last say a whole lot about my character—I jumped into bed with someone I thought was questionable?”
“That just says I’m charming as fuck.”
She shook her head instead of laughing like he knew she wanted to. “Grant…”
“I’m not asking anything of you. I’m letting you know how I feel before I go off.”
“But you are asking me—okay, hoping for me to feel the same.”
“Why would I hope for anything else?”
She tilted her head then nodded. “That’s…disgustingly reasonable.”
“And?”
Her sigh told an entire story and he wanted to hear every word of it. It shouldn’t have surprised him when she said, “I’m going to miss you. I know you probably won’t be gone long or that…insert any reasonable explanation for why I shouldn’t miss you, but I will.”
It was cowardly, but he was comforted by her confession. She made him happy. She had said those words, letting herself be vulnerable, and he could only be grateful.
Grant said, “Do you want complete silence now to contemplate what I just dropped on you?”
Her head was already shaking before he could complete the question. “Lavar and Giselle.”
“Aye?”
“That’s my parents’s names. I just figure if you’re going to be reckless and soft-hearted you should at least know that.”
He pressed his mouth to hers and smirked. “Let’s dry hump and go to sleep in the mess.”
She pushed him away, turned her back but she was laughing.
Aye. He’d fallen for her, hard.
14
I
didn’t want to say anything…” Mia said, and it was kind of amazing, given the situation.
They were knee-deep in the showcase. Tasha took in the banquet-sized room. There were a shitton of people.
She hailed from California�
��that had about a million times more people in the single state than all of Scotland. Yet every monied individual in the brewing biz crowded the room in an endless parade. Sure, they weren’t pressing against the makeshift bar, but that was due, blessedly, to the waitstaff the showcase had provided.
And her friend chose that moment to have a heart to heart. Tasha almost laughed, hysterically. “Um, can’t this wait?”
“It could, but Grant snuck out and Kincaid went to follow him. We’re tag teaming.”
Tasha glared at her friend. “Well, okay. Since you’re doing couple’s tag teaming. Don’t want to stand in the way of that.”
Mia snorted and wiped down glasses. “I love it when you’re bitchy sarcastic. Lets me know you love me enough to be snippy.”
Tasha rubbed the space between her brows. Her friend wasn’t wrong. She did love her, and she was being snippy. “So what is it you don’t want to say, but you’re going to say anyway?”
“You’re tense. You’ve been tense for the past two days. I know it’s not the showcase. You love me. You think Kincaid is a good guy for me. We had our fight and now, we’re…talking without it devolving into one of us leaving the room pissed. So, tell me what has you all tense while there is a lull.”
Where to even start? “Today is a big deal for you and Kincaid.”
Mia placed her hand on Tasha’s wrist, a wry smile creeping out. “And there’s nothing either of us can do about it. These people are either going to love Kincaid’s ales or they won’t. But I can kind of remove my head from love’s ass and focus on you for a minute or two.”
They were knee deep in a huge moment and Mia still took a minute to focus on her. Tasha’s nose heated and her eyes pinpricked with tears—so damn touched at her friend’s attentiveness. “Can we talk about the fact you moved here and how much I’ve missed you? I hate the thought of going home. I was so spoiled. I was renting that place right next to yours. Sure, you were off traveling, but then you came home. You’re the reason I was brave enough to come to Scotland. Scotland.”
Mia pressed a hand to her mouth and looked away. “We can’t cry. If anyone looks this way, they are going to think we’re so weird.”
Tasha laughed then sniffed. “I’m sorry, but then I’m not.”
Mia blew out a breath and it sounded muddled from unspent tears. “You’ve got me all emotional. I can’t even remember what I was bugging you about.”
“I’ve been tense.”
“Right.” Mia pushed back her shoulders, a smile teasing at her mouth as she chanced a look at her. “Tell me what Grant did. I want to know if I should gut him or not.”
“He’s…” Her heart ached at the thought of him and him being gone soon. “It’s…”
He wanted to just live in the moment. She wanted the same because the future was so heavy and scary as shit if she thought hard about it.
Finally, Tasha said, “Let’s survive the showcase.”
Mia rubbed Tasha’s back. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”
Her friend’s words didn’t soothe the tension, but she doubted anything could.
Grant, unfortunately, made eye contact with Kincaid. He’d been discovered. With a smile, he nodded at the brewer behind the display table and tried to outwalk his brother’s stride by heading in the opposite direction. It was pointless, but Grant was an optimist.
No brimstone but Kincaid kind of radiated tension. “And?” his brother asked.
“And what?” Caught, he slowed his steps around the hundreds of tables where other brewers showcased their ales or whisky.
“You abandoned the main event where I was personally invited to serve my brews, and I find you here wandering around.”
Here being…how could Grant describe it? Some of the most well-known or newest breweries were hocking their wares to the public, hopeful that businessmen also paid attention. The room was sizeable—the hotel’s largest conference area—but felt as big as a broom closet. The energy thrummed with hope and a little desperation.
He took another sip from the small cup. The card he’d taken had read off the ingredients, but he had wanted to taste it for himself first. Honey lightened the ale and definitely made it a star. He checked the card to make sure he wasn’t talking out of his arse. He was right.
The reason, or one of the reasons, Kincaid had happily not questioned Grant’s sudden interest in brewing was that he had a decent palate. He’d been in many situations where he had to wank on about the pears, countryside, or anything at all about the wine served before, during, or after a business meeting. Being an expert or amateur connoisseur in anything outside of the nitty-gritty business of numbers impressed, so he had picked up some knowledge along the way.
His brother stopped walking. Grant followed suit and met the questioning gaze.
Kincaid said, “What is it?”
“I wanted to see our competition.”
“And?” his brother asked again.
He poked through his emotions. “I’m excited.”
“Should I be worried you sound shocked?”
“Maybe. Had you asked me a month ago, I would have stuck to the numbers game. Backing you makes financial sense.”
“I’m…touched?”
Grant drained the cup as they walked by a bin and tossed it. “You jest, but you should be touched. I don’t get excited about a business. I get excited about the numbers and the possibilities they show. But with this…” He gestured to the room. “I like this.”
At that, his brother fell silent beside him. Bright colors drew his interest to another table. He snatched up samples and cards, and so did his brother. Their ale was brisk, had a hint of spice and he could almost make out some kind of acidic melon flavor. He and Kincaid sipped quietly as they usually did when they tried to come up with words to fill in the complicated spaces between them.
Grant spoke first. “I’m sorry about Davina. Had I been thinking, I would have walked away when sparks started to simmer between us. We needed her the past few months.”
“But you didn’t care then. This was one of my whims and you were happy for it.”
The words hit him. “Apparently, Elliot isn’t the only arse in the family.”
His brother chuckled. “He’s just perfected it.” Kincaid paused. “Why are you excited?”
His brother deserved a true answer. “Someone showed me there’s fun to be had in what you’re doing by playing with different flavors. I’m seeing the different angles on how to market it. I’m seeing, tasting all the ways we can play with the beverage end. What you’re—we’re doing is right there in my face. I can’t separate the two—the money and the passion.”
“Someone?”
Grant didn’t have to say her name, but of course his brother would want him to. “That’s what you focus on?”
“Kind of hard to focus on anything else.” His brother grinned. “I’ve decided.”
Wary, he asked, “On what?”
“I’m putting you in charge of whisky. Honestly, wiping my hands of it. I think our future is in ales. You’re the one who wants to roll out a whisky. I’m sure it’s because of money. If you want a Cameron whisky, you make it.”
His mind focused, perked up at the challenge. As he was sure his brother knew would happen. “Did you know there’s money to be made in short runs?”
“Short runs?”
“Short in a relative term. Have a few casks of whisky, hire on a taster to make sure every sip is right, consistent, and then find a glass maker to create specialized bottles. You can make a few million selling each bottle for an obscene amount of money.”
“Huh. I didn’t think of that.” Kincaid seemed to roll that over in his mind. “How many casks do we have of Baird’s whisky?”
Grant smiled. Once again, he had a partner in crime. “Oh, enough. Enough.”
15
T
he pub doors opened. Tasha held her breath and someone not-Grant
walked in. She cursed at herself in a murmur and pulled a pint for the patron waiting in front of her. Two days and she wasn’t a mess, per se. Hopeful, on edge, easily irritated, dying of curiosity…All while trying not to appear any of those things. She’d fooled everyone but the man at her side.
The Baird laughed, his head thrown back looking very much a man without a care in the world. He, too, was a pretty good pretender. She waited for him to schmooze a couple more people waiting patiently for their orders before playfully bumping him with her shoulder.
“What’s going on, Baird?”
The lighthearted glint in his eyes dimmed. “Everyone else leaves me be, but not you. I take that back. Callan is like this with me, too.”
“Like what?”
“Worrisome.”
She wanted to take offense, but he wasn’t wrong. “Then spit it out. What has you in a mood?”
He glanced over the crowd then yelled. “Pints? Regular?”
A few hands went up in front of them. He shooed her aside, widened his stance in front of the taps, and began to pour pints like a pro. Or rather, like a man who had done it most of his adult life. The process wasn’t fair to the customers. People were going to have to wait if they wanted anything other than the cheapest on tap, but it was effective at thinning out the folks waiting. Taking a cue from him, she focused on everyone else until another natural lull hit.
It was easy to believe he had forgotten their conversation. Tasha hadn’t. She bumped him again with her shoulder.
He scowled. “Worrisome.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No. I miss my right hand, Davina, and then I remember I no longer own the pub, she’s moved on and she seems happy now. Grant will be back, and I’ll go back to picking and choosing when I come down to lend a hand. And you’re hiring more people so then I won’t even have that excuse.”
Tasha wanted to cup his face in her hands and say something, anything that would make him feel better. Change was hard even when you were the one who chose it.
