Any Luck at All: Asheville Brewing #1

by Denise Grover Swank

  “He did text me earlier,” she said. “Said he was getting a drink at Buchanan, and I could join him if I felt like it.” She shrugged one shoulder. “At the time I didn’t.”

  “Tell him to get a car service,” he suggested. “Or walk. It’s not too far.”

  She lifted the beer again, took a drink, and nodded. “You know, River Reeves, I think I just might do that.”

  He picked up her phone and handed it to her, letting his fingers linger on hers longer than was needed. “I’m holding you accountable.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” she said, smiling up at him before she leaned down to send off a text.

  Her stomach grumbled then, a loud sound that hung between them. He wouldn’t have laughed except for the look of open horror on her face.

  “What kind of a house-squatting host am I? You’re hungry. When was the last time you ate something?”

  “It’s been a while,” she acknowledged, her cheeks flushing an adorable pink. “Should we go get something?”

  “Let me see what Aunt Dottie has in the kitchen. She spent some time getting the place cleaned up before you got here. I’ll bet she wouldn’t leave the fridge empty.”

  Her phone vibrated again, and she looked up at him, her eyes full of hope, before she glanced down at it. “He’s coming,” she said. “He’s going to meet us here.”

  “Good,” he said, opening the refrigerator door. Just as he’d expected, there were a few labeled glass Tupperware containers inside.

  Georgie joined him, leaning in close to look at the labels. He caught a whiff of her scent, something he’d been noticing over the course of the night. She smelled a little like the lemon bars Aunt Dottie liked to make, sweet but tart. It suited her.

  She laughed a little, low and husky, as if she noticed how close they were standing. “She didn’t label any of these for what’s in them. They’re all labeled with a mood.”

  And so they were. A large square container filled with what looked to be homemade mac and cheese was labeled “sorrowful.” Another container, which looked to hold some sort of red sauce with sausage and peppers, was labeled “aggrieved”—that one would be punishingly spicy, he knew from past experience. The “exuberant” Tupperware contained a fruit salad (nothing said happy to Aunt Dottie more than nature, and he’d bet some of the fruit was from her own trees), and then there was a final Tupperware with a label that read “wanton.” That one held a huge piece of chocolate cake. Sinful, as Aunt Dottie would say with delight. She’d likely wink to accompany it.

  “What will it be?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Georgie grinned, and was it his imagination, or was she leaning closer?

  “Would you think I was being greedy if I said I was feeling a little bit of each?”

  Had she just told him she was feeling wanton?

  But before he could ask, or even pull out any of the containers, he heard a yowl from the basement.

  Georgie’s eyes widened, and she pulled back from the fridge. “Oh no, River, I forgot to shut the door last time!”

  It sounded like Jezebel had found Beau’s stash of hops.

  Chapter Seven

  “I take it that’s bad,” Georgie said, her head fuzzy from all the beer she’d consumed. It hadn’t seemed like a lot while she was partaking in River’s beer flight, but her lack of coordination suggested otherwise.

  River didn’t answer—he just bolted down the stairs. Georgie considered following him, but she wasn’t sure descending stairs in the dark was a good idea, and she wanted to be upstairs when Jack arrived.

  Jack was coming over.

  She was second-guessing her decision to invite him over. She was in no condition to discuss business. What was she thinking? Obviously, she hadn’t been. River had given her copious amounts of beer and weakened her with his charm. And his warm brown eyes. And the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck, making her want to reach out and smooth it with her fingertips.

  No. Stop. She couldn’t think of River like that.

  Right?

  River appeared at the top of the stairs, pinning Jezebel’s back to his chest while the cat took wide swipes at his hands and wrists, drawing blood as she hissed and yowled.

  “Oh my goodness, River! I’m so sorry!”

  He closed the door to the basement and dropped the cat, who took off running to the living room. She worried he’d be pissed at her—her last boyfriend would have been; he’d been all about accountability—but River gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m told women admire war wounds.”

  “Not this one. Especially not when it’s my fault you got them. We need to clean those up,” she said, feeling almost guiltier because he didn’t seem to blame her. “You could get cat scratch disease. Do you know where Beau kept his first aid kit?”

  “Probably in the hallway bathroom.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She rushed down the hall to the bathroom and started opening cabinet doors, looking for bandages, antibiotic ointment, and antiseptic. She found a white plastic box shoved behind a half-used roll of toilet paper, and after confirming that it held what she needed, she stood, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was falling out of her bun, tendrils brushing her cheeks. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright, but what caught her off guard was how happy she looked.

  When was the last time she’d felt truly happy?

  She turned at the sound of some rather aggressive meowing. Jezebel was blocking her exit from the bathroom.

  “Uh, River…” she called out, holding the first aid kit to her chest.

  The cat hissed and batted a paw at her.

  She started to call for River again but then decided she could deal with it herself. If she ended up staying in Asheville, the logical thing to do would be to live in this house—a house that Jezebel clearly saw as her territory. Now that she was better acquainted with the cat, there was no way she would attempt to saddle her little sister with the beast. The thought of Victoria dealing with the cat was funny, but she suspected Lee wasn’t about to adopt her.

  “Jezebel,” she said sternly, “we might end up becoming roommates, and this will go much better if we can reach an understanding. I follow a live and let live philosophy, so how about I leave you be and you let me live?”

  For a moment, the cat just stared at her, her green eyes glowing with an almost human understanding. Then she arched her back and hissed again, spun around, and slunk off.

  “Okay,” Georgie said, her heart racing. “I’ll take it.”

  She eased her way out of the bathroom and found River washing his wrists in the kitchen sink while talking to someone on speaker phone.

  “You’re sure Jezebel will be okay?” he asked.

  A woman answered, “I suspect she didn’t eat many hops, if any at all, but keep an eye on her. If she starts to act strangely…well, more strangely…you should call an emergency vet.”

  “Okay, thanks, Maisie.” He hesitated, then said, “Are you free for breakfast tomorrow? Something big happened today, and I need to get your opinion on finding another job.”

  “What?” she screeched.

  He must have sensed Georgie standing in the doorway because he said, “I’ve gotta go. I’ll explain in the morning. Text me when you’re ready.”

  Then he pressed his phone with his wet finger to end the call.

  Georgie started to ask him why he was looking for a job. Sure, he’d mentioned the situation with Finn, but it felt wrong to pry. If he’d wanted to talk about it more, he would’ve…right? Instead, he’d called someone else—someone he knew. For all she knew, the woman on the phone had been his girlfriend, a thought that made her feel surprisingly jealous.

  River wasn’t hers—she’d only met him hours ago—and she’d do best to remember that.

  “I called my friend Maisie to make sure Jezebel’s okay,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “I’d read somewhere that hops are poisonous to some cats and dogs. She might be an ornery
old thing, but Beau loved her.”

  Georgie gasped in horror. “I had no idea…”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he said, waving her worry away. “That cat is the terror of the neighborhood. A few hops aren’t going to bring her down.”

  She gave him a wry grin. “She did just corner me in the bathroom.”

  He grinned back, his eyes twinkling as he turned off the water and grabbed a couple of paper towels. “You survived a face-off with Jezebel, huh? I’m impressed.” Nodding to his arms, he said, “I figured I’d wash the scratches with soap and water.”

  “Good idea,” she said. “How about we sit down at the table, and I’ll put some bandages on them?”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he said.

  She pointed to a chair. “I risked my life defying the devil cat to get these supplies, so you’re gonna sit in this chair and let me put antibiotic ointment on your scratches to keep your hands from falling off.”

  He laughed and sat down.

  She turned a chair so she could sit facing him, then set the box on the table and opened it up. After uncapping the antibiotic ointment, she grasped his hand, pressing her thumb against his open palm. A swarm of butterflies unleashed in her stomach, and her gaze lifted to his face. She liked staring at him. He had beautiful eyes, his black hair was thick and just the right kind of long if you asked her, and his skin was a warm bronze.

  His gaze lowered to her lips before rising to meet hers again, and his fingers closed around her thumb.

  Her butterflies intensified, something she couldn’t remember feeling since she’d crushed on Brian Whitby her junior year of high school, and her breathing turned shallow as she leaned closer. Something about this man had a powerful draw, but while she was usually good at cutting to the heart of things and making lists, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was that made him so compelling. It was more than his indisputable attractiveness, or the way he teased her, or his genuine goodness. It was all of the above rolled into this man named River, and she realized she wanted more than just a beer tutor. She wanted him.

  The look in his eyes suggested he wanted her too. He leaned forward, his hand lifting to her face. She held her breath, wanting him to kiss her more than she’d ever wanted a first kiss, when a sudden knock at the door caught her by surprise.

  River sat back in his seat, his face unreadable. “I suspect that’s Jack.”

  Georgie couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed. “Yeah.”

  “You go let him in. I’ll take care of these scratches.”

  She hesitated, then stood and headed toward the front door. She paused in the threshold to the living room, casting a glance over her shoulder. River was concentrating on smearing ointment on his wrist. Jezebel had resumed her post on top of the cabinets, and had hopefully stayed her vendetta against them for the night.

  She closed the distance to the front door, her heart racing for a different reason now. She was worried she’d already blown things with her half-brother. They’d had a very limited interaction at the will reading, and then she’d turned down his invitation to get a drink at the brewery. Would he hate her? Would he be aloof? She deserved it and more. How would she have felt if she’d been the odd one out?

  Steeling her back, she opened the door. “Jack. Thanks for coming.”

  He nodded, his back as stiff as it had been that afternoon at the attorney’s office. “I figured we should discuss this tonight…before the noon deadline tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” she said, taking a step back. “Come on in.”

  He glanced around the entryway and living room as he crossed the threshold, taking it all in.

  “This is Grandpa Beau’s place…obviously,” she added, feeling foolish, but the alcohol had weakened her filter. “We figured you should see it before we make our decision.”

  Surprise filled his eyes. “The others are here?”

  It took her a second to grasp what he meant. “No,” she said, shaking her head a little too vigorously, to the point where she had to catch herself to keep from falling over. “Just River.”

  He looked puzzled. Then understanding washed over his face. “The guy at the will reading. I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

  “We don’t. Didn’t,” she said, then scrunched her eyes shut and slowly opened them. “Sorry. It would seem I’ve had a few too many beer samples. We didn’t know each other, but we do now.” She gestured toward the entryway to the kitchen. “Why don’t you come this way and we can talk.”

  He headed into the kitchen without comment, walking several feet into the room to give her space to enter.

  Jack held out his hand to River, who was closing the first aid box. “We didn’t get formally introduced earlier. I’m Jack Durand.”

  River stood and clasped his hand. “River Reeves. Things got a little crazy this afternoon.” He glanced at Georgie, as though cueing her to take over.

  It took her a second to catch on to what he was doing. Then she broke into a too-big smile. “Jack. Why don’t you sit down?” She gestured to the table. “We’ve been sampling beers.”

  Jack took in the multiple beer bottles and empty glasses. “I can see that.”

  He probably thought she was a lush. “I’m not much of a beer person, and River thought it would be a good idea to introduce me to the world of…”

  “Beer?” he finished, his lips quirking into the hint of a smile.

  “Yeah.”

  “I had a couple at Buchanan,” he said. “I guess you could say I was sampling them myself. Getting a feel for our grandfather’s place.”

  That made her feel a little better as she crossed to the sink and reached for a glass to get some water, but River stood and moved behind her, resting a hand lightly on her hip. An electric buzz shot through her, stealing her breath.

  “I’ll get you some water,” he said in a low tone that didn’t help the buzzing. “Why don’t you sit with Jack and talk?”

  “Yeah…thanks.” She whirled away from him, nearly toppling over again, but River grabbed her elbow and held her steady.

  “You okay?”

  She was fully aware of every pressure point of his fingers and thumb, and also the fact that she was definitely drunker than she’d realized. She’d lost control of herself. And Georgie was always completely in control. This was not acceptable.

  Slowly pulling away from him, she sat in a chair opposite Jack, who was studying her every move.

  Talk about a poor first impression. No, poor second impression.

  “So,” Jack said, taking the lead, “you said you were considering keeping the brewery. Does the fact that you’re sampling all this beer mean that you’re still leaning in that direction?”

  “Yeah,” she said, resting her hand on the table. River set a glass of water in front of her, and she picked it up and took a long sip. When she finished, she said, “I suspect that Grandpa Beau changed his will after I came to see him. I think he asked me here because he was already considering it. He really wanted to keep the brewery in the family, and for whatever reason, he decided not to give it to our father. He probably knew Dad would sell it.”

  That felt strange, saying our father. She couldn’t help wondering if it was weird for him to hear it, but it seemed inappropriate to ask.

  “And I get the impression Beau didn’t like Prescott and vice versa,” Jack said.

  “That’s an understatement,” Georgie said. “I’m not sure why they had a falling-out, but whatever the reason, we didn’t see much of him when we were growing up.”

  “Prescott or Beau?” Jack asked with a snide look.

  That stung. “Both, I guess.”

  Jack picked up a discarded bottle cap and twisted it between his thumb and forefinger, studying it. “So…about the brewery… what changed your mind?”

  “I really liked Grandpa, Jack, and I’m disappointed that I won’t get the chance to know him better. I feel like I wasted so much time. I can’t help but th
ink that keeping the brewery is another way to get to know him.”

  “Just like that?” Jack asked. “You can drop everything in your life and run a brewery?”

  “As you probably heard, I recently sold my business, and I’ve been trying to figure out what to do next. This might as well be it.”

  Jack gave her a deadpan look. “Even though you know nothing about beer?”

  Her back stiffened. “What I lack in beer knowledge, I make up for in business knowledge. I know how to launch a product.”

  “This isn’t the same as starting from scratch,” Jack said. “It’s rebuilding an established brand. One that people see as a relic of the past, judging from what I heard tonight. People loved Beau, but they don’t see Buchanan making it. To succeed in brewing, you’ll need to make it hip. Trendy.”

  “You keep saying you,” Georgie said. “I thought you wanted to keep it too.”

  “I do, but I want to be a partner, Georgie. I want to help run it, not just collect the profits, not that it has any. It’s been running in the red for a couple of years.”

  Georgie flinched. Why hadn’t she thought to look at the books? But did it matter? The business was established. Fully furnished with equipment and employees. They just needed to figure out how to freshen up its image. Make it competitive again.

  “You want to help run it?” Georgie asked. “Last I heard, you live in Chicago.” Yeah, she’d stalked him on social media for a week after learning about his existence, but it would have been stranger if she hadn’t. All she’d found was a little used LinkedIn account with no photo and no job history. She’d only known it was him because there was apparently only one Jack Leopold Durand in the United States, and also because the man with the LinkedIn profile had the same birthdate and year: March 8. “You’d have to quit your job and move here. And if the company’s really in the red, you won’t get a paycheck for some time. I can live off my savings. What about you?”

  A hard look filled his eyes, and Georgie wasn’t sure if he was upset that she’d known where he lived but never attempted to contact him or insulted that she’d questioned his ability to live without a paycheck. “Let me worry about my finances. You’ve never been concerned with them before. Why start now?”