by Jean Oram
“I can’t remember what the pH should be.” He waved idly toward the test strips.
“You need me,” she teased.
“You’re a brewmaster?”
“Only if something fabulous comes with that title. Otherwise I prefer something with a bit more bite.” She walked to the vat, putting a little extra sashay into her movements. With a few fluid motions she was testing the beer, as though she’d been born doing it. And maybe she had. She’d been tagging along behind her father since she was a kid, and even more so in the past several months. She likely missed her dad with every step she took these days.
Rightfully, she should have inherited both pubs.
“It’s coming along fine,” she announced, after a moment or two of efficient checking. She tidied up after herself, then faced Moe. “So? Spencer said you might be having troubles coming up with the money to buy this place?”
“I just bought a house for my dad, then myself. Got married.”
“I could front the money.”
“Why?” She’d get more in the short term if the place was liquidated—half of whatever was salvaged. If she tied herself to the pub, she’d be signing up for more work, more headaches, although a steady trickle of money.
“Why?” She laughed at his surprise. “For more equity. This is my daddy’s baby. Why wouldn’t I want to keep it in the family?”
He’d previously felt uncomfortable about Cesar’s generous bequest, but now even more so.
“I front the money you need,” she said, “and you make me a part owner.”
“Is that allowed?”
“This is business. Of course it is.” She was moving around the room, touching objects as she went, encircling him. “We continue to manage the place together like with our current agreement.” She stopped in front of him. “Nothing changes except we own it.”
He’d signed that management agreement with her. She wouldn’t do everything Cesar had, but they’d share some duties, split the cost on some bulk orders to save money. It would be better than doing it all alone, and he had a better shot at winning over the estate’s lawyers, who were judging his abilities to run this place.
Of course, in accepting her help he’d also signed on to work with her on Brew, Too in the city. They’d share any managerial bonuses from the pubs’ profits during this quarter—although he didn’t expect to gain much, since business at Brew, Too was still languishing, despite Kimi’s constant efforts.
“We both win,” she said smoothly. Her eyes narrowed. “You look tired.”
“So do you.” And she did. Sad, too. But she still had that same determined spark in her gaze that she’d always had. She’d turn that city pub around; he was certain of it.
“You’ve been working two jobs for the past month,” she said, her tone undecipherable. Sympathy and understanding? An impatience for him to get with the program and become a super manager? “Is your new wife giving you troubles about not being home more? It’s a tough adjustment, having someone in your space all the time.”
“She’s cool.”
“And that’s why you’re in long before your shift starts?”
It was true he was avoiding Amy, but not for the reasons Kimi likely assumed.
“You’re also here early.”
She smiled. “Your inventory is low. I was coming to check on it.”
“Check up on me, you mean?”
She smiled again. “You’re new at this. Although not with taking care of inventory.”
“A few orders haven’t come in.” The delay had caused them to change a few upcoming specials to accommodate for items that had failed to arrive. He didn’t recall that ever being an issue before, and the timing didn’t make him look great. Moe knew every tick could add up when the estate lawyers looked over his trial period performance. But at least he now had Kimi, as well as her systems and experience, on his side. And possibly her equity. But did he want to co-own with his ex? He wasn’t so sure about that.
She angled an ear closer to him as though hard of hearing. “I’m sorry?”
“We’re waiting for a few orders.”
“There are no outstanding orders.”
“Sure there are.” He led her to the office, fired up the computer and signed in to the software she’d set up for them to send and track orders, as well as manage inventory. “There’s an order for soda, rye, nacho chips…” His voice trailed off as he clicked on the orders page, which should be nice and full as automatic restocking went through after their Sunday morning inventory. The page was blank. He clicked over to fulfillment, in case the items were already on their way. Nothing. “What the…?”
“Moe.” Kimi’s voice was loaded with exaggerated patience, a tone that made his back straighten and his hands bunch into fists. “If you forget to order things or take inventory, own up to it, don’t hide it from me.”
“I’m not. I placed the order. Twice for some things. I even phoned about the missing soda.”
“Then where is it?”
He pushed his chair away from the desk and lifted his palms, indicating the screen in front of him. “How about you and your fancy software tell me.”
“Moe.” There was that tone again. “Computers don’t screw up and forget things.”
“This one did.”
They stared at each other for a moment, reminding Moe of an old Western movie showdown. Any moment one of them would draw their weapon and shoot.
“Look,” he said patiently, hoping to disarm her so they could sort this out. “I know I’m learning a lot about the things your father used to do, but I’ve been filling orders for years. This isn’t me.”
“You could lose Brew Babies if you don’t prove you can run this place in the spirit in which it was established.” Kimi’s tone was equally patient, which was annoying, but it gave him hope that she wasn’t about to blow their whole deal sky-high. “And you know how anal my uncle, the executor, is about following my father’s guidelines when assessing this.”
He stood, his frustration returning. When Cesar’s will had been read he’d been floored, flattered, flabbergasted. His old boss obviously hadn’t felt his kids should have Brew Babies, but now he wondered if maybe he hadn’t wanted Moe to have it, either. Maybe he’d handed both him and Kimi impossible tasks with their respective pubs, so they’d fail but not feel passed over. They’d recognize on their own that the task was beyond them and that liquidating both pubs was truly for the best. Even though Moe would walk away empty-handed and jobless.
“You need to get on top of these orders.”
He bristled. “I know.”
“I know the soda guy,” a voice announced from the doorway. Moe turned, to see Spencer giving his sister a sheepish smile. “I got tired of waiting in the car.”
Kimi leaned closer to Moe, her voice low and urgent. “I don’t want to work with my gamer brother, but we’re going to have to if we don’t start doing better.”
“I can call him. Dad and I used to shoot pool with him on Saturdays,” Spencer said, cracking his knuckles, his eyes bright as he took in the office. “What do you need done?”
“You…you know the guy?”
“Yeah, of course. Kimi would, too, if she wasn’t so full of herself and came out to play from time to time.” Spencer gave his sister a teasing grin.
“I was working.”
“The jukebox is broken,” Spencer stated.
“It’s always breaking,” Moe replied. He wasn’t sure he wanted yet another Phipps helping, but if Spencer could get the soda order here in time for opening tomorrow he’d be grateful.
“Music’s important,” Spencer said.
“And jukeboxes are expensive,” Moe replied. “We have a makeshift sound system for when it breaks. Can you get the soda here for tomorrow, do you think?”
Spencer nodded and shrugged.
“You can’t keep driving someone’s car in here,” Kimi said to Moe. “That’s not up to code.”
“No, we have some
thing different.” Although that had been fun the one time they’d brought in a car with a pumping sound system to liven up the pub. That had been the beginning of Cesar giving him free rein, as he’d been tickled by Moe’s creative problem solving—and the way the profits that night had doubled any other that month.
“You need to get to the bottom of the inventory issue,” Kimi said, moving toward the door, her tone light but firm. She paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame as she turned to look back at him, her gaze resting on him for a moment too long. “Until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Moe asked in confusion. But she was already gone, leaving him in the room with Spencer, who was still chatting about jukeboxes.
“Jukeboxes rock, man. They get people moving and spending. Customers can’t leave until their song plays.”
Moe nodded.
Spencer added, “I’ll look into getting a new one.”
“Sure. Fine.” Whatever. “Tell Kimi I’ll email her a list of activities she can try in her pub to help attract a larger clientele.”
“Awesome. And fix that inventory thing. Kimi’s really ticked about it.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up on that.”
Spencer winked and followed his sister out, promising him a soon-to-arrive soda order.
Moe shut down the computer again, figuring that in vitro baby making was definitely off the table now, because there was no way he wanted to work shoulder to shoulder with the Phippses for the rest of his life. He needed to come up with a down payment and own his livelihood.
Amy rubbed her eyes and plodded into the kitchen, where Moe was notably absent. Brew Babies was closed until late afternoon, but it wouldn’t be odd to find him there, seeing how many hours he’d been putting in. More, it seemed, since she’d confessed she couldn’t afford artificial insemination. She flicked on the TV, sipping the coffee Moe had made before going out.
Last night she hadn’t been able to sleep. Moe’s protective behavior in the pub, then his awkward avoidance, followed by her mother calling her selfish, as well as revealing that Moe was in line to buy the pub, had Amy’s thoughts running faster than trains in and out of Grand Central Station.
But most of all, she needed an answer on the baby question, because if they weren’t going through with things, then she needed to set him free.
The front door opened and Moe walked in, his cheeks rosy from the blustery July rainstorm pelting down. He was carrying a small white bag.
“Brownies?” she asked hopefully. Mandy tended to pack her café’s takeout items in white bags just like that.
Moe glanced at the sack. “No. No whiskey and gumdrop brownies. Something else.” He pulled out a tiny pale yellow onesie. “It’s from Mandy’s, though. I couldn’t resist. They’re selling them at the front counter. Burke and Jill are raising money to help stock the new Friendship Center with some pool tables, hockey games and that kind of stuff.”
He turned the tiny garment to face her so she could read the front:
My Daddy Thinks I’m Cute.
“Aw…” Amy climbed off the couch and inspected the outfit. It was super soft cotton. “Who’s it for?”
“Our firstborn.”
A wave of heat flowed through her. Was he saying yes to their new—and only—plan?
“What if our firstborn isn’t cute?” she asked.
He gave her a look as though she’d just confessed to something awful. “Parents never think their kids aren’t cute. It’s a good thing you have me on board, ‘cause you’re going to be a horrible mother.”
He was on board.
All the way on board? She barely dared breathe as she awaited confirmation.
“You’ll ensure our children will be cute,” she said, “and ensure someone remembers to restock the diaper bag, too. But for your information I will be an awesome mother, and sometimes parents secretly think their babies look like aliens. I heard it all the time when I was a nurse.”
“Well,” he said, refolding the tiny garment, “we’re not having aliens. And yes, I’ll be the one who remembers to feed the children three square meals a day. You can be the fun one. I’ll be the disciplinarian.”
“I’m sure you’ll find it so rewarding teaching them how to play chess and tape their eyeglasses back together,” she teased, finally daring to get her hopes up about what the onesie truly represented.
“More rewarding than jumping off a bridge with nothing but a rubber string tied to your ankles?” he retorted.
“They’re going to love bungee jumping. It’s better than planning their week on the calendar and balancing their checkbook.”
“Come on. That was off side.” He threw his arms out like he was insulted. “Nobody has a checkbook to balance anymore.” But he was grinning, and Amy realized that he was looking forward to having kids as much as she was—no matter if it sent them into the dangerous, uncharted waters of lovers in the lead-up to conception.
She gave him a spontaneous hug. She could hear his heart beating, and found the sound reassuring.
She tipped her head back. “Does this mean we’re doing it? The old-fashioned way?”
“We’ll have to set a few ground rules, such as you get to deal with medical issues. For example, if our kids accidentally rip off a toenail while riding their bikes barefoot you get to deal with it.” He shuddered.
She laughed, happiness bubbling up inside her like champagne. His hand was gliding over her hair, the move a soothing comfort, and a feeling of contentedness swelled inside her.
“Have I told you I love you?” she murmured.
“I said rules.”
“Rules are for breaking.”
“Not these ones. Number one, no falling in love with me—no matter how amazing I am with our kids. And if you’re already in love, fall out of it. We’re not going there, because we’re not doing complicated. And we’re not breaking up.”
“Okay. What’s the next rule?” He still had his arms around her and she felt nothing but excitement.
“What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.”
“But what if I can’t help myself? What if you look super sexy holding our wee infant?”
“Well, that’s a given. I can’t be held accountable for that.”
She laughed. “Fair enough.”
“Rule three—no letting things get weird.”
“No weirdness. No awkwardness,” she confirmed.
His fingers were tracing warm circles on her back. “We’ll slide right back into the friend zone as soon as we’ve done the deed. We’re just two friends making a family.”
She kissed him, slowly and sweetly, to prevent him from saying anything more, because everything was already so perfect. In her mind, there was nothing left to say.
She bracketed his face with her hands as she broke the kiss. “You’re going to be an awesome father.”
“That kiss breaks rule two. No kissy stuff outside of the bedroom.”
“Aw. You’re no fun.”
“Seriously. This isn’t a game. We’re bringing kids into this world, this marriage.”
Her mother’s words about causing a mess and leaving others to deal with it slammed through Amy’s brain. She nodded solemnly.
“I was simply showing that we can kiss and still stay in the friend zone,” she said defensively. “No awkwardness.”
“Friends, huh?” he asked, nibbling on her earlobe. She sagged into his chest, her eyes fluttering closed.
“I can totally handle that,” she said, her words coming out in a jagged rhythm.
“Good, because the golden rule is that we’re friends first and foremost.” He grazed her exposed neck with his lips and she shivered.
“I’m fine with that,” she managed to say on an exhale. “Although I think you’re breaking some rules right now with what you’re up to…”
“I couldn’t imagine doing this kids thing with anyone else. How soon are we going to start trying?”
She wanted to sink into his
strength and start immediately.
“Amy?” He ended his assault, allowing her to come to.
Right. She was supposed to be the cool, unaffected friend who could totally handle this handsome man peppering her with sweet, irresistible kisses that made her joints stop working properly.
She pursed her lips and gave herself a little shake, straightening her spine and stepping back from him. Friends. Definitely not allowed to let herself envision what “trying” usually involved between married couples. But after those less-than-innocent kisses, she wanted to go there all too badly.
“Yes. Soon. I’ll have to check my calendar. But soon. Very soon.”
6
Moe slid onto the couch beside Amy, passing her the bowl of salt-and-vinegar chips, his knee resting against hers.
She inhaled his scent. He smelled good. “Don’t change your aftershave. It smells nice. Like you.”
“Hmm.” He settled deeper into the cushions, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Why was she blushing? She felt like a schoolgirl talking with her first crush. It was only Moe, and they were only talking about his aftershave. Totally platonic. Nothing at all to do with the fact that they were going to have babies together.
By getting naked.
Soon.
Not tonight, but soon.
She flicked on the TV, switching from a news story about missing members of a British Mafia gang’s family to the movie streaming from her phone. She shoved a chip in her mouth, savoring the sting of the vinegar.
“I was thinking about the pub and what will happen with it,” he said, staring at the screen.
“I hope you told Kimi to hire someone, so you can get back to what you love.” Amy angled herself toward him, shifting the bowl into his lap.
That was what he wanted, right? To ditch the hassle of managing Brew Babies.
“Cesar—in his will—gave me an offer to purchase the pub from his estate at a low price.”
So it was true. The offer that her mother had mentioned was real.
“As the owner I’d be working daytime hours, which’ll be handy for when we have kids. Better pay, too. More flexibility.”
