by Jean Oram
Open the vat. Test. Check against the newly replaced chart. Act accordingly.
Last night had gotten to him. He’d wanted to stay in bed with Amy. So much that he’d forced himself to move to the couch after she’d fallen asleep.
Get her pregnant. Raise kids.
Nothing more.
When they’d come together in his office, he’d expected it to be perfunctory, slightly rushed and awkward. Instead, they’d picked up right where they’d left off years ago, but with things being better than ever. Much better. It had been the kind of night where a man didn’t care if this was the last woman he was ever with because he knew he wouldn’t ever tire of her. Every time was different from the last, and he found himself wanting more leisurely, intimate nights filled with laughter and passion. He’d forgotten how freeing and powerful it was getting lost in a woman you knew so well—knew her like a best friend.
And that was likely the issue. He’d lost his head, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d lose his heart and lose her, too.
He plucked a three-legged stool from its spot near the wall, spinning it under him as he sat in the cool room.
He needed to get his head on straight. Their relationship was supposed to be a friendship and nothing beyond that. Although his thoughts last night had been very friendly.
She didn’t have a bed and the couch was a back-wrecker.
So what was he going to do?
Moe put away the testing equipment. He still had a lot of beer to bottle, as well as kegs to fill.
But Amy’s ovulation window was likely still open. So why was he still here?
They had a plan to increase their odds by making full use of that window. It was his duty as a husband to finish his work and go home as soon as humanly possible, so they could get the job done and put this behind them. Then they could move on as parents, partners, friends. No fuss, no muss.
He abandoned his tasks and headed out into the bright July sunshine, his phone ringing as he hit the parking lot. He contemplated not answering it.
“Moe here.” He inhaled, trying to put the past behind so he could have a decent conversation with his father, who was finally reaching out to him.
“I was just talking to Amy—I called to welcome her to the family and apologize for not flying out for the wedding—and heard the news,” his dad said, acting as though everything was fine between him and his son.
Moe perked up. She was pregnant already? He stumbled over the flash of disappointment at not being needed again until baby number two. No, wait. It would be too soon to know if she was pregnant, wouldn’t it?
“I hear you’re going to buy the bar.”
“What?” Amy had been adamant he not buy it. What was going on?
“You’re tired of working for The Man and are going to own the place despite what Amy thinks is best. That’s my boy. Be the owner and take charge of your own life and destiny.”
Moe leaned against his black truck, quickly pulling away when the hot metal burned his back.
“When do you take ownership?”
“I’m not sure I—”
“Not sure? Why not?” demanded his father.
“I’m not sure I can afford it.”
“Have you tried? Crunched the numbers? I can sell this place, get you your money back. Before you and Lily swooped in I was just fine renting.”
He hadn’t been. He needed to retire from his factory job—the one he’d left mining in Blueberry Springs for a decade ago—as it had nearly caused him a stroke earlier in the year. He was still working only because he’d needed to cover his rent. Lily and Moe had set him up in a nice, small place of his own where his monthly bills were miniscule. He wasn’t going to take a step back and return to renting.
“You’re expendable,” his father warned, his voice sharp with the upcoming lecture Moe knew by heart. He mouthed the words as his dad spoke. “They could fire you in a heartbeat. One screwup and you’re out on your ear. How are you gonna provide? You can’t support a family on nothing but a high school education.”
Moe felt the pressure in his chest, expanding, pressing, insisting on taking up the space his lungs needed in order to do their job.
His father was right. He was in a precarious position, with nothing to fall back on.
Why hadn’t he found a way to go to college? Night school or online courses?
He hadn’t taken the path to higher education and instead had stayed in Blueberry Springs at the same job, happy and satisfied. And now he didn’t have time to improve himself before he and Amy had a family. He was in a position where his job could be gone in less than two months.
His father was right. He had to secure his future—their future—and pursuing the pub was the path he needed to take. For the next several weeks, it was more important than getting Amy knocked up. He’d lost sight of his responsibilities.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He ended the call, knowing what he needed to do.
Amy had married him because he took care of things. He was the steady guy with a plan, and owning the pub—he’d figure out the management aspect later—would put them in the future they’d envisioned. One where he was there for his kids. That was what was important. How had he allowed himself to get swept up in Amy’s fun-loving side and forgotten that?
Moe pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, refocusing.
He didn’t want to worry about money for the rest of his life. He didn’t need much, but he wanted to be able to buy his kids the nice shoes, and to be there at suppertime, his children secure in knowing they could depend upon him. Same with Amy. He wanted her to know he was there, taking care of things so she could be herself. So she could settle down.
And Moe knew how to do that.
He flexed his hands a few times, then dialed Wini’s direct line at the bank, leaving a message.
“Wini? It’s Moe. I’d like to make an appointment to see about taking out a loan to buy Brew Babies.”
8
Amy found yet another excuse to walk past the brewing room during her early afternoon shift. Moe and Kimi had been in there for half an hour and something felt off. Moe had turned serious since their night together, and there hadn’t been a repeat of their intimacy despite their marathon plan. Last night, Moe had slipped into bed with her after she’d fallen asleep, then slipped back out as soon as he’d woken up.
Sharing a bed was nice, but she’d hoped to share more. A lot more. Especially since her ovulation window wouldn’t stay open forever.
“How can there be something wrong with the beer?” Moe asked Kimi as Amy passed by, causing her to pause in the doorway. “It was fine when you checked the pH a few days ago.”
“Is something wrong?” Amy asked.
The color had left Kimi’s lips and she focused intently on the chart resting on her lap. “We have to dump it.”
“Can’t we save it?” Moe asked. “Turn it around somehow?”
“What’s wrong?” Amy stepped into the room.
“The pale ale’s gone skunky,” Moe told her.
“This is going to cut into profits, and there’s no way to hide this from the estate,” Kimi said. “Your poker nights consume a lot of pale ale, and the extra lot fermenting at the offsite brewery won’t be ready until September. Once we run out, it’ll be weeks before we have it in stock again.”
“They can drink something else then,” Amy said, unsure why Kimi was taking this so hard. Surely the estate lawyers knew things went wrong from time to time and wouldn’t do more than express their frustration over the loss.
Kimi hooked a hose to the vat, feeding one end into a floor drain that led to the sewer.
“Do I have to pay for this?” Moe asked. His voice was flat, masking the worry Amy knew was there.
Amy readied a glare should she say yes.
“No,” Kimi said, inhaling as though the word had hurt her. “These things happen and you’re not the owner—the estate is. But because you’re acting as a manage
r in this interim period, the cost could possibly impact your managerial bonus, as well as the estate’s assessment of your ability to run Brew Babies.” Her voice was small and tight as she added, “Even though I was in charge.”
In other words, it looked as though it was going to reflect poorly on both of them.
Moe and Kimi had a similar expression of loss as they watched the beer slide through the clear hose and down the drain. It was filling the room with the stale scent of things gone wrong.
“But come September all errors will come out of your profits and hence your pay,” Kimi said. There was something in her tone that made Amy turn to face Moe.
“September?” she asked.
“He’s buying the pub.” Kimi was smiling faintly as though relieved. Her smile faltered. “Alone.”
Moe’s eyes met Amy’s, then cut away as he fiddled with the hose.
“You’re what?” she asked him.
They’d talked about this. She’d offered to go back to nursing, but because he’d disagreed, he was buying the place behind her back instead of discussing it with her further? Anger and adrenaline flowed through her veins, making her muscles twitch.
“He didn’t tell you?” Kimi’s satisfied look of being in the know fueled Amy’s anger even further.
Moe winced, giving Amy a sidelong look filled with remorse. “Sorry,” he mouthed, then added quietly, “I just decided and I’m still figuring things out. I meant to tell you tonight when we had some time to chat and sort out a plan.”
She inhaled slowly, trying to keep a lid on her emotions, which were threatening to boil over.
He was doing this—buying the pub—for her.
Her.
She knew that. That was all she had to remember. He was the planner and had figured things out.
Such as working himself to death.
It wasn’t worth it. Why couldn’t he understand that?
And now Kimi was trying to use the pub as a wedge, her sledgehammer at the ready to drive it home and break the two of them apart.
“We’d talked about it, but we’ve been…busy…” Amy lowered her tone so it was confiding, barely masking a hint of intimacy. She curved her lips in a slow, warm smile that included her husband, but not Kimi. “Not just with this place, of course,” she added in an offhand manner. “We’re newlyweds. You know how it is.”
Moe looked embarrassed, but also relieved that she wasn’t going to blow up.
At least not in front of Kimi. She was still furious that he had gone behind her back. They were married. Partners. Friends.
But she still hadn’t earned the right to know everything in his world, had she?
Their marriage and partnership, no matter how real it felt, was still just a pledge between friends, and he was welcome to do what he wanted with his life, his money. If he wanted to slowly kill himself as a manager and owner, trying to be home for his kids but also be present at the pub dealing with everything from staffing to management stuff, then she supposed they’d figure it out, because they were just friends.
Even if she felt bitter about the way he’d gone about it.
Friends first. Always.
But man, she was angry.
“So in late September it’s all yours?”
At least if Moe bought it he would be the owner and boss, not Kimi. Amy could hardly wait for the woman’s certain and impending swift exit.
Moe said, “If the estate determines that I’ve been able to maintain the pub’s standards and run it in the spirit in which it was established, yes. Then I can buy it.”
Great. No problem. He could do that.
Kimi pointedly fiddled with the hose draining the ruined beer.
Well, the spoiled beer might be a small hiccup, but things happened, right? Surely that wouldn’t be held against him.
Kimi sniffed. Her eyes had filled with what Amy was fairly certain were fake tears and she tipped her gaze down and to the side. Before she could call her out, Moe’s hand was on the woman’s shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze. Kimi folded herself into Moe’s arms, and jealousy, unwanted and pure, reared up inside Amy.
She knew the game the woman was playing. And Kimi looked way too comfortable in Amy’s husband’s arms.
“It’s okay,” Moe said, his voice thick.
“I just wanted my father’s legacy to—to…”
“I know.” He shushed her gently, like she was a heartbroken child.
“You still have the other pub, right, Kimi?” Amy said.
Moe gave her a harsh look, drawing her up short. So instead of doing what she wanted, which was to drag Kimi out of Moe’s embrace and give him a possessive kiss, Amy made a feeble excuse about customers, and let herself back into the empty pub.
Man, Kimi had game. She had Moe feeling bad for standing up to take what he’d earned, and then managed to get him to hold and console her to boot. And, of course, Amy was made out to be the bad guy who lacked sympathy and understanding.
At the other end of the pub, Spencer was shoving the old jukebox out of the way, having installed a new one in its spot.
“What’s this?” Amy asked.
“Ta-da!” Spencer smiled and held out his arms, showcasing the new machine. “Moe approved it.”
“It’s nice.” She picked up the surge protector the old jukebox had been plugged into, handing it to him. “The wiring is a little glitchy over on that wall. Plug it into this so it doesn’t get fried.”
A fritzed-out new jukebox would be the last thing Moe needed.
“Isn’t it a beauty?” Spencer set down the surge protector and ran his hands over the new piece of tech as though it was a beautiful car.
“It’s nice.” It was gorgeous and shiny, with lots of current hits as well as classics. “Who pays for it?”
“It was pretty expensive, but I knew a guy who pointed me to it. He said it’s a good brand. So I don’t know, but it should last a long time. Quality counts, right?”
“As long as its warranty covers spilled beer.”
“No warranty.”
“Moe approved that?”
“I bought it on an auction site. Saved him tons of money.”
“It’s used?” She moved closer. It looked brand-new. No scratches or anything.
“It’s new, though it didn’t have a manual or box. Floor model, maybe? Why does it smell like funky beer in here?”
“They’re dumping a batch that went bad.”
“Moe’s having trouble keeping up with being the man in charge of everything, isn’t he?”
“Moe’s doing just fine.”
“He should have had Kimi take care of it. She knows about that stuff. Even I don’t,” Spencer said.
“He put her in charge of it.”
“Well, not every batch turns out.” Spencer shrugged. “For their sakes, I hope they figure it out so the place doesn’t get liquidated. It’s a nice pub.”
“I’m sorry…what?”
“Moe has to prove he can run Brew Babies like my dad never left or it gets liquidated.”
Whoa. That was harsh. Although Cesar had always been a bit protective of his business, quick and ready to close Brew, Too when it had failed to perform immediately.
“Wouldn’t Kimi just buy the place if it came to that?”
“Can’t. Those are the conditions. He makes it and buys it, or it’s gone.”
Amy blinked, still wrapping her head around the situation. “You’re sure?”
“I heard the will being read, listened to all the answers when Kimi asked a million questions. I was lucky I just got cash. Talk about pressure for those guys, huh?” He bent over the machine, jabbing at buttons. “So we can set how much people pay per song. What do you think is a good rate? We’ve got to get this thing paying for itself.” He pressed a few more buttons, making all the lights turned red.
Amy, lost in her thoughts, ignored Spencer’s question and headed over to the bar to fill the peanut bowls. The way she saw it, Moe not only had t
o rock his current job as manager, but also had to find the money to buy Brew Babies, or they were both out a job and Blueberry Springs was out one thriving hangout.
Why hadn’t Moe told her the full details? Did he worry she’d freak out and run off to find a new job? The idea was a tempting one. Just ditch the whole thing.
But Moe loved this place. Surely he understood that she’d do whatever she could to help him preserve it, own it. That’s what friends were for.
She set out the filled peanut bowls, resolved on figuring out how to help Moe manage the place like the rock star he’d always been, as well as find enough money to pay for it.
Amy watched Moe sleep. He had propped himself up against the bar, head resting on his fists, a pile of financials spread out before him. Kimi and Spencer had stayed for most of the shift, helping out, dispensing advice.
Kimi had been nitpicking, in other words. While Spencer mowed his way through bags of chips and acted like he knew what he was talking about. But Amy figured Kimi was trying to prove she was indispensable so Moe wouldn’t cut her out of the equation. Then again, Amy had always been a tad more cynical than Moe.
They’d also worn on him. She’d caught him massaging his temples once or twice as though warding off a sure-to-come headache while dealing with Spencer. The dude acted as though the pub was his own personal bar and kitchen, helping himself without ringing his orders through. She had a feeling he would never settle his growing tab. Sure, he’d found a jukebox and hired someone to paint the pub’s front door, but other than that, he was mostly in the way. Cheerful and willing to be helpful, but more of a drain than anything.
Just like the beer Kimi had dumped earlier. At least the funky beer smell had dissipated quickly.
“It’s time to go home,” Amy said, nudging Moe.
He snorted as she nudged him again.
“Accounting puts me to sleep every time, too,” she said, as he stretched and yawned.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” he said, his voice groggy.
“You need to go home and get a proper night’s sleep if you’re going to prove you have earned the complete rights to buying this place.”
