Harry Potter was the reason I started making jewelry as a hobby in high school—because I could pretend like I wasn’t just making a necklace, but a magical charm that would make me as cool as Callan or as pretty as Rose.
And for a little while, I believed they worked when Sean wanted to date me.
I turned in a slow circle, taking a sweeping scan of the thought put into the place. The brewery wasn’t outright Harry Potter themed inside, but if Hogwarts had an off-brand first cousin, this place could be it.
Faux stone aged the walls. Giant wrought-iron chandeliers hung from the high ceilings. Wizard hats, cauldrons, and scrolls and ancient-looking books decorated the shelves that held brightly colored beer cans and Fantasy Brewing swag.
Continuing my path toward the center circular bar, I noticed the tables were made of big wooden barrels and the draft handles were carved to look like ornate wands.
But there was only one truly fantastical component about the whole place—and that was the gorgeous man who appeared behind the bar.
He was the kind of panty-melting hot that only existed in wizarding worlds.
Chapter Two
Luke
“Welcome to Fantasy Brewing. What can I get—for you?” My greeting cracked in the center and my welcome smile turned tipsy at the sight of her.
It wasn’t just any woman who’d walked into my brewery, it was the woman of my dreams.
Short, curled blonde hair, sparkling honey eyes, flushed round cheeks, and plump pink lips were the icing on her deliciously curvaceous cake. But it was the confidence that emanated from her bright and yellow flowered headband all the way down to her matching yellow stockings that made it impossible to look away.
A black and white dress clung to her generous curves in a way designed to make a man’s blood heat. And her necklace, it didn’t make a statement, it demanded my attention to where it sat on the swell of her tits. Saliva pooled hotly in my mouth. Damn. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been hit this hard by the sight of a woman.
I’d watched far too many women stroll in here with their distressed jeans, fall sweaters, and sheepskin boots to not appreciate the complete absence of anything basic about this woman.
She was bold, and hell, if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing about her.
Returning my focus to her face, I caught warm brown eyes the color of fall staring at me. She quickly ducked her head but not before a shade of pink breezed into her cheeks. And my smile widened.
Her innocent authenticity was sexy as hell.
I wasn’t the kind of guy to be thrown off by the sight of a woman. Interested? Yeah. Turned on? Sure. But stop me in my tracks, blink twice, and restart my heart with a swift fist against my chest? That never happened.
Until now.
But I guess that was what happened when the woman of my dreams walked into my brewery dressed like she was a perfect fit for my fantasy.
Thankfully, Luke Chambers had always recovered quickly—especially when it came to hiding how badly I wanted something; life hadn’t given me much choice.
“Oh, no. I don’t like beer,” she insisted, holding up her hand to stop me from reaching for a glass.
But it didn’t stop me.
I never backed down from a challenge—especially when someone walked in here claiming not to like beer.
“You’ll like this,” I promised and, grabbing a glass, held it under the last tap.
“No, thank you. I can’t. I’m running late, and I’m actually just here to see Luke. Is he available?”
I caught myself just before I confessed to being the man she was looking for. There was something temptingly familiar about her, and I wanted to figure it out—and have her taste my ale—before I gave her what she wanted.
She rose up on her toes and looked around the bar as though she were hoping to spot me hiding somewhere in the back.
“This one’s on the house,” I said, setting the glass on the bar in front of her. “It’s our award-winning apple ale. Perfect for beer haters.”
Her gaze volleyed between me and the drink. “I really shouldn’t. I’m running late for a party. If you could just tell me where to find Luke… he’s expecting me.”
My eyebrow arched.
Expecting her?
I couldn’t stop my ironic chuckle from bubbling out. I’d never not expected someone more in my entire life. No man in his right mind expected the kind of woman he fantasized about to walk out of his dreams and into his brewery.
“I think he’s finalizing a sale in the back,” I said carefully, adding with a twinkle in my eye. “How about this, one taste, and I’ll bring him out to you?”
She folded her arms, putting her large tits on display.
I grabbed the rim of the counter and tipped forward a little, hoping the position would ease how solid and uncomfortable my cock had just turned.
“Do you peer pressure all your customers?”
I barked out a laugh. “Not peer pressure.” I shook my head. “Just accepting your challenge… and raising it.”
“What challenge?” Her eyebrows popped adorably high, giving me a complete view of her honey-bronze irises.
“That you don’t like beer. Can’t say that to a man in the middle of his—a brewery.” I nodded to the glass. “And now I’m challenging you to try it and hate it.”
When she didn’t reply right away, I knew she was considering it.
“One sip.” She stepped up to the bar. “And then, regardless of whether I love or hate it, you’ll get Luke?”
I nodded and grinned. “I’m not going to try and skirt the rules of the deal.”
She weighed my words for a second and then took the glass.
Damn. Even her nails were painted plaid with yellow and orange leaves on top.
One sip.
It wasn’t a challenge. It was torture.
The way her lips framed the rim of her glass. The flutter of her eyelids drifting shut. The way she tipped her head back, exposing the creamy column of her neck. And holy hell the way she let out a little moan as she swallowed.
I almost wished she hated it. It might’ve been less painful.
“That’s not beer,” she accused as soon as she was done. The quick swipe of her tongue over her lips, licking off the last traces of my ale, was the twist of the tempting knife.
I chuckled. “I promise, it is.”
“What’s it called?” she asked, still disbelieving.
“Apple of my Eye,” I replied, watching her eyes widen. “It’s our seasonal apple ale made with local apples.”
Her head tipped like some sort of connection had just been made, but then she flicked her gaze to the glass and back to me. “Can I drink the rest?”
So fucking genuine.
“It’s all yours, gorgeous.”
This time, she took another large gulp to try and hide her blush.
“Careful. It goes down easy, but it packs a punch,” I warned. “On an empty stomach, one glass even sends me flying three sheets to the wind.”
“Well, for where I’m going, maybe I should have two,” she mumbled, pressing her hand to her mouth as soon as the words were out, shocked by what she’d said.
“I thought you were going to a party?” My eyebrow arched. “Or do you usually like to pregame?”
“I don’t usually pregame,” she murmured, slightly mocking the phrase even as she took another sip. “But you would too if you just found out that the most scum-sucking, evil, cruel, and all-around vile person was going to be there.”
I took another look over her and went with—what I hoped—wasn’t a long shot. “So, Lord Voldemort is going to this party?”
Her bright gaze snapped to mine and, for a second, I thought I’d dropped the ball on the reference. But then the most beautiful and achingly familiar smile lit her face and she laughed, and it felt like I’d downed a whole keg of the damn apple ale the way the sound threw me off-kilter.
“I wish,” she murmured, st
aring down her glass and going in for a third sip. “Honestly, this guy makes Voldemort look like Hogwarts’ most eligible bachelor. Although I don’t think the Dark Lord is what my sister had in mind when she told me to come back with a fake boyfriend,” she went on, giggling softly. “She always thought Voldemort looked like an earthworm.”
I chuckled. “So now you want to take Voldemort to this party?” I wiped the counter. “This guy must be real bad.”
“I’d take Voldemort as my date if it meant not having to see my ex right now.”
Ex.
As a bartender, you could learn pretty damn easily about a person’s life. It was one of the things I enjoyed about the job—and missed as my business grew. I’d had to hire other bartenders so I could keep up with Fantasy’s growth and expansion. But today, of all days, Kenny had asked to leave early, so I was covering until Dan got in.
And if Kenny hadn’t asked to leave, I never would’ve met the woman of my dreams.
A woman looking to have a fake date in front of her ex.
“Ex?” I wanted to know more. I wanted to know if I might be able to help out.
At the very least, I knew I looked better than an evil earthworm.
It wasn’t like I had any real plans for the night. With Kenny out early, I was probably going to spend my Friday evening holed up in the back doing inventory, invoicing, and now, imagining this woman with her lush curves and yellow tights–clad legs wrapped around my waist.
Her glass hit the bar quicker than a gavel when she realized she’d said too much.
“I’ll be your fake date,” I offered hastily, willing to do anything at this point for another chance to be around her.
“What?” she gasped and then, with a wave and headshake, muttered adorably, “No. I mean, that would be fantastic, but no thank you.” She squeezed her eyes shut and collected herself. “I just need you to get Luke, and then I have to go.”
Maybe she’d let Luke be her date—or at least give him a chance to see her again.
“No need.” I sighed and extended my arms.
She gasped. “Our deal was one sip and you’d—”
“Bring him out to you,” I finished for her. “Not backing out of our deal, gorgeous. Impossible for me to do that when Luke’s been here the whole time.”
She whipped her head to one side and then the other, grabbing hold of the counter and turning back to me in slow motion.
“Luke?” she choked out my name.
I grinned, folding my arms on the bar and nodded. “That would be me.”
“Oh god,” she mouthed the words, covering her face and shaking her head in horror.
“Not going to lie, gorgeous, but I’m a little concerned that you were more eager to take Voldemort to your party than you are to realize the man you’ve been looking for is standing right in front of you.” I sucked in a breath. “Makes me wonder who sent you here and what they’ve been saying about me,” I added, hoping some levity would break the shock on her face. “Not sure a woman has ever looked so horrified to meet me.”
“Oh, I’m sure they haven’t,” she murmured with a quiet surety that stilled me. “But we’ve already met, Lucky Luke.”
Lucky Luke.
She knew me from high school, that was for certain. Damn, I knew I knew her from somewhere.
But where…
Christ, if I’d slept with her and didn’t remember—No. No fucking way I could’ve been with this woman and not remember it.
And there was no fucking way I could’ve met this woman before and not made my interest clear.
But then what the hell other option was there?
“I’m here to pick up the ice,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “Callan said he told you I was coming.”
My blood ran from scalding hot to ice cold in a second.
Callan said he was sending his sister. I thought he meant Rose.
“Sage?”
I hated her tight smile because I knew what her full-bodied one looked like.
“It’s been a long time, Luke.” She rolled her plump lower lip between her teeth, and the only fucking mercy I had in this situation was that my lower half was still hidden by the bar. “Good to see you again and thanks for the ale, but if I could just get the ice, I really need to go.”
Fucking hell.
I walked around to the other side of the bar where I had two coolers of ice waiting for my best friend to pick up to take to his parents’ house.
She needed ice? I needed the damn ice to cool off my raging dick.
My best friend’s little sister had grown into the woman of my dreams.
Chapter Three
Sage
“So, your business is booming, dear?” my Aunt Lisa asked, her head bobbing like a dash doll though her perfect perm didn’t budge. “Jenny mentioned something about an article…”
I smiled and nodded.
My parents were farmers at heart and they didn’t really understand the concept of going viral. All they knew was that I did an interview for a local paper about a year ago that ended up getting spread over the magical web of the internet because of my Harry Potter pieces, and it launched my little business into the big leagues.
“It’s going really well. I’ve actually started to look at store spaces in Portsmouth since my shop has been booming.”
I never expected a single news article to blow up my online jewelry business the way that it had. I thought I’d live happily in my studio apartment, making enough to support myself and not rely on my parents for anything. But six months after the article, I’d had to upgrade to a two-bedroom apartment with one room solely dedicated to my jewelry business. And now, another six months later, I was contemplating store space.
A store. For my handmade jewelry.
Maybe.
It all seemed to be happening too fast to be real or sustainable.
“You’re still making jewelry, right?” Donna chimed in, her tone woven with boredom and pity.
Donna was Lisa’s daughter and our only cousin. She was only two years older than Rose. Even though we weren’t that close, Rose felt obligated to ask her to be in the bridal party. Ever the dutiful daughter. There were three things to know about Donna. She was blonde, Botoxed, and kind of a bitch.
Her frozen face could survive an apocalypse, right along with her mother’s perm.
And it was because her face was frozen that it was only her eyes that gave away how unimpressed she was with my jewelry business. Like ‘how’s your little childlike jewelry business going?’
“Going on my fifth year in business,” I replied and couldn’t help but ask, “What have you been doing lately, Donna?”
Meanwhile, she was the one who lived her life from one sugar daddy to the next.
Her eyes snapped from inspecting her nails up to mine. “Oh, I’m in between things right now.” Her attention returned to her nails. “Just trying to find myself. You know.”
I clung to the sense of accomplishment I felt when I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Instead, my gaze wandered around my parents’ back patio, pavers laid in a large circle that centered around a massive firepit in the center. The patio chairs and tables were all moved to the side, decorated with fresh-gathered leaves (that Callan had grumbled about having to collect), apples, and bundles of fragrant cinnamon. Beyond the patio spilled row after row of apple trees ready to be picked—which was the first activity I had planned for the group on Sunday.
Bringing my cup to my lips, I took a sip of the apple ale, its familiarity hitting me as hard as the man who’d dared me to taste it.
If I thought I could trade one embarrassment for the next, I was wrong.
I’d gotten back to my parents’ house only to realize that the drink of choice being served was Luke’s apple ale made with my family’s apples. But every sip was a tradeoff—dulling my senses to the jerk I wished I’d never met and tempting me to remember the moment a drop-dead gorgeous man offered to be my date… right befo
re he realized who I was and wordlessly retracted his offer.
I bit my tongue, pain locking my groan deep in my chest.
Luke Chambers hadn’t aged like a fine wine. He’d aged like a diamond. The coarse and gritty mold of the teen I’d crushed on had become a hard, precision cut and grade A specimen of a man.
His brown hair was disheveled enough to look sexy, not dirty. His beard was thick but not overwhelming. And those blue eyes were as clear and as dangerous as the open ocean.
He was perfect. Or as close as a man could get. Which was why I swiftly and efficiently dismembered my disappointment at his shock and mumbled apology as he loaded the ice in my car and buried the remains six feet under my tightened chest.
Forget him, Sage.
I stared at the dwindling liquid in my cup.
Luke was just like his ale. Temptingly sweet and delicious. Able to warm the deepest parts of me with a single glance. And tagged with a price I didn’t realize I would have to pay until it was too late.
My mom’s obnoxiously loud laughter brought my attention to the crowd. I wanted to make my excuses to my aunt and cousin and find better conversation elsewhere, but at the moment, I’d exhausted all other conversations.
I’d already chatted with my parents who were talking to Mike’s parents. I’d popped in the group of Rose’s girlfriends from college, Tina and Fay, who made up the rest of the bridal party. And then there were the several minutes spent with my almost completely deaf grandmother, Jean, which resulted in a shouting match (mostly with myself) while she smiled and nodded from her chair.
I was so desperate to avoid Sean and the rest of the groomsmen that I’d gone so far as to strike up a conversation with my brother and Ronnie, praying every prayer in the book that Ronnie didn’t read into my eagerness. And that Rose didn’t get any ideas in her head about offering me up on a silver spinster platter.
“Oh, Mom, Dustin is calling,” Donna said, seeing the call come in on her fancy watch.
“Her new boyfriend,” Aunt Lisa said, her head still bobbing. “Oh, dear. Your mom is waving me over. Excuse me.”
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