Paws and Prejudice

by Alanna Martin

  But no Terminator. She needed something soothing, not endless action.

  Someone knocked on her door as Kelsey stuck her most-watched DVD into the player, and on cue, all three dogs started barking. She sighed, wondering who’d made the terrible decision to visit her plague house. A look through the peephole informed her it was Ian.

  Swell. She was in pajama pants and an old sweatshirt, and her hair had been neither combed nor properly pulled back. Kelsey debated pretending she could sleep through her dogs’ racket, then she decided, screw it. She hadn’t asked Ian to come over. He knew she was sick. And she kind of did want to see him, even if she looked as awful as she felt.

  “We did postpone getting together, right?” she asked, opening the door. “I wasn’t having some feverish hallucination?”

  “No, we definitely postponed.” Ian held up the bag in his hands. “I brought you some homemade chicken soup.”

  Kelsey blinked at him, wondering if she was hallucinating now. “You made me chicken soup?” Take that, Dr. Josh. That’s how you treat a sick person.

  Ian made a noncommittal noise. “I brought you homemade soup. Full disclosure, I made a huge batch a few months ago when Micah was sick, and I froze a lot. I didn’t have time to make any new soup, so it’s more like I thawed some homemade chicken soup to bring you.”

  “I appreciate the honesty, and it’s still nicer than being told to drink tea. Thank you.” Kelsey opened the door wider, knowing she was grinning ridiculously. “Do you want to come in? I’ll try not to breathe on you.”

  Ian stepped inside, seemingly no longer concerned about the threat of three excited dogs. “Something tells me if I’m going to catch this, it’s already too late.”

  That might be true. Weren’t people supposed to be most contagious before they had symptoms?

  “Are you okay?” Her dogs were circling Ian with delight.

  “I’m fine. Hey. Hi.” He clutched the soup closer to his chest and greeted each husky with a tentative hello.

  Even though every muscle in her face hurt, Kelsey grinned wider. He was adorable, and he’d brought her his own soup. Who cared if it wasn’t a new batch? He’d made something and wanted to share it with her. The thought was alarmingly warming, and suddenly, her stomach was indicating it might be willing to give sustenance a try after all.

  “You know, my mother loves to bake, but even she only fed us canned chicken soup when we were sick,” Kelsey said.

  “Oh, I ate plenty of canned soup while I lived with my father.” Wisely, Ian kept his distance as he followed her into the kitchen. “But my mother and my bubbe always made it from scratch.”

  “Bubbe?” Ian had used that word before, and she’d never gotten to ask him about it.

  “It’s Yiddish for grandmother. Homemade chicken soup is the classic Jewish mother cure for the common cold, or so she claimed.”

  “You’re Jewish?” Why hadn’t she known that? Why would she have known that?

  Ian’s expression turned wary. “Yes. So’s Micah.”

  Something itched at the back of Kelsey’s mind, possibly because of the trepidation in the way Ian responded. It came to her a second later. “But the calzones we had at my grandmother’s had ham in them. Shit! Why didn’t you say something?”

  Ian’s face turned blank, and then he burst out laughing. “Because there was nothing to say? I was well aware of that.”

  “But is that okay?” She knew she should have refused her grandmother’s insistence that they stay for lunch. For other reasons, of course, but in retrospect, she should have checked whether Ian had food allergies or needs. He might be laughing, but her face was red. At least the shot of adrenaline had temporarily cleared out her sinuses.

  “I’m fine. I eat ham. Not often, because I don’t like it much, although the calzones were good. And I love bacon.” He was chuckling like her reaction was the funniest thing ever.

  Kelsey lowered the hand covering her mouth. “I thought . . .” Maybe she wasn’t so sure what she thought after all.

  “Micah doesn’t eat pork, or mix meat and dairy, but that’s how he was raised. Also, I’m not particularly religious, so . . .” Ian shrugged. “We’re all different, like everyone else.”

  “Oh, right. Of course you are. Let’s pretend I didn’t freak out, then.” She might no longer be panicking, but her face might be perma-red from embarrassment.

  “I appreciate your concern. I laughed because I wasn’t expecting that reaction.”

  Kelsey cleared her throat, which proceeded to make it hurt again. “I just didn’t want to offend you or anything.”

  “How far we’ve come since we first met.” Ian laughed again.

  “I was trying to be offensive then. Big difference.”

  “Huge.”

  Happy to put that misunderstanding behind her, Kelsey got out a bowl and offered one to Ian. “I know we canceled for tonight, but since you’re here, if you’d like to stay I can heat up some soup for you too.”

  Ian clearly did not need to stay, judging from his lack of concern about her dogs. He’d been smiling at them, cautiously, to be sure, but smiling nonetheless. As for the huskies, since Ian was no longer an exciting stranger, they’d gone back to entertaining themselves.

  “Are you sure you want company?” he asked.

  Kelsey glanced down at her flannel pajama pants, decorated with cute dogs and bones, and at the hole in the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I absolutely do not want company. Except for you. You can stay.”

  “As long as you think you can keep your germs at a distance. No climbing on my lap or anything.”

  She scoffed, but under any other circumstances, he would have a valid point, and they both knew it. She’d had sex with him in the bed of his truck, for God’s sake. What was wrong with her? “You really think you’re that irresistible?”

  Ian stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking smug. “Apparently.”

  Yup, he was, which was why he was insufferable.

  “I’m pretty sure even you cannot persuade my germs to want physical contact at the moment. Besides, if I kissed you, I wouldn’t be able to breathe, because my nose is stuffed. I like you, but I like breathing more.”

  Ian set the giant container of soup on the counter. “I’d like to keep you breathing too.”

  Puck chose that moment to wander into the kitchen and drop his ball at Ian’s feet. Ian hesitated for a moment, then he picked it up and lightly tossed it into the living room. The husky shot after it, and Kelsey turned away to hide her triumphant smile.

  “Now you’re screwed,” she said as Puck returned for round two.

  “Story of my life when I come over here.”

  “You wish.”

  “I know.”

  Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Speaking of, if you’re staying, it’s my choice of movie, and we’re watching my favorite one. No complaints.”

  Ian made a noise like a whimper. “What am I being subjected to?”

  “Pride and Prejudice, and it’s actually not the movie version. In this house, we prefer the BBC miniseries version. Five hours of Jane Austen, although I’m not sure I can stay awake for all of it.”

  “That makes two of us.” Ian held up his hands in mock defense as she flipped him off. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m finally starting to see the romance author side of you, aren’t I?’

  “You’re seeing the English lit major side of me, but yeah, I guess that too. It’s my favorite book.”

  Ian tossed Puck’s ball a second time, with far more confidence. “I’ll have to read it, then. All the better to understand you, and as someone pointed out, I’m going to need cold-weather hobbies.”

  “I have three copies. You can borrow one of them. The annotated version would probably be best to help you get some of the text references.”

  “You got way too excited
about that.”

  Kelsey’s cheeks flushed again, and really—what was wrong with her? There was just something so sweet about Ian reading her favorite book, or even joking about reading it, to understand her.

  She’d blame the cold this time. Not enough oxygen was getting to her head. “Sorry. I so rarely get to push books on people.”

  “No need to apologize. Push away.” Ian grinned. “But know I’m going to start pushing beer on you.”

  Beer sounded significantly less fun than a book. “You are?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m determined to make a beer you like. It’s going to contain all your favorite things—coffee, chocolate, maybe some maple syrup. We’ll see.”

  In theory, she did like all those things, but Kelsey was fairly certain the beer part would ruin them. That said, the thought of Ian trying to make a beer just for her made her all giddy. She was definitely going to blame the lack of oxygen for this. The only other possibility was that she was growing even more attached to Ian than she wanted to admit.

  21

  THE TASTING ROOM was almost complete. The shelves were hung. The bar was polished. There were decorations and glassware. Ian had been sitting in the middle of it, enjoying the sense of accomplishment while he worked on writing descriptions for the beers they would be rolling out for sale eventually. Everything, right down to the designs on the labels, had to meet the regulations set out by the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau, so it all had to be prepared ages in advance. Fortunately, he wasn’t starting from scratch—he had the resources, including the marketing expertise, of his family’s brewery to draw on.

  In all, and especially after spending time with Kelsey on Sunday, he should have been enjoying this moment of satisfaction and productivity. But the town had other plans for him.

  “It’s not that bad,” Micah said, grabbing a stool.

  Ian turned to stare at his friend. “We lost two restaurant orders.”

  “We can deal with it.” Micah spoke optimistically, but he tore into a bag of mustard-flavored pretzels, and he normally hated mustard. “Do you have any idea why they canceled their orders?”

  “Yeah.” Ian shoved his laptop aside. “Kelsey said her father was furious about the promotional deal we made with the Bay Song.”

  Micah muttered something in Yiddish that Ian couldn’t translate, although he got the gist. “That was months ago. So the fact that we’ve been dealing with both Porter and Lipin businesses since doesn’t matter?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “And the fact that you’re screwing Wallace’s daughter doesn’t matter either?”

  Ian glared at Micah and snatched the pretzels away. “That might make it worse. Who knows? And don’t talk about it like that.”

  “Well, you’re not dating her. God forbid you might allow her enough headspace and attention for that. So what do I call your thing with Kelsey?”

  “It’s . . .” Ian waved a hand around and then gave up.

  The irony was, since Sunday night when he’d camped out on Kelsey’s sofa for a few hours, he’d been giving a lot more thought to his no-relationship policy. There was something so nice, so comfortable, about hanging out with her. He’d loved the way her eyes had lit up when he’d brought over the soup, and that she hadn’t freaked out over him seeing her in pajamas. He’d made her tea, let her explain everything that was happening on the TV, and massaged her feet since he wasn’t allowed to touch her anywhere else. It wasn’t dating, because it was far more familiar and relaxing than dating, but it made him want more.

  If he could make time for this whatever-it-was with her, then maybe he could make time for a relationship. Kelsey claimed she didn’t do those either, but he couldn’t be the only one who was sensing how their circumstances had changed over the past few weeks.

  But now there was this. Two Porter-owned businesses were backing out of their contracts because Kelsey’s father was angry. The peace and comfort Ian had been feeling were ripped away, replaced by anxiety over whether the brewery could be successful. If this was what the future entailed, he didn’t have time to give Kelsey any more of himself. He had to focus his energy on work; too much was riding on him not screwing this up.

  “It’s complicated?” Micah suggested, finishing Ian’s sentence. “Everything in this town is, so why not your relationship with Kelsey?”

  Ian didn’t bother correcting Micah about using the R word. He just dropped his head to the bar.

  “We’re fine,” Micah said. “Really. Demand exceeds supply. The sign issue has been straightened out. We just need to get the new labels approved, and you need to get that order finished. You know how long stuff takes to get here, and it’s Yom Kippur in two days. No work allowed.”

  Ian rubbed his temples. “I’m aware. You going to Kelsey’s with me?”

  “Am I really invited?”

  “Yes.” He’d made the point that he wasn’t leaving Micah by himself for a break-the-fast dinner, and Kelsey had rolled with it, extending the invitation.

  Invitation to what—Ian wasn’t sure. Kelsey had wanted to get together once she was feeling better, allegedly for more dog therapy that they both knew he didn’t need, but the timing clashed with his holiday. After explaining the day’s significance, and that even though he wasn’t religious, he tried to mark it in his own way, Kelsey had offered to cook him dinner the following evening in lieu of a more traditional break-the-fast meal.

  Ian’s mother had been more culturally Jewish than religious, and his father’s only religion had been professional success. When he and Isabel had moved in with their grandparents and ended up in Florida with most of their maternal family, the holidays had taken on a new significance. They’d become the times everyone—his grandparents, plus all the aunts and uncles and cousins on that side—gathered together for boisterous meals and shenanigans. Ian had never been thrilled with being taken to services, but he’d always loved what came after. Marking Yom Kippur with only Micah would be a lot more subdued than Ian was used to, so Kelsey’s invitation had seemed like an antidote. If nothing else, it would distract him from all he was missing out on back in Florida.

  “This ought to be good, then,” Micah said, snapping Ian back to the present. “I want to see you playing with a bunch of dogs.”

  Ian narrowed his eyes and pulled his laptop closer to get back to work. His world had truly been turned upside down when dogs were the least of his worries.

  * * *

  * * *

  KELSEY CLOSED HER eyes, took a deep breath (grateful that had become an option once more), and knocked on her parents’ door. She was feeling 90 percent better since the weekend, and yet given the way she was burning up inside, she might as well have a fever. That heat, though, was solely due to anger.

  The door opened a moment later, and her father’s eyebrows shot up with surprise at seeing her. “Did your mother forget to tell me you were coming over for dinner?”

  Wallace stepped aside, and Kelsey darted in so the neighbors would not hear any juicy gossip. Sadly, what was about to go down would be juicy gossip. There were pros and cons to being a member of one of Helen’s most notorious families, and the interest everyone took in your personal life was a very large negative.

  “No, I’m not here for dinner,” Kelsey said after her father shut the door. The house was filled with the aroma of roasting meat and vegetables—likely her mother’s pot roast—which made the true reason she was here all the more irksome. Kelsey loved her mother’s pot roast. “I’m here to talk to you.”

  “Oh, about?” He turned off the evening news, oblivious to her mood.

  She didn’t know why she’d expected him to have figured it out. When Wallace Porter issued a command, the world jumped to obey. There was no questioning, no pushback, no complaints, even when the orders were a contradictory mess.

  Until now.

  She woul
d not be staying for dinner.

  Kelsey crossed her arms. “You told businesses to cancel their contracts with the brewery.” She’d gotten the sense that Ian had been reluctant to confess this to her, but he hadn’t been able to hide his mood the last time they’d spoken, and she’d eventually dragged the truth out of him.

  Her father blinked, as though he wasn’t sure what she was saying. Or possibly why she was bringing it up. “I told you about the rumor. I don’t know if you ever got confirmation of it, but I did. There needs to be repercussions.”

  “Repercussions?” Kelsey thought her head might split open from the pressure she was containing. “Ian and Micah aren’t your kids to punish. They aren’t even Porters. Just a few weeks ago, you were determined for the brewery to be a raging success. And now . . . ?” She waved her arms around, unable to articulate how absurd she thought he was acting.

  Wallace sighed heavily, as if this whole ordeal were as tragic to him as it was to the people feeling the knuckles of his metaphorical fist. “That was then. I still want them to do well, ultimately, but like I said—exclusive deals with the Lipins are unacceptable. I have to look out for the family’s interests.”

  “How the fuck do you expect them to do well when you’re kneecapping them? Helen isn’t that big. Two restaurants is not a blip that’s easy to ignore.”

  Her father cast a glance toward the kitchen, where her mother had probably paused making dinner to listen to the train wreck in progress. “Watch your language.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m a professional writer. I always choose my words carefully.”

  Wallace looked less than impressed, but then, he’d never been particularly impressed with her fake vocation. There was no question he’d be even less impressed with her real one. “Calm down.”

  “Calm down? A month ago, you were telling me how important it was that the brewery be successful. You were suggesting I should strike up a relationship with either Ian or Micah for the good of the family. I’m getting whiplash here.”