Hayes put his cowboy hat on the dash. “Sorry to tell you this, but we’re nearly at the festival.” He glanced sidelong at her, arching a brow before turning his attention back onto the road. “It might be useful to stop singing and talk about what’s ahead of us tonight.”
She shuddered, invisible creepy crawlers rushing across her skin. “Ew, you sound like Clara. Take that back right now.”
His loud laugh filled the cab of the truck. “The fault of that lies on your shoulders. You’ve brought me into this. Now I can’t fail, or I’ll have to face your sister’s wrath.”
Maisie laughed, wiggling her toes against the hot breeze brushing over them. True. She loved Clara, but her older sister could destroy anyone’s personal armor with a single look. “Okay, you’re right,” Maisie hedged, pulling her feet back into the truck and sitting cross-legged on the seat. “We probably should talk about what’s ahead of us.” She reached into her tote bag with all her art supplies.
“Whatever happened to that?”
She glanced up, finding Hayes gesturing at her tote.
“Back in the day, I remember you wanting to open up an art studio.”
Her heart squeezed. “You remember that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, eyes on the road. “You and Laurel talked about it for a year straight in our living room.”
The reminder of her past life with Laurel didn’t hurt like it used to. Now warmth touched those cold, grief-stricken places, and she noticed over the last few months, Hayes could talk easily about Laurel too, recalling all the love, the joy Laurel had brought to their lives. For as long as Maisie could remember, she and Laurel had talked about opening the studio together. Well, a coffee shop/art studio that, even though it didn’t sound like it would fit in town, they’d planned to make work.
“Plans changed,” she told him, knowing he’d understand.
And he did. “Yeah, they do.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
An ache filled her chest, and she wished that were something they didn’t have in common. “I haven’t even thought about the art studio in so long. It’s kinda one of those dreams that wasn’t ever meant to be,” she explained. “The brewery is my life now.”
Out the window, wind feathered through the wild grass and crops as he gave her a quick look. “A bit of a shame. You’re so talented.”
“Thanks.” She smiled. “But it’s a hobby now, nothing more. My sisters have a lot on their plates, and I haven’t been helping their stress.” She opened her notebook. “I’ve got to keep doing my part to make the brewery a success.”
“You’re on your way to the festival, aren’t you? I’d say you’re doing your part.”
She chuckled, flipping through a bunch of papers trying to find the one where she’d made notes about the festival. “Let’s have that conversation at the end of the festivals after we’ve nailed this.”
“What exactly are you looking for in there?”
She flipped over a few more pages of doodles. “I made notes about what we need to do, just have to find them.”
His soft laugh drew her gaze. “That is how you keep notes?”
She glanced down at the ripped-out pages, covered in paint. “Hey! One woman’s mess is another woman’s treasure.”
He gestured to her notebook. “Those notes are your treasure?”
“Damn right they are,” she said, lifting her chin. “Ah, here it is. Okay, we’ve got three festivals. First one, as you already know, is in Fort Collins, then we hit Colorado Springs, and Boulder to finish up.”
He nodded, taking that in. “Tell me why these three festivals are important for the brewery?”
“They’re the three biggest festivals in Colorado. It’s a great way to market beer and showcase our brand, or so Clara told me. She’s already entered Foxy Diva into a bunch of contests, but mainly, these festivals are all about word on the street, which Clara said is really important. I guess it’s good to get buzz going on social media, so when we finally reach out to a distributor, we’ve got a solid proposal.”
“So Clara says?”
“Bingo.” Maisie laughed.
The rich floral aroma of hardy wildflowers carried through the hot breeze as Maisie flipped the page, looking at the back. “Ah, yeah, okay, so basically we need to get there and set up our booth. I’ll serve beer all night, if you don’t mind switching out empty kegs for new ones.”
“That is why I’m here.” He smiled. “The muscles, remember?”
Dear God, how could she forget? Her belly somersaulted at the heated smile he threw her way. Which was both confusing and delicious all at once. There would always be a part of her heart that hated this new growing attraction she felt for Hayes. Some part of her that would always feel like she was being a horrible friend to Laurel. But as she stared at Hayes now, he looked different than he did when Laurel was still with them. Or maybe Maisie didn’t used to notice him in that way. But now, thirty-one years old, with the wind rustling his hair, his arm resting on the window, his thumb guiding the steering wheel, wearing worn jeans and a black T-shirt, Hayes looked hot. Yummy hot. The truth was, Laurel was never coming back, and while Maisie fought her growing feelings for Hayes for a while, ignoring those feelings was becoming harder. Especially when she saw Hayes responding to the heat too.
The more time went on, the more Hayes went from being Laurel’s husband, to Maisie’s friend, to…well, she’d only gotten so far as accepting that her desire for him was a very real, palpable thing that could no longer be controlled. But she hadn’t figured out what to do about it yet.
She glanced back out the front window and finally answered him, “It really shouldn’t be too difficult, but—”
“Nothing is ever easy when you’re involved?” Hayes offered, his mouth twitching.
“Exactly.” Which was, of course, mortifying. She really meant to make it to places on time, to do the job the right way, but it never seemed to work out. Something always went wrong. This time, it simply could not. One last chance. That was all she got to make Pops proud.
Though, as she studied Hayes next to her, she smiled. He seemed to understand and accept her just like Laurel and Penelope always had. He didn’t see her flaws as faults, but saw them as quirks. She liked that.
The rumble of a truck ahead drew her gaze up, and Hayes slowed his truck as they passed a construction crew. She covered her nose at the pungent scent of hot pavement and tar in the air. When they cleared the construction, Hayes said, “Those are good, you know.”
“What are?”
He gestured at her doodles. “Your art. That’s your thing. Don’t forget that.”
“You haven’t seen my work in years. How would you know?”
A mischievous glint hit his eyes. “I saw your painting in your car when I came to the brewery the other day.”
“Oh.” She shifted a little in her seat, twisting the white gold wildflower ring on her right ring finger. “So, ah, you liked it?”
He glanced sidelong. “I thought it was beautiful.”
Heat radiated through her chest, spiraling down to places that seemed to be heating a lot more when Hayes was around. She turned her head, hiding her smile, and took it all in. The plane flying overhead, the bright sun and blue sky, even the wooden fences around the cow pastures off in the distance. Maybe this was going to work out after all…
A loud bang had her grasping her seat belt, making sure she wasn’t going anywhere, when Hayes slammed on the brakes. “What’s wrong?” she gasped.
“I suspect we’ve got a flat.” He groaned, pulling over to the side of the road.
Oh no. Things couldn’t be going south already.
Hayes’s warm hand slid onto her thigh. “Maisie.”
Her breath caught, and it wasn’t over the stress that they might be late. The heat of his touched burned right down to her core, making her want that touch to move higher up her thigh.
His soft stare held hers. “It’s just a flat tire, not a
bad omen that everything’s going to go wrong.”
“Right.” She plastered on a fake smile and lied through her teeth, pretending she didn’t want to rip his clothes off. “Right. Not a bad omen.”
Hayes rolled the truck into Fort Collins only an hour later than planned. He stopped by a garage and picked up a new tire, instead of driving on the spare. They drove through the old historic neighborhood with houses from the 1800s, and even passed by a vintage trolley, until they reached the university, where buildings turned large and modern.
In the university’s parking lot, Hayes stopped next to the rows of trucks and trailers belonging to the best craft breweries in Colorado. He noted Maisie’s bouncing knee, realizing this had to be scary as shit for her. Brave little thing she was, and he’d always liked how she faced challenges head-on, even knowing that it was very likely she’d fail. He was determined as hell to make sure this time, no matter what, nothing went wrong. “Ready to do this?” he asked her.
She took a calming breath and then smiled brightly at him. “Yup, let’s go make this festival our bitch.”
Three hours later, as far as Hayes was concerned, Maisie had done just that.
People strode around the stadium carrying cups of beer. The noise level was near deafening. Between the loud hum of the crowd, and the rock band in the far corner putting on a show, Hayes could barely hear himself think. The mix of spilled beer, sweaty bodies, and grease lingered in the air.
In their corner of the stadium, the Three Chicks Brewery logo was printed on everything: the banner, the backdrop hanging off the booth, the sleek wooden jockey box cover that kept the beer cold, and Maisie’s tight black tank top that hid nothing and revealed everything. Hayes now wore a matching T-shirt, only his was roomy. The Foxy Diva logo was on the bottle openers, buttons, and other swag that the crowd snatched up quickly. While Hayes was impressed by the set-up, Maisie herself blew him away. She had owned this event, doing what she always did—making every person feel special simply by talking to them. Every customer laughed or at least smiled by the time they turned away with their Foxy Diva in hand. Clara had made the right call by putting Maisie in charge of festivals. She was…captivating.
So much so that she’d gained the attention of four men sitting at a picnic table kitty-corner to the Three Chicks Brewery’s booth. They’d already been up to the booth once to get beers from Maisie. Hayes ground his teeth at the attention coming her way. That tall, lanky guy wasn’t interested in the beer, and Hayes had seen enough creeps working as a cop that his internal alarms were going off. There was only one thing worse than an arrogant prick. A drunk arrogant prick.
His teeth began to hurt when he finished attaching the hoses on the jockey box to the new keg. Until tonight, he hadn’t even heard of a jockey box, but he’d learned from Maisie that it was a mobile draft beer system built into a standard insulated cooler. Once the keg was attached, the beer traveled through coils that cooled the beer leading to a draft faucet for pouring.
When he rose, Maisie said to a customer, “Save water and drink beer, I always say.”
The older gentlemen raised his glass and gave her a wide smile. “Fine words, my dear.”
As the man turned away with his wife, Hayes sidled in next to Maisie. “You’re better at this than you think you are.”
“Yeah?” Maisie asked, her face upturned. “I feel like all I’m doing is just serving beer. I don’t know… Should I be doing more?”
Hayes shook his head. “You’re being yourself, and you’ve got the people eating out of your hands.”
“God, I hope so,” she said in obvious relief. Applause erupted near the band as she grabbed a rag to wipe up the spilled beer on the jockey box cover that had a Foxy Diva bar tap faucet. Once done, she tossed the cloth back into the bucket of sudsy water, wiped her hands on her jeans, and then grabbed her phone from her back pocket.
Hayes attempted not to notice the tightness of her tank top. How a thin line of skin showed when she lifted her phone. He failed miserably. Christ, she was sexy as hell.
“Okay, looks like you might be right. I’m actually not doing terrible,” she said, drawing his attention back to her face. “We’ve got a couple hundred or so more followers on Instagram and Facebook. Looks like that tag-us giveaway seems to be working.”
“The tag-us giveaway?”
“It’s an idea that Amelia came up with. If you looked at the swag”—she nudged her shoulder into him—“then you would have seen the sign that she had made. Anyone who takes a photograph with a glass of Foxy Diva and tags us on social media, is entered to win ten cases of Foxy Diva at the end of the three festivals.”
“Good idea,” he said.
“Yup, brilliant.” She didn’t seem bothered that the idea hadn’t been hers, and was glad to give credit where it was due. She took a couple of steps backward until she stood in front of the backdrop. She took hold of his T-shirt and tugged. “Come on. A picture at every stop to remember the time you totally saved my ass.”
He chuckled, settling in next to her. Her wildflower scent enveloped him, filling every bit of air he had, as he wrapped an arm around her back and leaned down to get to her height. Her warm body pressed into his. She felt strong and somehow soft too. Like she stood on own her two feet and could kick some ass, but that when she needed and wanted, she could give in and let go. He’d never known how much he liked that combination until right now. She angled her head toward his, her beautiful smile filled his vision as she snapped the picture.
When she moved away, Hayes was glad for it. Heat flooded his groin, need hitting him with such intensity he fought against the instinct to pull her into his arms again and… Pull it together, man.
He thrust a hand through his hair, but sudden coldness stole any heat Maisie brought. The creeper who’d been watching Maisie before approached her. The hunger in the guy’s eyes grated on Hayes’s last nerve.
“Hey, sugar,” the guy said.
Hayes restrained his snort since he bet Maisie found the guy attractive. He looked athletic. Confident enough, likely making him good with the ladies. And his hair looked like a modern cut, obviously a city guy, with a beaming white smile to finish off his good looks.
“Back again already,” Maisie said with her sweet smile. “Good beer always brings ’em back.”
The guy nearly purred, “Especially when such a pretty lady is serving up the beer.”
Now Hayes held back the roll of his eyes. Maisie was far too smart to fall for this guy’s bucket of bullshit.
“It helps when her customers have charming smiles,” she said.
Hayes jerked his head toward her, finding her leaning against the bar, squishing her breasts together, maybe not on purpose. But Hayes noticed. And so did the guy.
The creep gave her a smile that didn’t look charming. He looked like a damn snake. They exchanged flirty small talk while Maisie poured the beer from the tap, and the guy’s eyes lingered too long on her breasts.
“Enjoy your beer,” she finally said, handing him the plastic cup.
“Believe me”—he winked—“I’ll be back for more.”
She smiled.
Hayes snorted loudly.
Once the guy walked away, Maisie slowly turned toward him, eyebrows raised. “Problem?”
“He’s not right for you.”
“Oh, really.” She crossed her arms, smirking. “Are you telling me you know the right type of man for me?”
“Yeah.” He gestured at the prick walking back to his douchebag friends in the sea of people. “It’s not that guy.”
The announcer called over the loudspeaker, and the crowd erupted in whistles and catcalls, as Maisie said, “Trust me, right now, any guy is the right guy. If you haven’t noticed, there hasn’t been anyone new to town in a while.” She studied the guy at the table, who watched her right back. “I mean, he’s cute, in a fancy way.”
Every instinct in Hayes screamed creep. Having no real way to explain that, Hayes went
a different route. “Yeah, if you want a guy who spends more time looking in the mirror than you do.”
She burst out laughing, placing her warm hand on his arm. “Now I really can’t be with someone who is prettier than me.”
“Exactly.” Hayes smiled, fully aware of her touch. Of how he wanted that touch to move lower. “Take that guy.” He flicked his chin at the man in camo ordering a beer from the booth across from them. “He’s good.”
Maisie followed his stare and then frowned. “Hayes Taylor, what is wrong with you?” she snapped, glaring at him. “I’m twenty-four years old. I want a heartthrob that will break my bed, not a guy who looks like my old science teacher.”
Hayes shrugged. “Looks like a good guy.” Or maybe he just didn’t look like an attractive guy.
She turned to him fully and gave him a hard look. “Remind me to never, and I mean never, ask you to help set me up with anyone.”
Fine by him. He laughed softly, but then gestured back at that guy. “Do me a favor tonight. Just stay away from that one.”
“You’ve got a bad-guy radar?”
He nodded. “One that’s seldomly wrong.”
She watched him a long moment, and he had a minute to wonder when in the hell he’d become so protective over her. Jealous too. Fuck, that was a problem. A big one. This went beyond physical. He could control his body, refuse to act on his impulses. But this warm spot she had grabbed hold of in his chest, that was much harder to ignore.
Her soft smile told him she didn’t mind his concern. “Fine. Deal. As long as you promise to never set me up.”
The promise was easy. “Deal.”
When the kegs dried up and the crowd began to thin, empty beer cups littered the picnic tables and cement floor, and the stench of vomit hung in the air. Maisie breathed through her mouth, trying to avoid the pungent aroma, and unhooked the keg from the jockey box. The heaviness of her eyelids suggested it was far past midnight, the set time the festival had meant to close, and she was ready to call it a night, glad Hayes was there to help her pack up. The motel wasn’t too far. No doubt Clara had booked a place nice enough to keep Maisie safe, but cheap enough to keep Clara’s frugal ways satisfied. At the moment, a bed, no matter how hard or bumpy, sounded good.
Sassy Blonde: USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Page 6