Ka-ching. “How bad?”
“That’s just it. Most of it’s fine but a couple of parts are corroded and some of the rest is ready to go. We can fix the problems, or while you’ve got everything split open we can do the whole thing. Cost you more up front but you’ll save money in the long term.”
“How long term?”
Hal shrugged. “Could go next week, next year, could last another ten or twenty. If budget and schedule didn’t matter, I’d say rip it all out and put in new, but of course…”
Funny how nothing about a project quite went according to plan, Brady thought. “Got estimates?”
“Right here.” Hal pulled a sheet out of his binder. “Michael said he’d come back—”
“Michael won’t be back today. It’s on my plate.”
Brady considered the figures, mentally comparing them to the slush fund he’d left in the budget. Pay me now, pay me later—the question was which.
“Want to go take a look at it?” Hal asked.
Carpentry, Brady knew. And tile and even some wiring. He’d done enough projects with friends and family and work on his house that he had experience. Plumbing, though, he knew eff-all about plumbing.
He had a sudden feeling he’d better learn, and quickly.
“You should also know about the stage.” Hal put down his pencil.
Great. More idiosyncrasies. “What about the stage?”
“I’d planned to buff it down and refinish it but the grain keeps coming up. It’s in worse shape than I originally thought and there’s some delamination in the subflooring. We can go ahead with the plan, but it’s not going to be really smooth and flat. Do you care? If you want a sprung wood surface, it’s not going to be cheap. I’ll need to know about it soon.”
If he answered, he’d be guessing. They weren’t going to be hosting ballet troupes and the outdoor tango dance had been on concrete. Brady considered. “How soon?”
“No later than Friday. Tomorrow morning would be better—I’ve got to go to the building supply.”
Brady pulled out his cell phone and started to dial the digits of the studio phone number that he’d already committed to memory. No hardship having a reason to call Thea. Then again, why do by phone what was best done in person? A slow smile spread over his face and he pressed the button to end the call.
“Let’s take a look at that plumbing,” he told Hal. “I’ll get back to you on the stage question by tomorrow.”
A LOBOTOMY MIGHT be the answer, Thea thought as she watched her class walk through a new rumba figure. Okay, granted there was the loss of I.Q. and personality and, well, virtually everything else, but at least it would give her a rest from thinking about Brady McMillan. In junior high school, yes, it had been okay to spend her every waking hour thinking about a boy. In high school, even. By now, though, she ought to have been long past replaying conversations over and over in her mind, past getting butterflies when she thought of a man’s kisses.
But what kisses.
“Okay, I see some of you are missing the step-brush-step after the pivot. Let’s run through it again.” She glanced behind herself to ensure that the ranks of students were following suit and began to talk them through the step.
It was a miracle that she was managing to teach at all. Robyn certainly had a right to expect better, and if Thea could decide what to do about Brady, she could offer it. The problem was, it was too complicated. There was what she thought she ought to want and what she really wanted. Every other time she’d gone with what she’d wanted, it had been a disaster, starting with her high school boyfriend. Who was to say that things with Brady would be any different?
And yet how would she ever know without trying?
“On the five step walkaround, don’t forget the arm movements. Serve up the imaginary glass of water on a tray as your hand goes away, then dump it out as you curve your hand back toward yourself.”
Of course, you could get yourself hurt while trying if you weren’t careful. If you didn’t keep control. The problem was she didn’t know if that was possible. Just remembering that kiss in the parking lot made her shiver a little. Just thinking about his taste sent that sweet ache through her. Days had passed since the farmers’ market and she still had no better idea of what she wanted to do. Days had passed and still she fell asleep thinking about him, she woke up thinking about him. He was on her mind when she was in the shower, eating dinner, getting dressed, getting undressed—especially undressed—and, of course, at work.
“Okay, let’s go through it one last time together and call it a night. Joe?”
Thea held out her hand to her volunteer teaching assistant. The slow pulse of the music began and Joe led her into the step.
Yes, especially at work, every time she was in the back studio, before the mirrors. She pivoted out and moved into the walkaround. Every time she heard the music of the tango. Every time she looked to the front of the studio, to the barrier where she’d seen him standing, elbows folded on the counter.
She served her imaginary water glass up, poured it out as she came around.
And as though she’d conjured him by thinking, he was there, arms folded on the counter, watching her.
She froze.
He grinned at her, looking relaxed and comfortable. Looking good enough to eat.
“You okay?” asked Joe.
She’d stopped in her tracks, Thea realized. She gave herself a mental shake. “Oh, sure, yeah. Okay,” she raised her voice to the class, “that about wraps it up for tonight. I’ll see you next week, same bat time, same bat channel.”
There was the usual hubbub of a group of people all heading off the floor at the same time, hurrying to change shoes, get out into the summer evening. Thea took her time, fielding questions, shutting off the lights in the back studio, closing the windows.
Trying to figure out what to say to him.
Trying to figure out what she wanted.
Finally, she shut off the stereo and walked over to where Brady stood, watching her. “Nice dress,” he commented.
“Thanks.” It was vivid blue, short and flippy. Not one of her usual somber shades but somehow she’d lost her taste for black and charcoal in the succession of golden summer days. “What brings you around?”
“I wanted to tap my resident tango expert.”
“You did happen to notice we’re closed, right?” She came through the gap in the barrier, giving him wide berth.
“Good. I guess that means that you’re through for the night.” He followed her over to Robyn’s office, leaning against the doorway to watch as she dug out her keys and the small shoulder bag she used for a purse, his gaze making her exaggeratedly aware of her movements.
The answering machine light was blinking and she pressed the button. With a beep, Robyn’s voice vaulted out into the room. “Thea, hey, I was hoping to catch you before the last class. Just checking in to see how everything’s going. I hope you’re having fun because I have to warn you, I may never be coming home. I swear, you’ve never seen men this gorgeous. I’ve been working my way through your going-away present so fast I may run out. Anyway, I hope everything’s fine. You know where to reach me if you need anything. Oh, and don’t forget to be nice to Brady McMillan. But don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she cackled. “Love you, honey. Bye.”
There was a click and the message ended.
Brady looked amused. “Going-away present?”
“Nothing,” Thea muttered, cheeks heating as she walked past him into the entry area. “Look, can we talk tomorrow? It’s the end of the day and I’m tired.” And not up to dealing with emotions.
“How about dinner?”
“How about not?” She locked the office.
“You said you’re tired. All the more reason you should let someone else do the cooking. Besides, Robyn told you to be nice to me.”
She glowered at him. “What’s this about?”
“A blatant attempt to soften you up so you’ll let me dr
ag you by the theater to answer some tango-related construction questions that I don’t have a clue about.”
“Does it have to be tonight?” She started down the stairs to the front door.
“So says Hal the contractor, who’s going to be at Portland Lumber and Building Supply ordering materials tomorrow morning.” Brady followed on her heels. “Now, you could say no, but that means he’ll have to hold off, which could slow down construction, which’ll delay the opening of the theater, which’ll cost us more money, possibly bankrupting us and forcing my brother to sell his soon-to-be-born twins into the white slave trade.”
Thea stopped with her hand on the door to the outside and turned to him. “The white slave trade, huh?”
“It’ll be on your conscience.”
“So why not go to the theater now?”
“Because I’m starving. Besides, I know this great brewpub that makes the best fries in town. And the beer’s pretty good, too.”
Thea crossed her arms and stared at him. “The brewmaster’s name wouldn’t start with an M by any chance, would it?” she asked.
“A name you can trust. Anyway, I’ve got the keys to the theater. We can swing by any time. No reason we can’t go out first.”
“We’re not going out,” she warned herself as much as him.
He opened the door for her. “Of course we’re not.”
HE WAS RIGHT, Thea thought, they were about the best fries she’d ever tasted. And yes, the beer was pretty good, too. She didn’t know if it was the hops or the fact that the little glasses of the tasting flight added up, but she was actually relaxing.
Around Brady, that was a first.
She’d worked her way through the tasting and settled on the summer ale. It was light, crisp, with a hint of something she couldn’t quite identify. She drank some and frowned.
“What?” Brady asked.
“This has got lemon in it, right? And…” She took another sip. “Rosemary?”
He beamed at her. “Good palate. Most people don’t even notice it over the hops. We’ll make you a brewmaster yet.”
“Don’t I have to know how to make beer, first?”
“A good palate is the most important requirement. Makes you try beer and think about what you really wish you were drinking.”
“What got you started?” She felt the warm mellowness spread through her.
Brady grinned. “I liked drinking it and I ran out one night.”
“Seriously.”
“Seriously? I don’t know, I wanted to figure it out, I guess. It seemed kind of like magic. You mix water and hops and malt into this god-awful-looking mess, and somehow out of that you get something like this.” He held his glass up to the light, where it shone clear and gold.
“Is that what you like about it, the magic?”
“I like that I get to use both parts of my brain. It’s part art, part science. There’s stuff I can quantify and get exact and there’s other stuff that’s just—” he moved his shoulders “—instinct, I guess.”
She’d never thought of it like that. “You don’t have standard recipes?”
“It’s kind of like being a chef. There’s the basic stuff and then you jump off from there. That’s what I like—I get an idea, I can try it. And taste the results in two weeks,” he added.
“Like raspberry ale?”
“Like raspberry ale.” Up at the front, a group of thirty-somethings sang a round of “Happy Birthday” and raised their glasses in a toast. Brady’s eyes met hers. “I also like seeing people enjoy themselves.” He shrugged. “It’s not the cure for cancer but it’s what I do.”
And, endearingly, he looked suddenly bashful.
The warmth she felt was just the beer, Thea told herself. “How do you learn a job like this? I mean, how long have you been doing it?” she asked, to keep her mind occupied.
“Since I was a sophomore in college. Ninety-five. That’s what, twelve years?”
Which made him two years older than she was, she realized. And then thought again. “Twenty? But that’s…”
“Yep. But it wasn’t like I was buying alcohol. I was just buying malt and hops and yeast. Harmless.”
Thea coughed. “Good luck with that one. You ever try it out on the cops?”
He gave her a broad grin. “Never had a reason to. I don’t think I made anything worth drinking anyway until I was twenty-one.”
“I take it it’s not as easy as following the recipe. How was your first batch?”
“Stunk to high heaven,” he said cheerfully. “So did the next five or six. Too much carbonation, not enough fermentation, bacteria in the fermenting tank, you name it. I’d have given up but I’ve got what you call a stubborn streak.”
“You didn’t brew it here, did you?”
“Oh, hell no. At home, or my dorm room, actually.”
“Your dorm room?”
His eyes twinkled. “I had supportive roommates.”
“So how did you go from brewing in your dorm room to this?” she waved at the copper tanks.
“Michael was managing the restaurant that was here around the time I graduated. He liked the work and I liked brewing, and Oregon had just passed legislation that opened the door for brewpubs. So we worked two jobs apiece, pooled our money. When the owners of his restaurant decided to sell, we figured that was our opening. Once we got enough ahead to pop for the brewing equipment, we brought in a brewmaster and started rolling.”
Thea took a swallow of the summer ale. “And let me guess, you laid for the guy one night, knocked him off and took his job.”
“Close. He got snapped up by a microbrewery up in Seattle about two years after he came on board. By that time, I’d been brewing for four years and working under him for two. Michael was willing to give me a chance. I worked my butt off and everything came together. Come on.” He rose. “I’ll give you a tour.”
Worts and mash, malts and hops. Mash tun and brew kettle and fermenter. The process was a fascinating blur of precision and by guess and by golly. Art and science, indeed. For every one of her questions Brady addressed with a concrete answer, there were three or four more that came down to a brewer’s experience.
He walked her through the tanks looking for all the world like a proud homeowner, talking offhandedly about a process in which an error could cause five hundred gallons of product to be dumped—and leave the taps dry. He said he didn’t do serious, but the line of plaques hung up on the wall testified to the fact that he was seriously good at what he did.
And dedicated.
“You’re like one of those circus clowns with the plates on sticks,” Thea told him. “You’re brewing here, fermenting there, aging there, all at the same time.”
“And performing quality control at the end, don’t forget. That’s my favorite part.”
They stood on a metal platform tucked between the hottub-sized brew kettle and the equally large mash tun. “And you do this all for four places?”
“Times six beers.” He leaned past her to close the hatch on the empty mash tun, the hairs on his forearm brushing hers.
And her thoughts scattered like a flock of startled birds. His work. They’d been talking about his work. “So, um, how do you keep up? You must work constantly.”
“It varies. Sometimes it’s a few hours, sometimes it’s an eighteen hour day. I’m here when the beer needs me.”
Her lips twitched. “When the beer needs you?”
“Yep.” Suddenly, the fun in his eyes shifted into something else, a heat, an intensity. “Of course, if you were to decide you needed me instead, I might be what you call conflicted.”
That quickly, her mouth went dry and the platform seemed very small. It had been easy to relax with him, to forget he was the Brady who could kiss her half blind. He didn’t seem so safe and easy anymore.
She moistened her lips. “I’ll try to avoid putting you on the spot. So what was all this about the theater?” Going back to business was good. It’d give her a
chance to get her brain functioning again, a chance to determine what in the hell she thought she was doing.
“The contractor’s got a question about the stage surface. That comes back to dance stuff, and since you’re my dance expert, I figured I’d come to you.”
“So ask away.”
“Well, it might be easier if I took you down and showed you. Are you ready to go, or do I need to ply you with more beer?”
“I think I’m about as plied as I need to be,” Thea answered, waving a hand toward the stairs. “Lead the way.”
9
OUTSIDE, THE EVENING WAS WARM as they walked to his truck. The theater was the thing. That was what Thea needed to concentrate on, not on this feeling that the ground was shifting under her feet, that what she thought she wanted—keeping her distance from Brady McMillan—was no longer possible.
“So talk to me about your project.”
“My project?” Brady echoed. “The beer? Oh, the theater. It’s been interesting.”
“How so?”
“I’m learning a lot of new stuff.”
“Really? This is number what, five? I’d think you guys would have the drill down by now.”
“That’s just the thing. We’ve always sort of split the job. I’ve been involved in the renovations, but not at the center of it all. I’m the beer and idea man—”
“One of those creative types.”
“Exactly. And Michael likes to run things.”
“Older brother?” she guessed.
He nodded. “Definitely. I’ll be seventy-five and he’ll be eighty and he’ll still be performing the big brother act.”
“Sometimes the stuff you grow up with is the hardest in the world to get past.” It was something she understood better than most.
“Oh, the split’s always worked pretty well before. Michael’s been hinting lately that he wants more help, but when it comes down to it, I don’t think he can make himself give it up. That mind-body split thing.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “You’d know about that.”
Thea smiled. “Following through on what you know you ought to do isn’t always easy,” she said as they came to a stop by his Jeep. She leaned against the side of the vehicle. For a moment, Brady just looked at her, his eyes darkened with shadows, but not so much that she couldn’t read his intent.
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