Any Luck at All

by Denise Grover Swank

  Adalia was silent for a moment. “Are you having second thoughts? Jack was so insistent we keep the brewery, but he caught the first flight out of Asheville after signing the papers.”

  Georgie started to say it hadn’t happened like that but stopped herself because it had been pretty darn close. Was she having second thoughts? She’d felt plenty of fear and anxiety when she’d started Moon Goddess, but those emotions had been dwarfed by the excitement and exhilaration of doing something new—of making something. All of those emotions were present now, but Georgie couldn’t shake the overall sadness that enshrouded her, and she was smart enough to know it stemmed from sleeping with River.

  How had she been so stupid?

  This was what happened when you let your heart lead you. She hoped she remembered the lesson.

  But she was also smart enough to know she’d still feel this sadness if she hadn’t let herself have one night with him—it just wouldn’t be this deep.

  Was she sorry she’d agreed to raise Buchanan Brewery from the ashes? She wasn’t sure she had an answer yet.

  Which was why she’d felt compelled to come here, to Beau’s grave.

  Except she wasn’t the only one who’d felt that tug.

  The look of longing and sorrow on River’s face tugged at her heart, but he quickly stuffed it away and gave her a tired smile. “Looks like great minds think alike.” He got to his feet. “I’ll leave you to pay your respects.”

  He started to walk around her, and it took everything in her not to reach out and take his hand like she’d done before he signed that paper. She’d taken his touch for granted.

  “Don’t go,” she said softly, the words almost lost in the gentle breeze, but he must have heard her because he stood stock-still, as though waiting for her to give him another order.

  Order. Because she was the boss and he was the employee.

  Tears stung her eyes.

  He stirred, as though about to reach for her, then stopped.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked gently.

  His question only induced more tears. She loved that about him…how he could be so gentle and supportive. How he cared about her feelings.

  Why had she agreed to greenlight that stupid addendum and the noncompete? Because part of her wanted to fire him on the spot and throw herself at him, yet she couldn’t do that to him. What kind of monster would she be if she took him away from his dream job at his mentor’s brewery? They wouldn’t be able to be together anyway, because the noncompete clause would force him to leave Asheville and Dottie and his friends, everything that had given him the stability he’d needed after his mother abandoned him.

  Dottie, being Dottie, had let that slip while they were planning the employee party, like she presumed River had already shared one of his deepest wounds with her. She hadn’t told Dottie the truth—that he’d only hinted at what his mother had done—not that the older woman had given her a chance. She’d dropped it as a throwaway line—“After Esmerelda up and left River like a dress that doesn’t fit anymore, he was lost for a while”—and then Dottie had moved on to suggesting they get sparklers for the party for everyone to wave around, which Georgie had gently nixed by suggesting they try mini flashlights instead.

  Georgie and River had worked together for two weeks now, seeing each other for hours nearly every day, and the more she got to know him, the more she liked him as a person. Why couldn’t she settle for having him in her life as a friend? A valued colleague?

  Because she selfishly wanted more.

  Being with River—but not with him—was torture, which was beyond stupid. Georgie usually had a backbone of steel. Just last year, after realizing she’d gained several pounds eating a gourmet ice cream she’d discovered and loved, she’d given it up out of sheer willpower. When Georgie set her mind to something, she did it. So why was it different with River?

  This new side of herself scared her witless. She didn’t recognize it, and she sure didn’t trust it.

  But River was standing in front of her—at her request—waiting for her to say something.

  Get yourself together, Georgie.

  She forced a smile, wiping a tear that streaked down her face, but keeping her gaze on Beau’s temporary grave marker. “Sorry,” she said with a laugh. “I had a difficult call with Adalia.”

  He straightened as though he was ready to spring into action. “Is she okay? Do you need anything?”

  His response only drew more tears to her eyes. Why did he have to be so damn amazing? She shook her head. “No, she’s fine, I think. Or at least that’s what she tells me.”

  Because that’s what Buchanans did. They stuffed all their real emotions down and told the world they were fine. They lied to each other and they lied to themselves. Only the lies weren’t working for Georgie anymore.

  She took a breath and forced herself to look up at him. “I’d invited her to come to Asheville this weekend, but she said she couldn’t get away. I’d hoped that she’d come for the parties.” Then, before she could stop herself, she added, “So I wouldn’t have to do this alone.” Another tear fell down her cheek, but she left this one, because she knew more were close behind. “So I’d have someone here.”

  “You’re not alone,” River said quietly, his hands fisted at his sides. “You have my aunt and Tom. You have the other employees—they love you, you know. And it’s because of you, not because you’re Beau’s granddaughter. They’d walk to the end of the earth to help you get things going again, because they see your excitement and your belief in the brewery.”

  He was partially wrong. While she did believe in the brewery, she believed in him more. Who was she kidding? River Reeves was the heart and soul of the new and improved Buchanan Brewery, because without the beer, what was there? Yet here he was, trying to give her the glory. She turned away, guilt eating at her. The brewery was supposed to be his. Why had her grandfather changed his mind?

  She realized now that’s why she’d come. To ask Beau why. She hadn’t understood the pull to the cemetery, yet she’d followed her gut, because it rarely steered her wrong. Still, when she thought about trusting it to tell her how to handle River, she only felt like barfing.

  Maybe that was a sign in itself.

  But she realized now that River hadn’t included himself on that list.

  More tears fell.

  “What can I do to help you, Georgie?” he asked, his voice sounding strangled.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry I kept you.” Then she realized she’d interrupted his moment of reflection with Beau. She was the interloper. “In fact, you stay. I’ll come back to pay my respects another time.”

  She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest, wrapping an arm around her back and holding her close. She sank into him, needing his comfort. She wrapped her arms around his back and held on for dear life.

  His rapid pulse pounded in her ear, the only sign that this was affecting him as much as it was affecting her.

  They stood like that for nearly half a minute, not saying a word, not making any movement except for Georgie’s soft cries.

  Tell him you’ll tear up the addendum. But she couldn’t. If she felt this much pain denying herself a relationship with him, how much more would it hurt if he left her one day? If their one night was any indication of what was possible, she wasn’t sure she’d survive it. River was a good man. The kind of man you built a life with. What if she built her life with him, and it all crumbled? Would she be like her mother?

  Because that was Georgie’s biggest fear—that she’d become her mother, the person she’d loved most in the world—and if all the other ugly thoughts didn’t make her a monster, that one surely did.

  She took a step back and stared up at him, grateful for her new resolve. River may not have included himself in the list of people who were there for her, but he’d just proven he was. She didn’t have to lose him. Look at River and Maisie. It was obvious she was in love with him—too
k one to know one—yet they were still friends. Georgie could manage it too. She just needed to push through. It would get easier with time.

  “You’re a great friend, River, and I’m grateful to have you in my life. Thank you for being here for me.”

  Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone too quickly for her to read it. He smiled. “Of course, Georgie. You’re not alone, okay?”

  She nodded and stuck out her hand. “Friends?”

  He lowered his gaze to her hand as he took it, his warm fingers enveloping hers. “Friends.”

  As he turned and walked away, she couldn’t help thinking she was letting go of the very best thing to ever come into her life.

  Maybe she was her mother after all. Choosing to stay in a loveless marriage. Or letting the love of your life go. What was the difference when they both caused so much pain?

  In the end, choose business, her head reminded her.

  So why did it ring so hollow?

  Chapter Thirty

  It had felt like Beau was answering him, Georgie showing up like that. And then, for a few brief moments, she’d let him hold her the way he’d been itching to do. It had felt like the sun was shining on him after a long day of darkness. It had felt like coming home.

  Back when he was a kid, River and his mother had traveled so much it had been his norm. Esmerelda would answer the call to some far-flung place or other and drag him along as if he were a suitcase. She made jewelry—beautiful pieces with hand-woven metal and stones acquired on their travels—and sold enough for them to live cheaply and on the fly. Sometimes they stayed in communities with other kids, and he’d get to play with children his age, but he’d never been put in a traditional school. She’d homeschooled him, or so she said, but really she’d just given him the books and let him guide his own education, something that had put him embarrassingly behind once he started public school. It had been lonely much of the time, but every so often Esmerelda (she’d never let him call her Mom) would bring him to Asheville, to Aunt Dottie, and it would feel like he finally had a place to plant his feet. Like he had somewhere he could belong. Like he had someone to belong with.

  It was the way he felt with Georgie in his arms, and given the way she’d melted into him, he’d thought she felt it too. Only she’d retreated from him. Again. It was starting to seem like she was as good at pulling away as she was at running a business.

  He’d thought he was going to head home. Hops surely needed to be let out soon, and if he waited too long, he’d come home to more shredded toilet paper or maybe a mauled book. But whatever desperation had driven him to seek out Beau earlier was driving him to Aunt Dottie now. (Surely she’d have something to say about that.)

  Her house had always reminded him of the candy cottage in Hansel and Gretel. It was a small three-bedroom bungalow, painted a bright pastel purple with yellow trim. The yard was separated into planting beds and featured a random assemblage of sculpted animals—bears sitting with frogs. He pulled into the driveway behind her car, his heart in his throat, and made his way to the door, his feet planting on her welcome mat.

  He heard voices inside, even though her car was the only one in the drive. He started to pull away, not feeling fit for company, but Aunt Dottie opened the door before he got a single step closer.

  “How’d you know…?” he started.

  She just gave him her I know things, dear look, but he caught sight of the open front shades and realized she’d probably seen the car’s headlights. Although still a bit too early for darkness to fall, it was a hazy, murky day, veering toward dusk, and the lights had turned on automatically.

  “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it,” she said. “The others showed up an hour ago.”

  “The others?” he asked in confusion.

  She tsked. “You didn’t get my text?”

  Truthfully, no. But he’d been checking his phone only once or twice a day to avoid the Jezebel spam. Not that he wanted to admit to dodging those messages. His aunt studied them as carefully as a detective interpreting clues to a grisly crime.

  “I must have missed it,” he said. “What’s the situation?”

  “Come in, come in,” she said, gesturing for him to come inside.

  He did, only to find Lurch, Josie, and a couple of current Buchanan employees sitting around the dining room table.

  Each sat in front of a large pad of drawing paper, and a mass of colored pencils lay in the middle.

  Was this some sort of art happy hour? It wouldn’t be the first time.

  There were two empty places—one had obviously been Aunt Dottie’s seat given the intricate drawings on the page, and the other had apparently been left open for him.

  “Oh, good, you’re here, River,” Lurch said. “My idea is to mix five different kinds of beer together—some of them limited release—and have a competition to see who can name all five. If they win, they get to drink it. What do you think?” He grinned as if expecting approval.

  “Um, do you think anyone would want to win?” he asked.

  Lurch twisted his mouth to the side and then shrugged. “To each their own.”

  “There’s food in the kitchen,” Aunt Dottie said brightly. “Grab a plate! We’ve got a lot left to do.”

  “Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” He nodded to Josie, and the employees who were still, well, employees, and led the way.

  The kitchen table was crowded with platters of food, arranged in front of a little chalkboard sign reading Inspiration Eats!

  He sighed, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing a plate and helping himself. He hadn’t eaten since that muffin with Maisie, which he’d counted as a late lunch, and Aunt Dottie was a great cook when she wasn’t trying to make all the food black or brown. “Are you planning the employee party behind Georgie’s back?”

  He settled into the far chair, next to an empty patch of table, and set down his plate. Aunt Dottie took the chair opposite him.

  “I would never do that,” she said as if mortally offended. “I’m just helping her so she doesn’t need to worry about all of the nitpicky details. I want Georgie to be able to spend her time on more important things.”

  He nearly choked on a bite of mac and cheese.

  “I think she very much wants to spend her time approving those details. In case you’ve forgotten, you nearly burned down her house.”

  Aunt Dottie waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I think we’re well beyond that.”

  “It happened a week and a half ago.”

  “Nearly two weeks, dear. And although I love our Georgie girl, I think she needs to let herself have more fun.” She paused, tilting her head a little as if he were a work of art she were studying. “Something happened to you today.”

  “It’s almost like you’re psychic,” he said, the corner of his mouth ticking up.

  Another hand wave. “You know what I mean. Something earth-shattering happened to you.”

  He set down his fork with a clatter, feeling a quake inside of him. “I guess I came here to talk to you about that. I’m not sure I would have come if I’d known you had company—”

  “How about a balloon-popping contest?” someone asked loudly, to which Josie replied, “How about bubbles? I’ve gotten pretty good with those.”

  He was going to have to tell Georgie about this, wasn’t he? It was what a friend would do.

  A friend. Those words had poured salt into his wounds, especially after that hug. Not that he would have dreamed of turning her away.

  Aunt Dottie got up and closed the door, then rummaged through one of the cabinets for something before joining him at the table.

  “I can tell it’s time to give this to you,” she said, handing him a black, leatherbound case across the table.

  He flipped it open and sucked in a breath. It was Beau’s watch, gleaming brightly back at him.

  “I didn’t know you had it,” he said. “I was going to g
rab it at Beau’s house a couple of weeks ago, but I guess I got distracted.”

  “I guess you did,” she said, staring at him in that way of hers, making him feel as transparent as plastic wrap. It could be slightly infuriating, being known by someone. Being seen by them. “I told Georgie I wanted to be the one to give it to you.”

  He perked up a little at that. They’d arranged this?

  “You know,” she said slowly, “Beau would have given you his house if I weren’t already giving you mine.”

  “I don’t want to—”

  Think about you dying. Because it sent a sort of panic through him, even as he felt a comforting glow at the notion that Beau had thought enough of him to consider it. He was glad Georgie had the house instead—and maybe a little annoyed that her brothers and sister were on the title too—because as difficult as all of this was, he still wanted her here. Still wanted her close.

  She smiled softly at him. “Beau gave you this watch for a reason, River. Not many people know this, but he wasn’t the biological son of Prescott Senior. His mother was pregnant with him when they met, and they married quickly. But Prescott never treated him as any less of a son for it. The split between Beau and his son was painful for him, but when you came to live with me, he felt like he had another chance to be the kind of man his father had been.”

  River’s hand tightened around the box, his throat feeling clogged with emotion. He hadn’t known any of that. And he had a feeling the Buchanans didn’t know either. Prescott would probably have an existential crisis if he found out. Part of him wished Beau had sat him down to talk about this, but the most Beau thing of all was to arrange for Aunt Dottie to convey the message instead. Well, he’d come here for some sort of grounding, and he’d gotten it. It would have to do.

  “Thank you, Aunt Dottie. It’s big of you to say so.” He pushed his plate back, no longer feeling so hungry.