Jen flipped the switch by the door. Hundreds of tiny white fairy lights sprang to life across the walls. They were one of her few extravagances, but something about them had compelled her. She sat down in the on-end bathtub seat fixed to the arch wall. It gave her something to lean her head against too, in her bone-tired funk.
How was she going to fix this? She had the brewery of her dreams. The money they’d taken that evening had far surpassed her projections and boded well for the town embracing her concept. But she didn’t have the one person she wanted to share the joy with. That wasn’t even Lydia, though she would readily have convinced herself that it was before this evening. She’d learned plenty about her sister tonight, not least that she was right when she said she needed her freedom. Lydia would be alright. Understanding that now, Jen saw that, in time, she could be too.
But sitting in the dark, surrounded by the white lights Jen knew what was missing. To her left, Ninkasi seemed to agree with her, her expression rather lofty and judgmental. Jen suspected goddesses didn’t make prats of themselves.
She could write to him she supposed. A text would be too casual, in light of her last actions. Letter then. Maybe. If she could dig up her inner nineteenth century. No. She wanted to see his face, read his expression, know whether she was on a loser. That ruled out phoning, but FaceTiming didn’t feel right either – the pixels would get in the way.
She didn’t know where he lived in the UK, and turning up at his work wasn’t a plan. She wasn’t sure An Officer and a Gentleman would work in reverse; sweeping him off his feet in the finance department didn’t have the same emotional quality as a production line, and physically there were issues. She didn’t really need the twinkling of the fairy lights to tell her what she already knew; she had to go to Copenhagen. She’d sit on his boat for a weekend and simply wait until he turned up, unless the police removed her for squatting first.
The last six weeks had taught her so many things – things she’d assumed she’d nailed already, simply by virtue of age and experience. Age clearly wasn’t preventing her from making mistakes and clearly she had loads still to learn. She’d freaked out about Jakob’s real identity, mainly through wounded pride at being blindsided and fear of it being Danny all over again. But he hadn’t been like Danny; he’d given her his real number straight away when he’d texted it to Lydia, he’d told her his name at the start – it wasn’t his fault she didn’t know how to spell it. Essentially, she’d judged her man by another man’s standards and that had been wrong. There was nothing fake about Jakob. He wasn’t like the Kronegaard bottle, all icon and no substance. He’d had substance all the way, in fact he’d hidden the icon from her.
And on the job issue, perhaps – and Jen allowed this purely as a one-off event – Lydia was right; it was business and also none of her business. Other brewers could, she conceded, make their own decisions, and equally, she had to admit Jakob’s intentions probably weren’t some nefarious plan to infiltrate and subjugate the craft beer world. Her thinking hadn’t been the straightest at the time. She’d been wrong to throw his Morfar at him, she was ashamed of that. He’d picked a path and clearly striven to succeed at it. Jen had no doubt Stefan Krone would have been proud of that too. Who was she to say it was no good? She was normally smarter than that, but then she wasn’t always smart around him.
Perhaps she’d freaked at the sudden disparity between them. At face value, they were wildly unequal – he was a multi-millionaire for goodness sake – but he’d only ever treated her as his equal and he’d considered her a good match. Any problem with that was her issue, not his, and recent evidence would suggest her assessments could be flawed. She’d thought Robert considered her an equal, but that hadn’t turned out to be true. She’d managed to get things properly backwards on both. There was a new lesson learnt.
And there was the lesson about the universe sending you opportunities to spot and exploit. That had proved true. Maybe that could be the case in love too? Wasn’t that what Alice had been telling her? No, she wasn’t falling for the rom-com idealism, don’t be ridiculous, she was simply applying her business experience to her personal life and being open to opportunity, nothing more. And while she’d built the business angrily telling herself she didn’t need him, Jen knew in her head she desperately wanted him.
In light of the mess she’d created and the aching regret she felt, garnished with the high emosh factor of the evening, it seemed justifiable to have a cry about it all now in the privacy of her own backyard.
Over her pathetic jagging sobs, Jen heard a scrabbling sound from behind the boundary wall. Instinctively, she pulled her feet up in case it was rats. But it was too loud and bumbling for rats. Thank God. Jen listened for the sound of sniggering kids, but heard none. There was however a rumbling sound, which she suspected to be a wheelie bin being moved, and the thump of it hitting the wall. Then there was more scrabbling and a head appeared above the wall. Jen blinked a couple of times and tried to remember how many beers she’d had.
Jakob’s gorgeous face, framed by his unkempt hair, was looking over her wall. At her.
He smiled. “Hello again.” She nearly died.
“Hello again.” She didn’t know what to make of it, thinking perhaps, most likely, she was hallucinating.
“I tried the door, but it was locked and you didn’t answer.”
“Licencing laws. We’re shut,” she said dumbly. She made an effort to subtly smear her cheeks dry.
“My plane was delayed. I should have been here.”
“That’s OK, I wasn’t here either.” He quirked an eyebrow at that, but didn’t question further, preferring instead to take a moment simply gazing at her as she sat, surrounded by fairy lights, in a bathtub, in the company of Ninkasi.
“I tried the house, but someone called Neil, who only wears pants, said you were probably here.”
“If he was only in pants then I’m glad I’m here,” she said, slowly beginning to come out of her disbelieving haze. But she thought she should check.
“Jakob, can you just confirm or deny you are in fact here and not a fantasy?”
He wiggled his eyebrows salaciously as that wolfish smile spread slowly across his face. “I am real and I’ll happily be your fantasy.” Jen crossed her legs.
Jakob cocked his head at her expectantly. “Can I maybe come in?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Jen sprang up and raced for her stepladder inside, which she promptly placed by the wall for him, then raced back in for some old hop bags to put over the broken glass Charlie had fixed at the top to deter thieves. The next couple of minutes were spent negotiating Jakob over the wall, grappling with each other to manhandle him across while keeping the glass from any major arteries. It only dawned on them halfway through that he could have gone back around and she could have let him in the door, but they both understood that would mean breaking eye contact and that wasn’t an option at all. Instead, it was the perfect icebreaker, plus Jen had taken the time to secretly reacquaint herself with his aftershave.
Standing up, they were face to face, with little space between them. She wanted to snog his face off – right there right then – but realised there might be some necessary protocols to follow, given how things ended last time. The onus was on her; he was due an apology, and she was in a hurry.
“I’m sorry,” she began and watched his face soften. Until then, she hadn’t realised his cheery expression was tensed. He obviously wasn’t any more assured about how this would go than she was. “I was an idiot. You were right – I was terrified of the way I felt about you, and so I grasped any excuse to damage it. What can I say? You have a unique capability of bringing out the inner prat in me.” She gave him a wonky smile and a shrug. “I have missed you, Jakob. Every day. Not that I could admit it to myself, because of the prat thing again, but as you can see,” she gestured to the space around her, which she’d totally created with his deck in mind, “some things come out anyway.” He slid a hand around her waist, re
maining silent as he sensed she wasn’t done yet, but wanting the connection. “I thought I could pack you away, like I thought I could with the beer, and we saw how that turned out. But I thought about you constantly. I was totally rubbish at forgetting you. So I focused on this, building this, because firstly I needed something to do if I never found you again and also because you’re part of the foundations of it all. I would never have had the guts to do it, if I hadn’t had your support. This became, I think, my monument to meeting you.”
He moved to say something, but she placed her fingers gently on his mouth. He wrapped the other hand around her too, and she was grateful for it. It gave her all the bravery she needed to go on, letting go of the safety ropes, grasping this opportunity with both hands.
“Someone, much wiser than me, once said you can’t pack away a passion – not if it’s a real one. And I’ve come to see that’s true. Twice. Passions fester in you, nagging you, unable to dissipate until you recognise they are part of what make you tick right.” She swallowed. “That’s how I feel about you, Jakob.”
He threw his head back and laughed. Deep and from the belly. It wasn’t quite the response she’d expected to her declaration of her passion for him. “You feel I am festering? Like an old wound?” Oh. She saw.
“Well,” she said with a small smile, “maybe. It definitely aches.” She laid a hand flat on her heart. “Here.” His eyes dropped to her heart. She preferred to think it wasn’t to her chest. “You make me tick right, Jakob.”
He kissed her then, presumably to stop her talking and to show her her feelings were reciprocated and that her pratting was long forgotten. That’s what she imagined, as she slid her own arms around him, heady in the reality of him being there. She wanted to sit with him and tell him everything about what they’d done to the place, and the beers she’d brewed and she wanted him to taste Heartsong and get his opinion, and discuss how to go forward with it. She wanted to share the whole experience with him. Just thinking about it made her heart swell almost to bursting, but then there was also the kissing, and that felt like an excellent use of time too.
“I was miserable, Jen,” he said, pulling her to one of the cable spool tables, where they sat very close side by side, legs swinging, adjoining little fingers entwined. He ran the fingertips of his free hand through the hair at her temple, as if reassuring himself she was true. “My nieces called me a sur ribs, erm … a sour redcurrant, it’s a Danish saying,” he translated with an eye roll, “and my sisters were worried about me, which is the worst. They can be overwhelmingly caring. And then you sent me the invite to the opening. I was so glad. First because you were still thinking of me, second because you’d realised your dream and third because you wanted me to see you’d done it.”
There were times for honesty and Jen decided this wasn’t one of them. She deemed Lydia’s meddling as superfluous information in this case and didn’t interrupt. Besides, as she now understood it, everyone needed a little help sometimes. “I’ve been following the progress on Instagram under a secret name,” he said “SurRibs actually. Niece One set up the account and thinks she’s hilarious.” Jen had to agree. How nice that Jakob got to be teased too.
“I’ve been busy as well,” he said.
“I saw. In the papers,” Jen said immediately. While it was heartening that his sisters at least were talking to him, she was still worried about his leaving. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble in your family. I shouldn’t have said some of those things, I don’t think I really meant you should actually leave Kronegaard.”
He looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “I haven’t left the company Jen, just my division. Don’t tell the press – there’s a big announcement planned – but I’ve convinced the board to make some structural changes.”
“You have?” She didn’t quite follow.
“I thought about some of the things you said. I can’t change the fact Kronegaard buys other businesses sometimes Jen, but your point about us having our own craft and stories was something I understand. Like you said, we have the craft beers you tasted and we have an archive of old recipes, plus a team of brewers who have original ideas. So I’m heading up a new Development division, starting with a new range called Kronegaard Heritage and I’m establishing some brewing academies in different territories to bring in more staff, but also to introduce future generations to brewing.”
He gave her a small shy smile and went on, “Believe it or not, you know me better than I know myself. You were right about my wanting a more creative role, Jen, I just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, or displease my family. I’ve come a long way in the business side, which they recognised and like you said, they want me to be happy. I just needed to talk to them honestly about it and present them with a plan. This way I combine both and get to be creative in the brewing, the company and the industry.”
“That’s brilliant, Jakob,” she said genuinely. Jakob looked the happiest she’d ever seen him.
“Your invite arrived on the first day in my new role. It was the best day in so long. I wanted to call you or text you, but I needed to see your face first. I had to see how you felt about me when you saw me again.”
“I was surprised! You popped up behind a wall and I’d thought you were kids arsing about.”
“Ah, but you didn’t look angry and I was settling for basics.”
They were silent for a moment, fully taking each other in.
“I wanted to see you too, Jakob. I needed to see you.” Jen caressed his face, so, so glad it was back in her field of vision. He covered her hand with his and held her gaze with those eyes that made her smoulder.
“I’m sorry too. I should have told you about me. Much earlier. I’d become too … guarded, and I should have seen straight away I didn’t need to be, with you.” He shook his head slightly, but then perked up. “But I am here to make up for it.” He drew himself up and taking a deep breath, began. “My middle name is Bjørn; I’m born on leap day, so I’m much, much younger than you; my favourite colour is brown; I believe in unicorns – because my nieces make me; I’m sure parsnips are a crime against humanity; I am deeply in love with you; I believe all football players are wildly overpaid; I am an awful football player; I have been known to hum Justin Bieber songs when in the shower–”
“STOP!” Jen laughed, trying to cover his mouth with her hands, but he kept fending her off, throwing more ludicrous facts at her. “Don’t tell me,” she wailed. “I want to find out all of these things for myself.” She leaned her forehead against his. “Except the love bit. You can tell me that bit over and over again.” She didn’t mention she’d already absorbed everything cyberspace had to offer about him. Her search history was full of his correctly-spelt name. She really had been truly awful at putting him out of her mind.
He smiled up at her. “I love you Jen Attison, brewster extraordinaire.”
“And I love you right back, Jakob Bjørn Krone-Juul, brewing-baby and Belieber.” Her Danish pronunciation might have been a bit off, but he didn’t appear to mind.
“Belieber is pushing it,” he said with a frown, but cast the thought aside and moved in for another kiss. She stopped him with a small prod to the shoulder.
“Brown? Your favourite colour is really brown?” Who did that?
Jakob nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Beer is brown, your hair is brown, your eyes are brown, your gorgeous freckles are brown. What’s not to love about brown?” Ah. That worked.
“Smooth, Krone-Juul,” Jen said, impressed and made up the rest of the distance between their lips. “You make me very hoppy.”
“Hoppy?” he asked, teasing. “Hops make beer bitter. I make you bitter?” He pulled his head back to check her face.
“No, you make me better,” she smiled, adoring the dreamy blue cornflower eyes.
His lips were back to a millimetre from hers. “Ask you something, Jen?”
“Anything. I won’t even reserve the right to lie.”
“Be w
ith me?”
She hoped Lydia had bought those earplugs. She definitely had this.
It’s exactly four years since we started the blog, twenty-two countries down, one hundred and three cities seen, too many new sports and adventures to count. Scroll back to see, but the rock-climbing, white-water rafting, scuba diving, para-gliding and skiing were top highlights. And the laughter. So much laughter.
A daredevil shot with me for once. This is the moment I proposed to Lydi, mid bungee-jump here in New Zealand, just before we got hurled back up in the air. #Aaawwwww #Aaaarrrrgghhh
Proposing was scarier than jumping. But she said YES!!!
That’s my Gran’s Art Nouveau ring I’m presenting her with while hanging upside down. Look at the shock on her face!
-Neil.
Footloose & Fancy Free Blog – Lydia Attison & Neil Finch.
Acknowledgements
It takes a village to raise a book. My ‘village’ for Probably looks like this and all have my deepest thanks plus big hugs and kisses coming their way;
My wonderful editor Charlotte Ledger, who had the capacity to love Probably at the saddest of times and whose insight and encouragement helped me find what it needed.
My ever-fabulous agent Federica Leonardis, who never batted an eyelid when I said I wanted to write about beer and loved Probably straight away. As always she pushed me to make it the best I could, because I am a lazy mare if I can get away with it and she is a guru of the Romance genre. You should now add Kiss Consultant to your credits, Federica.
The team at Harper Impulse, especially Catriona Beamish for making the actual thing happen and also Claire Fenby and Eloisa Clegg for the support. And Emily Ruston and Oksana Bakhovski for the edits. Plus the design team for the cover. You are all stars.
Suki Yamashita, my lovely critique partner, who reads my worst and cheers me to my best, who is generous with her time and her gifts. Big kisses to you.
Probably the Best Kiss in the World Page 31