by Karis Walsh
Tace put the bag on Berit’s bed and stretched with her hands on her lower back. “Thank goodness. I’m still aching from my afternoon of being your pack mule.”
They faced each other in the bedroom. Another awkward moment. Berit wanted to step closer, but she waited. “How was your Christmas?”
Tace shrugged, her face expressionless. “Like any other day. Kyle’s still out of touch, and Chris stayed in Oregon with her housemates. Even Joseph went back to Everett to see his family. What about yours?”
Berit mimicked Tace’s shrug. “I had my first serious PT session two days before Christmas, so I was out of commission for a few days after. I sat in my hotel room and studied for this term’s classes over the holidays.”
Tace walked out of the room and gently bumped Berit’s shoulder as she passed. “I’m glad you’re back. And it should be a great semester for you. You sound more prepared for teaching, and your office will actually appear to be occupied. Coffee?”
“Sure.” Berit limped after Tace. Tace was right—her office would now contain the books she’d shipped, as well as stuffed file folders and information packets for the jobs she was considering. She’d agreed to be on the search committee to fill the vacancy she was leaving here at Whitman, and she had stacks of information on potential candidates. Kim had told her to fill her office and she was—but mostly with papers and forms designed to get her out of Whitman and get someone here in her stead.
She had some good leads on excavations, and she’d love to lead almost any of them as long as it meant she was out of here. One stood out from the rest, though. A dig in Baja, searching a promising site for cave paintings and rudimentary dwellings. Not in her field of expertise, and not in an exciting, dangerous area. She wasn’t even certain why she was drawn to it, except that she could picture Tace there. She’d love it. The area was beautiful, judging from the photos Berit had seen. She could imagine Tace finding a cave full of paintings, or identifying birds and stars as she explored this new place. Berit let her mind roam. Weekends in Cabo, sipping margaritas. Nights under a velvet expanse of sky, sharing a tent and making love in the vast silence. She’d never wanted a companion on a dig before, preferring to spend her time off work in a solitary way, but she wanted Tace with her, and she’d broach the subject once Tace was free to go.
“How’s the brewery?” she asked, continuing her train of thought out loud.
Tace handed her a mug of coffee. “Good,” she said. “We’re sponsoring a division in an upcoming bike race, and I’ve expanded into three other bars since you were here last.” She hesitated and stirred her coffee with a nervous, clanking sound of spoon on ceramic. “I got an offer on it last week.”
“You did?” Berit knew she must be wearing a goofy grin. “That’s wonderful. Is it enough?”
Tace furrowed her brow, as if she was taken aback by Berit’s enthusiasm. Berit didn’t understand why—this was what Tace had been working toward.
“It’s enough. I’d be back where I started, or close to it.”
Aha. Berit saw Tace’s expression shift when she said those words. Back where she started. Before she got involved with the brewery and caught in the joy of creating and making a name for herself.
“You don’t want to sell,” Berit said in a subdued voice.
Tace shook her head. “I love working there, whether I’m brainstorming a new seasonal or pulling weeds. It’s fun, and I feel good about what I’m making. About myself. I can’t explain what it’s like when someone compliments one of my ales, or a restaurant owner wants to expand what he offers because the beer is selling so well.”
“I think I understand,” Berit said. She did. She’d felt the same way every time she’d dug up a shard of plain pottery or an astonishing intact vase. Accomplishment and pride. How often had Tace experienced them for herself, not just for something her sister did?
Tace looked deep in her coffee mug, not meeting Berit’s eyes. “I guess I thought you’d be excited about me wanting to keep the brewery. I know selling is the sensible thing to do…”
Berit doubted Tace had had many cheerleaders in the past. Berit would have to be one now. She mentally ripped up the application she’d already filled out for the Baja dig. “Of course I’m excited for you. You’ve made amazing improvements in such a short time, and there’s no telling what you can do if you really commit yourself. I meant what I said in the wheat fields—your whole face lights up when you talk about hops and yeast. You obviously have found your vocation, and what’s better in life than truly loving your work?”
Berit felt her conviction slip when she mentioned the wheat fields. Where they had shared a kiss Berit still tasted every night when she was in bed alone. She and Tace were good together, but Berit had spent her adult life enjoying a passion for her chosen field. Tace deserved the same experience. Any selfish desire to encourage Tace to sell was smashed by the smile on Tace’s face when she heard Berit’s words.
Berit sighed. No going back now. “I’ve been hearing a lot about this brewery of yours, but I’ve never actually seen it. How about taking me there for a tour and a free glass of your famous beer?”
❖
After hearing Tace talk about the brewery’s run-down condition and the amount of weeding she had to do, Berit was expecting a lean-to in the middle of a field of dandelions and thistles. Instead, she was surprised to see a brown and beige metal building surrounded by a neat snow-covered lawn dotted with trees. Their branches were bare now, but in the spring they’d be lush and green. The whole area had the feel of a mountain meadow, secluded from the road and casually arranged. Berit saw the perfect spot for some tables and chairs, where customers could sit in the shade and sample Tace’s beers.
“Those are redbuds.” Tace pointed to a row of trees lining the driveway. “In the spring they’ll be covered with pink blossoms. And over there are horse chestnuts and the smaller ones are dogwoods.”
“It’s going to be beautiful,” Berit said, leaning on her cane and looking around the charming space. A sudden howl caught her attention, and she turned to see a small black-and-white cat running toward Tace and meowing.
“This is Suds,” Tace said, picking up the cat and scratching under its chin.
“Because of the white mustache? Cute.” Berit moved closer and patted the kitten on the head, feeling the rumble of his purrs vibrate under her hand. She felt an even deeper vibration when her fingers brushed against Tace’s. She let their contact linger for a moment before stepping away. Tace set the cat down and he ran ahead of them to the brewery, scooting through a metal-framed cat door.
Tace held the door for Berit, and she stepped into a room full of shiny metal tanks of different shapes and sizes. She was staring at them and wondering how on earth anyone could keep them so clean when a man suddenly appeared at her side. Berit jumped in surprise and she heard Tace laugh behind her.
“Berit, this is Joseph, Bike Trail’s brewmaster. Joseph, my friend Berit. Are you brewing the IPA today?” she asked while Berit shook hands with him.
“Yep. I can tap a keg for you, if you want. We only have the stout tapped right now.”
“We can have some of the stout after our tour,” Tace said. “I thought we’d taste our way through the brewing process first.”
Joseph nodded. “I’ll be around if you need me.”
“He scared the crap out of me, too, the first time I met him,” Tace said after Joseph climbed a ladder and vanished behind some tanks. “He has ninja skills.”
“I hear they come in handy when you’re brewing beer. So, what were you saying about tasting our way through the brewery? I can’t wait to start.”
“Come on. We’ll start in the malt room.”
Berit took the arm Tace offered and they walked slowly toward another door. Inside were huge sacks of grain. Berit sniffed. “I think I smell caramel.”
“You’ll get aromas of caramel and chocolate and toffee, depending on how long they were roasted. Here, taste the diff
erence between this pilsner malt and this 2-row. We combine them in our IPA.”
Tace touched the different sacks while she talked. She dipped a stainless-steel scoop into one of the bags and held Berit’s hand in hers as she poured a few grains into her palm. Tace had always seemed physically detached from the outside world to Berit. An observer, whether of nature, stars, or other people. Here at the brewery, however, she was more tactile, connecting with the space around her in a way Berit hadn’t noticed before, except during their kiss in the wheat fields. Then, Tace had held her and had felt extremely present.
Berit kept her hand cradled in Tace’s while she picked up some grain and nibbled on it.
“What do you taste?”
“A raw nutty flavor. This darker one is a little sweet, too, and almost smoky. It’s the roasted malt?”
“Yes, the pilsner.” Tace scooped a few even darker grains out of another sack. “Try this. It’s chocolate malt.”
Berit tried it and made a face. “It doesn’t taste like a chocolate malt. I get a little hint of molasses and dark pecans, though.”
Tace laughed and squeezed Berit’s hand before she let go. “The name refers to the color and roasting level, not to any milkshake-y qualities it might have. Malt is grain that’s been prepared for milling. Usually barley for beer, but sometimes other grains like wheat, which we use for our hefeweizen. The grain is soaked, sprouted, dried, and roasted, but I don’t know much more about the process.” Tace tossed the uneaten grains in a sealed trash can and motioned for Berit to lead the way out of the room. “We buy malt instead of prepping the grain ourselves, and I need to learn more about it before I can decide if we’ll keep doing it this way.”
Berit admired how easily Tace admitted what she didn’t know. She’d obviously learned a lot about the brewery’s operations—throwing around terms like knocking out and pitching yeast with the assurance of a pro—but she seemed eager to learn more. Berit was increasingly seeing herself in Tace. Berit had met the challenge of archaeology the same way, devouring all the knowledge she could get and never being satisfied with remaining stagnant and content with what she knew. Tace had the same passion for this artisanal craft. Berit missed the intensity of living with passion. She was more interested in teaching this semester, but she wasn’t consumed by it. Part of her was held back.
Nothing of Tace was held back here at the brewery. Not only was she enthusiastic about the brewing, but she was also more at ease and physical with Berit. She seemed to take any excuse to make contact, frequently putting her hand on Berit’s waist or hip or arm. Berit had no complaints. She had made the decision to support Tace wholeheartedly in her choice to devote herself to the brewery, and Tace had never been anything but understanding of Berit’s desire to leave this town far behind. The mutual understanding of their futures seemed to open them to intimacy in the present.
“This is a mash tun. The malt is steeped, or mashed, and the sugar and water extract is what will feed the yeast during the fermentation process.” Tace opened a valve on the massive steel tank and poured a small amount of cloudy liquid into one of the numerous tasting glasses that sat next to almost every tank.
Berit took the glass and swirled the liquid along the sides. She motioned toward the pile of glasses. “Looks like you do a lot of tasting here.”
“At every step of the process,” Tace said. “I’m starting to learn what the finished product will taste like when I sample it during the different stages.”
Berit raised her glass in a mock salute and took a sip. She winced. “Wow, that’s sweet.”
“Is it?” Tace asked in a throaty voice. She leaned closer and softly brushed her tongue across Berit’s lips. “Mmm, you’re right. I guess I wasn’t kidding when I said sugar water.” She laughed when Berit shoved at her playfully.
“When does it actually taste like beer?” Berit asked.
“We’re getting there.” Tace put her hands on Berit’s hips and aimed her at the next stop on their tour. She let her arm linger around Berit’s waist, and Berit leaned into the contact. She was enjoying the cramped quarters between tanks because her body was in near-constant contact with Tace’s. Reality was suspended in here, where Tace was exploring dreams she’d never known she had. Berit had a feeling Tace’s ease and confidence might fade when she left this place.
“We can add hops two ways,” Tace said. She pulled a dried hop bud out of a bag and put it in Berit’s hand, closing Berit’s fingers around it and pressing to crush the bud into flakes. “Smell.”
“Definitely floral,” Berit said. The combination of Tace’s lavender scent and the hops made her remember their morning together when they’d come up with the IPA. So long ago, when they’d barely known each other, but even then Berit had seen the way creating beer interested Tace. And even then, Berit had been part of the process. She liked knowing she’d always be tied to Tace and her brewery. “Maybe a little fruity and bitter.”
“Yes, exactly. And those flavors will come through more or less depending on when we add the hops. We can add them during boiling, and the result will be bitter, like the IPA. It’ll mellow by the time we fill the kegs. And we do a lot of dry hopping here, putting little sachets of hops directly into the keg. Then you’ll get more of the floral notes and less bitterness. Taste.”
Tace used a syringe-type instrument to pull some beer from a tank and put it in a glass for Berit. She drank some, still expecting the sweetness she’d experienced earlier, and the sharpness of the hopped wort caught her off guard. “Ugh.” She gestured at her mouth. “Want a taste?”
Tace grinned. “Definitely.” She captured Berit’s lips with more pressure this time, but Berit still felt Tace’s caution. Berit wanted to be shoved against one of the steel tanks and kissed with all the passion she sensed in Tace. She wanted to make love on the catwalk above them until she had a diamond imprint on her back from the patterned metal walkway. But both she and Tace seemed too aware of fragility—in Berit’s injury and their uncertain relationship. The small tastes of their desire were mind-blowingly arousing, and intimidating at the same time. They were here to sample, not to get drunk.
Berit shifted away and raised her hand to brush across Tace’s cheek. She was flushed, but she hadn’t had more than a lick of beer from Berit’s lips.
“I have to say, this is my favorite way to taste through the process.” Tace said. “Joseph and I usually just each have our own glass to sample.”
Berit smiled. “Let’s keep this method between us, shall we? Now, let’s move to the next step. I’m eventually expecting a drinkable glass of beer.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Good morning, Tace,” Berit said. She stopped by the kitchen table where Tace was sitting and reading the paper, and kissed her cheek.
Berit rested her hand on Tace’s shoulder and Tace gave it a squeeze. “Good morning to you, too.”
Tace tried to get control of her reaction to the simple greeting while Berit walked to the counter and put bread in the toaster. She and Berit had eased away from romantic kissing after the tour of the brewery, when Tace had sampled every stage of the brewing process from Berit’s lips. Tace had been caught up in her excitement over the decision to take a chance on her own business, and she’d felt natural kissing and touching Berit while in the sanctuary of the building. Once they’d left and returned to reality, Tace had been less confident about everything, especially her chances of making a future with the brewery and with Berit—she still held a stubborn glimmer of hope for the brewery, while she was resigned to loss in Berit’s case. She wasn’t sure of the reasons why Berit, too, had seemed content to shift into a more casual way of being together, but she was relieved when they’d both settled on occasional touches and brief kisses.
But even such laid-back contact left Tace with a constant pang of hunger for more. She watched Berit pour a mug of coffee and wanted to walk over and hold her tight. Kiss her until Berit dropped the mug and it shattered on the floor, just before her
body shattered in orgasm…
“How far is Washington State University from here?” Berit asked.
Tace took a moment to recover from the shock of being wrenched out of her beautiful daydream to talk about WSU. “Pullman? It’s just a little over two hours. Maybe longer since the roads are still icy.”
“After spending so much time in eternally desert-hot countries, it’s nice to live in a place that actually has distinct seasons,” Berit said as she set her plate and mug on the table and sat down. “But why does winter have to be so long?”
Tace laughed at her put-out tone. “Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon, and you’ll see how beautiful spring is around here. Why do you want to go to Pullman?”
“I need to get a book from their library for my Greek class.”
Tace’s science teacher in high school had wanted her to apply to his alma mater WSU, but Tace hadn’t even given the idea any thought before she said no. She knew it was a good school for the sciences, with a strong veterinary medicine program, but she hadn’t realized it offered a program in Berit’s field as well. “Huh. I didn’t know they had a Classics department. Is it a big one?”
Berit buttered her toast and avoided Tace’s eyes. “Well, I don’t think they even offer a degree in Classics anymore.”
“Can’t you have Whitman’s library get the book on loan for you?”
“I could.” Berit drew the word out for several syllables. “But I really need it for class on Monday.”
“I thought you’d been preparing lectures in advance lately. I didn’t realize you’d need reference books on such short notice.” Tace felt as if she were talking to Kyle, trying to draw out a longer story, but only getting bits and pieces at a time. Berit was much more adorable when she seemed to be hiding something than Kyle, though, and Tace was enjoying her interrogation. Berit seemed to get more evasive and fidgety as Tace asked her questions.