Trouble Brewing

by Suzanne Baltsar

  “Blake Reed. Nice to finally meet you.”

  “You too,” I squeaked, reluctantly putting my hand in my pocket when he let go. I wasn’t usually such a nervous Nelly when it came to guys, yet I sputtered all over myself with Blake.

  Probably because of his hazel eyes. Or the dimple in his left cheek. Or maybe it was the perfectly trimmed scruff on his angled chin.

  He had all of it—the holy trinity of good looks—and, of course, he was the first guy I’d been instantly attracted to since my ex. I had to get myself together and stop ogling him. I was here for Out of the Bottle; a cute guy was not going to derail that dream.

  “Let’s go to the bar,” he said in a buttery voice that had me sneaking a peek at his left hand. No ring.

  I shook my head. Focus. Business didn’t mix with pleasure, and nothing, nothing was going to happen between me and a potential buyer.

  I picked up my box of samples, but he stopped me before I had a chance to move. “Need help with that?”

  “I got it,” I said, brushing past Connor and Bear. I sensed three pairs of eyes on me as I set the box down on the bar top, but I kept my spine straight, not willing to be intimidated. When it came to my job, I tended to downplay the fact that I didn’t fit the mold, trying my best to blend in, to be accepted in a tight-knit community of mostly men. I damn sure hated being “the girl” in “a man’s world” and would never dream of using my sexuality to get anywhere in life. But sometimes it was difficult to ignore the obvious differences, especially when a particular man’s smile hatched a few butterflies in my stomach.

  “Thanks for coming in today,” Blake said as he rounded the bar.

  “Are you kidding? I’m happy you called.” I took my coat off and hung it on a barstool.

  Blake’s attention focused on my chest. He smirked, and that dimple carved itself into his cheek again. “Clever.”

  I glanced down at the heather-gray shirt. The logo of my company was a beer bottle with curves closer to those of a woman. The cap was midair like it had been flicked off, creating a whoosh of air, which looked similar to long hair blowing in the breeze.

  I tugged on the hem of the shirt as his gaze roamed from my chest, up my throat, over my face, until finally he met my eyes. My limbs buzzed with nervous energy for more than one reason.

  I needed to get ahold of myself. I was a brewer, he was a pub owner. This was strictly business.

  I set my shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Ready to start?”

  “Absolutely.” Pint glasses clanked as he set them on the gleaming gray bar top.

  Connor and Bear settled on stools next to me, and I raised a brow at Blake in question.

  He tilted his head. “I assume you met my friends already.”

  “I did,” I said, grabbing my favorite well-used lime-green bottle opener from my back pocket. I’d had it since I started tending bar in college. It was the closest thing I owned to a security blanket.

  Blake leaned toward me, and it took Super Woman effort to ignore the way he focused his eyes on me.

  “I bring these chuckleheads in for all my tastings. They represent my patrons.” Blake gestured to Connor. “We’ve got our simple eat-and-drink-anything type, and our arrogant, picky, know-it-all type,” he finished, pointing to Bear.

  Connor’s mouth quirked up into a barely discernible smile. “Eat anything? I’m a little pickier than that.”

  “Yeah, like she’s got to—”

  Blake cleared his throat, interrupting Bear. His eyes shot to me, clearly censoring his friends for my benefit.

  Too bad I didn’t do the same to myself. “Are all your patrons going to be single white males?” I teased.

  Blake blanched. “No. God, no. I just—”

  “I’m kidding. It’s just funny.” I chuckled, waving my hand out to the three men. “It’s like I’m standing in front of the male version of Sex and the City.”

  Blake shook his head in confusion, Connor scrunched up his face in obvious horror, and Bear shrugged. “Just as long as I’m not Miranda.”

  Connor and Blake both turned to Bear with shocked expressions.

  “Shut up. Like you guys’ve never watched it before.”

  The other two shook their heads.

  “Fucking liars,” Bear said, running a big paw over his beard.

  Blake slapped the bar. “Dude.”

  “What?”

  “Business meeting,” Blake said through clenched teeth. Bear rolled his eyes, and Blake turned to me with a frown. “Sorry.”

  “He’s right. You’re both fucking liars. You’ve at least watched one episode.”

  Blake stared at me for a half second and I thought maybe I’d ruined everything before he and Connor busted out big laughs. Blake shook his head. “You got me, only one and only once. I’ll never watch that show again. So, what do we have to drink?”

  Relieved, I lined the bottles up on the bar. “I brought four beers for you to sample today. The first,” I said, popping the top, “is an IPA called Platinum Blonde.” I poured it into three glasses and distributed one to each man.

  Connor slugged his sample before I got any more words out. Bear sniffed, swirled it, and sniffed again. Blake simply held his glass, waiting for me to continue.

  “It’s got the usual bitter bite, but I used Lemondrop hops, which add a really nice citrusy lemon flavor. It’s a good beer for the springtime. If it ever comes,” I added with a small laugh.

  Connor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared into the bottom of the glass. He didn’t seem to have much of a reaction one way or the other. Bear sipped his slowly like a highfalutin wine drinker. Finally Blake took a gulp, and my heart leapt into my throat.

  Moment of truth.

  CHAPTER 3

  Blake

  Raising the glass to my lips, I kept my eyes on Piper as I drank. She came highly recommended from Dave, my distributor, and after my first taste of her beer, I wasn’t disappointed. The light, hoppy brew was refreshing, and I really appreciated the surprise hint of lemon.

  I finished and licked my lips, her attention pinned to my mouth. If I said I didn’t relish her eyes on me, I’d be a liar. But truth box?

  I’d watched a few episodes of Sex and the City with an ex-girlfriend. It wasn’t the worst show. But Piper never had to know.

  “I like it,” I told her, holding up my empty glass. “It’s different than usual IPAs.”

  She nodded and turned to my friends, waiting expectantly. Connor shrugged. “Good.”

  Bear went off on some tangent about the hops, and I shut down the hearing part of my brain to focus on the seeing part.

  Piper was pretty; tall-ish, pale oval face, and freckles on her nose. But what stood out was her hair, the color of a ripe red apple. And her eyes. I’d never seen eyes so big and green before. Innocent and wild all at the same time. When she looked at me, it felt like a quiet challenge—she didn’t back down when I met her gaze.

  “I’d love to be able to grow my own hops,” Piper said to Bear, answering whatever question he’d asked. “I just don’t have the room right now. Maybe when I get a bigger place with more land.” When he nodded, she popped the top of the next bottle. “I call this one Brunette Beauty. It’s an imperial stout.” She poured the beer into new glasses and gave one to each of us with a smile.

  “Is that a little bit of coffee I smell?” Bear asked.

  She nodded.

  Connor finished his in two gulps. “I don’t like it.”

  “Of course you don’t, McGuire.” Bear elbowed him. “A thick stout like this is for the discerning beer drinker.”

  Piper brushed my arm as she walked behind the bar to rinse out Connor’s glass like she owned the place. “Stouts aren’t for everybody. But I think you’ll like this next one.” She cracked open the bottle. “It’s a classic amber ale. I call it Natural Red.”

  Bear snorted a laugh. “Natural Red, huh?”

  She pushed the sample toward him. “Y
ep.”

  “Like you?”

  “Like me,” she said, threading her fingers through her hair.

  Bear smirked, and I knew that look. The one that said an inappropriate joke was on its way. “You got one named Firecrotch, too?”

  My jaw went slack, but before I could speak up, Piper beat me to it. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. I expected something more original from you. But if you’d like to discuss crotches further, let’s talk about what’s hiding in your drawers. Something just as hairy as what’s on your head?”

  Connor sputtered out a laugh as Bear grinned and nodded. “I like your spirit, Red.”

  She met his fist bump then looked at me as I tried to hide my appreciative glance down her body, but by the color staining her cheeks, I suspected I wasn’t as slick as I thought.

  I redirected my attention to my drink. It was crisp, with a nice malty finish. “I love this one.”

  “I do, too,” Bear said.

  Connor shrugged. “Eh, it’s all right.”

  Piper wasn’t to be dismayed. She bent over closer to him, stretching diagonally across the bar, inching ever closer to me. She smelled like beer and fresh laundry. Who knew that combination smelled so good?

  “You’re a tough customer,” she said to Connor. “But I’m going to crack you. If not with this last beer, then I’m going to come up with one you’ll love.”

  Connor smirked. “You like a good challenge, huh? Me too.” He held his glass out. “Do your worst.”

  She grinned, and I watched both of my friends practically drool over Piper as she poured out the last sample of beer. I could understand how hard it was not to become instantly infatuated with her—a woman who loved and brewed her own beer? If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought she was an alien sent down to Earth just for me.

  Then again, maybe she was. I’d have to get a closer inspection to be sure.

  “This is my Gray-Haired Lady.” She handed the glasses out, but Bear and I waited as Connor tried it first. He swallowed one sip, then pitched his head back and polished it off.

  “So?” she asked.

  His smile grew slowly. “I love it.”

  “You do?” When he nodded, she did a little dorky dance with her fingers pointing up to the sky. “I did it! I found your drink.”

  “What is it?” I asked before I tasted it.

  “It’s a grisette. A dry, golden ale, similar to a saison.”

  Bear nodded along like he knew what she was talking about. He probably did. He was like a damn encyclopedia.

  “Except saisons come from northern Belgium. Grisettes come from the south. They’re both known as the working man’s beer there. In fact, the grisette was named after the women who’d serve beer to the men who worked in the coal mines. Gris means gray in French, and those women wore gray dresses. At least, that’s the story I’ve been told.”

  She talked animatedly, with her hands, and her excitement about something as boring as the differences between a saison and a grisette was contagious. I could listen to her for hours.

  “I like it,” I said, pointing to my empty glass. “But the amber ale is my favorite.”

  She nodded happily, almost bouncing on her toes. “What’s your favorite, Bear?”

  He scratched his chin through the thick mound of hair. “I really dig the flavor of the IPA, but I’m more of a stout man myself, so I’m going to go with the Brunette Beauty. You don’t by any chance happen to have a real life Brunette Beauty in that cardboard box of yours, do you?”

  “Plum out of them. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right.” Then he grinned. “What are you doing after this?”

  I palmed his face. “Excuse this animal. He’s not out of his cage much.”

  Piper patted Bear’s arm, her hand so small comparatively. “Thanks for the offer, but I have a feeling you ask out a lot of girls.”

  “Not a lot . . .” Bear pursed his lips, then reconsidered. “A fair amount.”

  “There’s a lid for every pot, but it’s not me, my man.”

  I laughed, always fond of a girl who could hold her own with a bunch of guys.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta go.” Connor stood up and clapped Bear on the shoulder before turning to Piper. “It was nice meeting you,” he said as he backed away, slinging on his coach’s jacket with a picture of the school’s mascot on the back.

  Piper stared after his retreating form. “The Otters?”

  “Yeah. A couple years ago the high school changed its mascot from the Indians, and they voted on the Otters.”

  She squinted up at me. “Truly terrifying.”

  Bear slapped his hand on the bar. “I’m getting out of here, too. Reed, I’ll talk to you later. Red, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Bear shook his head with a knowing smile. “Definitely.” He pointed his thumb to her as if to say Get a load of this one, and then he was out the door, leaving us alone.

  “So, Piper Williams of Out of the Bottle Brewery, how did you get started in all of this?”

  She picked up the empty bottles and discarded tops as she began. “I’m originally from Fort Collins, Colorado, and I’m sure you know Colorado is a big craft brew state.”

  I nodded and leaned my hip against the bar, transfixed by the color of her rosy lips against her pale skin as she spoke.

  “I tended bar at my uncle’s restaurant during college and fell in love with the industry. After I graduated, I bounced around breweries learning everything I could. Then, about four years ago, I went to Berlin to become a brewmaster.”

  “Wow.” I jerked my head back. “Are you even old enough to be a brewmaster?”

  She gave me a funny look. “I’m twenty-seven. I lived in Germany for two years. Six months to complete the course, and another year and a half working in a brewery. Are you old enough to own a bar?” she asked with a twinge of hurt in her voice that had me wanting to sit on my heels like a bad puppy.

  “Sorry, I’m just really impressed. I’m thirty, and I don’t have a quarter of your experience, so maybe you should be running this place.”

  She fought a smile, and I thought it a small win. “Maybe.”

  “What made you leave Germany?”

  Her eyes flitted around the room before landing back on me. “Time for a change, I guess,” she said with a shrug. “I was offered an assistant brewer position here in Minneapolis. I did that for a while before I quit to make my own stuff. I’ve put all of my savings into this company, so if I fail I don’t know what I’ll do. Panhandle, maybe? Sell my hair . . . ?”

  I stepped closer, leaving only a few inches of space between us. “I don’t see how you can fail. You’ve made a great product,” I said.

  “I know it’s great. I just have to start selling it.”

  “You will. I’m going to talk to Dave and buy three cases of each to start with.”

  “Oh my God. Really?” When I nodded, she launched herself at me. Her arms looped around my neck, squeezing tight. “That’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

  I hesitated a few seconds before wrapping my arms around her waist. “I’d be crazy not to sell your beer. It’s a perfect fit with the kind of atmosphere I’m trying to build.”

  She backed away, the smile on her face big enough to power a small city. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She rose up on her toes and laid a kiss on my cheek before gasping and covering her mouth with her hand. “I’m so sorry. That was unprofessional.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said with a shrug of my shoulder. If she’d known the unprofessional things knocking around in my head from having her in my arms for an innocent hug, she’d have been real shocked.

  “Blake, thanks so much for this opportunity,” she said, and I didn’t care for this more rigid, less bubbly version of Piper.

  I shook her hand. “It’s my pleasure.”

  “Good luck with your opening.” She smiled, put her wool-lined jacket on, a
nd grabbed her cardboard box.

  “Thanks. Maybe you’ll be able to stop by some time?”

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  She waved and flew out of the door, her long hair swinging in the wind. Not even ten seconds later, I got a text from Bear.

  You think the carpet matches the drapes on that one?

  I rolled my eyes.

  There weren’t many women I could say the first thing that attracted me to them was their knowledge of beer. In fact, Piper was the only one. But after that text, I couldn’t help but think of what else I liked about her, including her easygoing personality and the nervous little glance she sent me over her shoulder before she left. Cute woman with good beer? I was at her mercy.

  CHAPTER 4

  Piper

  I was still floating on cloud nine by the time I danced my way through my front door, carrying a shopping bag full of Pillsbury cake mix. Leo, Sonja’s orange-and-white tabby, picked his head up from the sofa to blink at me in annoyance before going back to sleep.

  “Sonja?” I called out as I kicked my boots off. She didn’t answer, and I tried again. “Marco?”

  “Polo!” she yelled back from somewhere upstairs.

  I set my bag down on the kitchen counter. “Marco?”

  Sonja almost never made any sound when she moved, and I didn’t know she was behind me until she said, “Polo.”

  I jumped in surprise and spun around, clutching my chest. Sonja only grinned. “How’d it go?”

  “He’s going to sell my beer.”

  She squealed and threw her arms around me, and it took most of my strength to stay on my feet. For all the time I’d been living with her, I still wasn’t used to the force of her “hugs.” I was taller by a few inches, but with her better-than-Michelle-Obama arms I was almost positive she could bench-press me. I wasn’t brave enough to let her try even though she’d asked me on multiple occasions.

  “I’m so excited for you,” Sonja said, hopping up on the counter with much more agility than Leo could pull off.

  “We’re celebrating,” I said as I held up a box of cake mix. “Are you off sugar this week?”