Trouble Brewing

by Suzanne Baltsar

  “For you and for Funfetti, I’m back on sugar today.” She grabbed the box and opened it with glee. “So what’s the name of this place again?”

  “The Public.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  I sighed as I mentally recalled the gastropub, and Sonja laughed. “That good, huh?”

  “It’s cool and modern. Very hipster.”

  “You mean very Piper?”

  “Very,” I said, preheating our dinosaur oven. As usual, I ignored the weird clicking sound it made as it turned on. We ignored lots of little fixes that had to be made.

  Our house, a cute little two-story with a trellis and a few hydrangea bushes, had been built in the fifties and sat on the outskirts of Minneapolis. It was the perfect place, and exactly what I’d imagined when Sonja first offered me the second room. Inside, though, the house needed a little TLC. The kitchen was mustard yellow with white cabinets and old appliances. The edges of the grapevine border wallpaper were peeling, and the Formica counter was much worse for wear. But until either of us hit the jackpot, we were bound to this place with our cheap landlord.

  “Match made in heaven then,” Sonja mused, and for a moment she made me wonder what she was actually referring to. “Out of the Bottle and the Public.”

  “I hope so,” I said, answering my own thoughts as well as Sonja’s. “How’s your day been?”

  She shrugged, making room for the eggs, butter, and oil I placed beside her on the counter. “Same old. Kicked some ass. Took some names.”

  “Not too tired, I hope.” I handed her the mixing bowl and a spatula. “Get those arms to work.”

  Two hours later, we had twenty-four cupcakes cooled and iced, although thirty minutes in, Sonja had hightailed it out of the kitchen due to boredom and instead gone out for a run. I ended up stuffing my face with two cupcakes before she got home, lest I had to withstand her side-eye at my choice of dessert for dinner. But to hell with it, I was celebrating.

  I grabbed my third—and most likely last—cupcake and skipped up to my room to call my parents.

  My dad picked up after two rings. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Pippi, how are ya, kid?”

  My dad thought it hysterical that I had long red hair, was named Piper, and had been obsessed with watching Pippi Longstocking as a kid. I thought it only coincidental, but I’d long lost the battle of trying to stop him from calling me Pippi.

  “Is Mom around?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Get her on the line. I want to tell you both something.”

  I heard him call for my mom with a grainy “Chris, Number Two wants to speak to us.”

  He also thought it was funny to refer to me and my sisters by our birth order. Maybe it was his terrible sense of humor that had cursed him with three daughters instead of that boy he wanted.

  I heard muffled rumblings, and I imagined my mother crossing the house in her favorite slippers. The same ones she’d been wearing for ten years. Every year, one of us went to Macy’s to buy her a new pair to replace those old ones for her birthday, but they were always the exact same kind: fluffy wool on the inside, red flannel on the outside, and a no-slip grip bottom.

  My mother had very specific footwear requirements.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she said. Her never-ending cheerfulness always put a smile on my face. I looked more like my paternal grandmother than either of my parents, but everyone said I had my mother’s temperament. I didn’t know if that was true or not. Always smiling and laughing, my mother had a calming influence on everyone around her. I didn’t think I personally had that effect, but maybe my beer did.

  “I have good news.”

  “What?” my dad asked.

  “A gastropub is going to serve my beer.”

  My parents’ cheers blended together with “That’s wonderful, honey” and “Outstanding, Piper, knew you could do it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s the name of the place?” my dad asked, and I could hear him typing. He was forever Googling everything since he’d gotten a new laptop. Even silly things like What does WTF mean? or Where to find Pokémon?

  “It’s called the Public, but you probably won’t be able to find anything on it since it’s not open yet. The owner said—”

  “Here it is,” he said over me. “ ‘Downtown Minneapolis will soon have a new pub. The Public, named for the first bars open to the general public in England, will open its doors on April twentieth.’ ” Dad continued to read while Mom took over the conversation.

  “This is exciting, honey. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How’s everything else going? How’s Sonja?”

  “Everything’s great. Sonja’s—”

  She barged into the room at that exact moment, wearing a sweaty long-sleeved T-shirt and a headband over her ears.

  “Right here,” I finished, looking to my friend. “Want to talk to my parents?”

  She nodded and wiped her face with her headband before I put the phone on speaker and gave it to Sonja. “Hey, Mama, Papa, what’s up?”

  I flopped on my back with a laugh. My parents had come to help me when I’d first moved here and had visited twice more since, and somehow Sonja had wiggled her way into my family. She often talked to my parents when they called, and she and my mother were even Facebook friends, exchanging random goat videos since they were both desperate for a pet goat. In particular, a goat wearing a sweater.

  “Did you get the recipe I sent you?” Sonja asked. She had my mother on a new paleo kick.

  “I did, and I love it. Thank you.”

  “Hey,” my dad said. “Here’s a picture of the owner. Blake Reed. Son of politician Jacob Reed.”

  “He’s handsome,” my mother piped up.

  “Really?” Sonja held the phone closer as if she could see the article through the sound waves. “What’s he look like? Wait a minute. What am I saying?” She distractedly passed my cell phone back then pulled her own out.

  “Honey, is he as handsome as that in real life?”

  I didn’t have time to answer my mother before Sonja grabbed my arm to pull me next to her, Blake’s picture on her screen. “Whoa.”

  “His hair is a bit longer, but yeah, he’s pretty good-looking,” I said as nonchalantly as possible.

  Sonja nodded appreciatively while Mom went on about the qualities of his that she apparently had gathered from one picture.

  “Mom, I’m not going to date someone I’m in business with.”

  “Yes,” my dad agreed after he cleared his throat. “Pippi knows how to be a respectful businesswoman. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “Well, you’re the only one of my girls not married. I thought maybe—”

  She thought she could go three for three in the happily-married-off daughters category. I knew my mom didn’t mean anything by it, she’d just watched one too many episodes of Say Yes to the Dress. I, on the other hand, didn’t care much for traditional things like white dresses and marriage certificates, especially after the Oskar fiasco back in Germany. I was fine with my life the way it was. Besides, if I wanted to find a boyfriend, it certainly wasn’t going to be the owner of the bar who’d just agreed to sell Out of the Bottle. Major conflict of interest.

  “Don’t try to Pride and Prejudice me, Mom. I’ll get married when or if I want to. I’ll date who I want to date.”

  “You tell her,” my dad said playfully, and I heard a smack on the other end and a laugh from my dad.

  “All right, Piper, all right. We’ll let you go now. We love you, and we’re proud of you.”

  “Thanks. Love you, too,” I said.

  “Love you!” Sonja shouted as well.

  My parents laughed, giving their final good-byes to the both of us before hanging up.

  “Seriously, Piper, Blake Reed is one attractive man,” Sonja said, and swooned.

  “I know,” I said, fluffing up my pillows before lying down
again. Sonja followed next to me, and I cringed. “You’re all sweaty.”

  She ignored me, relaxing with her arms behind her head. “I think you should go for it.”

  “Go for what?”

  She eyed me. “Blake.”

  “No.”

  Her eyebrow ticked up a suspicious centimeter, and I waved my hands back and forth. “No. No. I can’t. My beer is going to be sold at his bar. It would look bad.”

  “You’re being neurotic.”

  I sat up. “I’m being realistic. I don’t need anyone attributing my success to some affair with a bar owner.”

  “Fine.” She flicked her hand out to the side. “But there’s nothing scandalous about bringing him a couple of those cupcakes downstairs. There are a few to spare even though I know you ate three.”

  I ignored her withering stare and thought about what she’d said. I wouldn’t wreck my barely burgeoning career, but I could stop by.

  For a chat.

  With some cupcakes.

  As a thank-you.

  That’s what an appreciative client would do. Build relationships. Totally acceptable.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” I said, tilting my head to the side, convincing myself it would be for business and no other reason.

  She elbowed my side. “And maybe you’ll wear your good underwear and shave your legs.”

  I refused to laugh. “Don’t push it.” I booted her off my bed. “Go before you make a permanent outline of sweat on my sheets.”

  “Well, somebody should.” She wiggled her brows.

  I threw a pillow at her, missing by a few feet, as she ducked out of the room. I heard her laughing all the way down the hall.

  CHAPTER 5

  Blake

  As I directed the movers where to put the new stove, a voice called out from the main room. It was feminine, soft, and vaguely familiar. “Anybody home?”

  I made my way down the short hall out of the kitchen to find Piper. I smiled. “Hey.”

  “Hi. I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you or not. I felt sort of creepy standing here calling out to no one.”

  I clicked my tongue. “Yeah. You look like a total creep, too.”

  Her long hair hung in a braid over her right shoulder, accentuating the curves under her black shirt. She blushed and fidgeted as I finished my slow perusal.

  “What’s that?” I asked, motioning to the container in her hands.

  She blinked down at it like she had just now remembered she was holding something. “Oh, I brought these for you.”

  I took the small plastic tub and opened the lid to find cupcakes with vanilla frosting and tiny rainbow sprinkles.

  “As a thank-you,” she said.

  “Are they homemade?”

  “If by homemade you mean a box mix, then yes.”

  “Perfect.” I set the tub on the bar and picked out a cupcake. “What kind are they?”

  “Funfetti.”

  I peeled the wrapper away to get to the delicious treat.

  “It’s my favorite flavor,” she said. “My mom makes me a cake every time I go home.”

  “My mother isn’t a baker. Or one to make anything herself, really.” I demolished the cupcake in two bites.

  She nodded distractedly then extended her hand out to me. I held still anticipating her touch, but just as her finger reached my upper lip, she dropped it back to her side. “Icing,” she said, sounding a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t . . . I mean . . . sorry.”

  I might have laughed at her bumbling if I hadn’t felt slightly disappointed. “It’s okay.” I wiped my hand over my mouth. “Hey, you want a tour?” I asked, thinking of an excuse to keep her around a little longer.

  “Sure.”

  I waved for her to follow me into the kitchen. “The stove’s pretty much the last thing I needed to complete back here. Now it’s just getting all the supplies in place.”

  She nodded and wandered around the kitchen, running her fingers along the chrome appliances. “Looks good.”

  “All right. You’re good to go,” one of the installers said as he stood up from the floor in front of the stove. He handed me a few papers to sign, and I caught him watching Piper out of the corner of his eye. I couldn’t blame the guy. Piper had this aura about her that made you instantly interested. But for some reason there was a tightness in my chest.

  I pushed the clipboard against him harder than necessary, snapping his attention away from Piper. “All set. Thanks for your help.”

  “No sweat.” He shook my hand and gestured for his assistant to follow him out. “Good luck with everything.”

  I nodded and saw them out the back door before I turned around to Piper. She was leaning on the counter, and I tried, really tried, to keep my eyes off her, but I couldn’t. Not off the shape of her legs, the curve of her hips, the line of her back and neck. I catalogued every inch. The small mole on her neck, above the collar of her shirt, and the freckles along the bridge of her nose and cheekbones. Her eyebrows as they rose over her wide green eyes.

  I was caught. Staring.

  I immediately dropped my attention to the floor. As if that would make me look less guilty. “So . . . you like elephants?”

  “Huh?” Piper laughed, and I raised my head.

  I pointed to her ears. “Your earrings. They’re elephants.”

  She smiled and touched her earlobes. “They’re my favorite.”

  “Why?” I moved closer to her, watching her fingers play with pieces of loose hair by her temple.

  “They’re strong and smart. Family-oriented. Did you know elephants mourn their dead? They have funerals and sometimes cry.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  She nodded. “They’re known to hold trunks like we hold hands.”

  “That’s . . .”

  “Totally nerdy that I know random elephant facts.” She waved her hands like she was trying to erase the conversation.

  “I was going to say it’s cute.”

  She paused and looked down at where our pinkies almost touched, then back up at me. “My sisters and I have matching tattoos.” She pushed the sleeve on her right arm up to reveal the tattoo on her inner forearm, three little elephants walking in line, connected tail to trunk.

  “You have two sisters?”

  “Yeah.” She pulled her sleeve in place, her hand back next to mine. “Laurie is older. She’s a chemical engineer. Kayla’s the baby, she’s a graphic designer.”

  “And you’re the poor, unloved middle child?” I joked, and she laughed.

  “Exactly.”

  Another moment of silence descended between us.

  “I guess this really wasn’t much of a tour,” I said after a while.

  She shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  I glanced at my cell phone to check the time, and we both spoke at once:

  “I guess I better go” and “I’m starving, can I take you out?”

  We both laughed and then started to do the same again, only to stop. She held her hands up, offering for me to speak.

  “Do you want some pancakes?”

  “Pancakes?”

  I shrugged. “There’s this place down in Edina that’s got the best breakfasts you’ll ever eat.”

  “But it’s—” She checked her own phone. “Almost three o’clock in the afternoon.”

  I grinned. “Best pancake-eating time.”

  “We’re working together now.”

  “I know.”

  Her green eyes met mine, apprehension behind them. “I can’t . . .”

  Her words faded, and to be honest, I was glad of it. I was attracted to Piper, and I didn’t want to hear it was one-sided. But if her tortured face and nervous hair twirling were signs, I was sure I wasn’t the only one feeling this thing between us.

  “It’s only pancakes,” I said, hoping to coax her out.

  She wrapped her hair around her index finger exactly three times before she gave in with a sigh. “Okay. Let’s go get some pancakes.”r />
  “All right.” I pivoted toward my office in the back.

  Piper stuck her head in the doorway as I grabbed my coat, pointing to the calendar on my wall. “What’s that?”

  I tossed a beanie on my head. “Nuns Having Fun.”

  She stepped into the office and got up close to the pages, flipping through the pictures of women who’d taken vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience but in the pictures were doing things like riding Dumbo in Disneyworld. “This is the most ridiculous thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

  “I know.” I put my car keys in my pocket. “It was Bear’s birthday present to me. We all went to Catholic school, and he thought it was hysterical.”

  “I guess it—this one’s drinking beer . . . ? I didn’t realize nuns could take part in libations.”

  “I didn’t, either, but they do have wine at mass,” I said, and ushered her out of the office. “The nuns we had in school were cranky old bats. I can’t picture Sister Patricia from sophomore theology ordering a pint.” I locked the doors behind us and turned down the street to my car. “Do you mind if I drive?”

  “Please,” she said with a small smile, and fell into step next to me. Her hands were in her jacket pockets, but every once in a while our elbows tapped against each other. It might’ve been accidental on her part, but on mine it was absolutely on purpose.

  I unlocked my car. “This one’s me.”

  She sat down in the passenger seat of my Ford Escape crossover and touched the dashboard. “Is this new? It smells new.”

  We buckled up, and I pulled out on the road. “Relatively. I got it in January, as a present to myself. Well, this and the pub.”

  I realized she hadn’t responded after a few seconds, and I turned to her. She gaped at me. “You gave yourself the pub?”

  “Well . . .” When she put it like that, it sounded douchey. I tapped on the blinker as I merged onto the highway. “When I turned thirty, I was able to access my trust fund from my grandparents. There was enough money in there to buy myself a new car and open up the Public.”

  “You have a trust fund?”

  I glanced in her direction. “You say it like you’ve never heard of one before.”

  “I have, but”—her face scrunched up in confusion—“isn’t your dad a politician?”