Trouble Brewing

by Suzanne Baltsar

  “Dad?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  He closed his iPad and sat up. “Your mother and I are going to a fundraiser that night.”

  “What’s the fundraiser for?” I asked less out of politeness or curiosity and more out of trying to fill up the dead air between us all.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He cleared his throat. “Tiffany, put your phone down, this is important.”

  After a few seconds of her tapping and another prompt from Mom, she finally put it facedown next to her.

  “I’ve been talking to Fred for the past couple of weeks, and we’ve decided it’s time for me to run for Senate.”

  “But you’re already a senator,” my brainless wonder of a sister pointed out.

  “He means federal senator,” I said. “You know, for the United States Congress.”

  She nodded, but I doubt she got it. My sister floated through life on her looks and sparkling personality.

  Dad looked at me. “That means I’m going to be traveling a lot more once campaign season starts. I’m going to need everyone to be at their best.”

  AKA: Don’t screw this up for me.

  “It’ll look good if I have my family with me at speaking engagements and major events.” He put his hand on Tiffany’s knee. “We’re all under scrutiny here. You need to watch who you talk to, what you say, what you post on your social media.” Then he turned back to me. “You might want to think about having someone else run the bar.”

  “Why?”

  Dad patronized me with a simmering look like I was a child. He twiddled his fingers in the air. “You’ve had your little vacation, but now it’s time to get back to the real world. You did what you wanted to do with your business venture, and now hopefully you got it out of your system.”

  “There is nothing to get out of my system. The Public is what I want, and it’s not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “It’s a bar,” my mother said, choking on the word as if it were difficult for her to say.

  “It’s a gastropub. Not a whorehouse.”

  Mom put her hand over her heart. “Blake, language. Please.”

  I ignored her and met my father’s gaze. “Wouldn’t it be good for you? Your only son opening a business, helping the economy?”

  “It’s my only son opening a bar to serve alcohol. Lord knows to whom. And whatever else will go on there.”

  I bent over, my hands in my hair. “Jesus Christ, Dad. You act like I’m selling meth out of the trunk of my car. I’m doing something I’m passionate about. That should be something you’re proud of.”

  “What would make me proud is if you went back to the firm. You had a great job there, on track for partner. Our name’s on the sign, for God’s sake.”

  Of course that’s what really pissed him off. Me leaving Morris, Jacobson & Reed made him look bad.

  “That’s not what I want,” I gritted out.

  “How’s it going to look in interviews when next to your name it says Blake Reed, bartender?”

  “I’m a bar owner. And so what? Don’t have people interview me then. It doesn’t matter.”

  Dad sighed heavily through his nose, the sure sign he was frustrated. “We’ve been through this before, in my first electoral bid, and now it will be even more difficult.”

  “And maybe think about cutting your hair,” my mother added as the cherry on top. “There will be lots of opportunities for photos.”

  “Dinner is ready,” Sandra said, just in the nick of time.

  I rushed by her to the dining room, hoping to eat as fast as I could. The sooner my plate was empty, the sooner I could leave.

  My mother was the last to sit, smiling like she always does, holding out her hands for grace like she was the Virgin Mary. She bowed her head, as usual, murmuring her prayer of thanks, so that when she spoke publicly about her moral values it wasn’t all a complete lie.

  I dug into the roast like it was my last meal, trying to ignore my sister’s chattering about her latest job, this one as an executive assistant to someone at a PR firm, but I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. Not after she listed all of her duties: taking care of this guy’s day planner, scheduling meetings, setting up for employee lunches . . .

  “You’re a secretary,” I said.

  “No. An executive assistant. To the assistant VP.”

  “That’s a fancy term for secretary.” I bit into a roll.

  She scrunched her face up, nose and cheeks bunching together. Her thinking face.

  My mother scolded me with a ruffle of her napkin. “Don’t be so condescending, Blake.”

  “I’m not. I’m just saying, you’re getting paid to be the assistant’s assistant.” I pointed my finger back and forth between my sister and me while I addressed my parents. “You don’t like that I own my own business, but you’re okay with her wasting her college degree?”

  I couldn’t help but think of Piper. As my sister, no doubt, whiled her days at work away on social media and flirted her way through life, Piper busted down glass ceilings and worked against stereotypes to build her own brand.

  My father made that sighing noise again. “Lofty talk coming from you. At least Tiffany has a sturdy, reliable job with benefits and a future.”

  I ignored his jab as the energy drained out of me. There was no use fighting with them. It wasn’t a battle I could win.

  Thirty minutes later, I hightailed it out of the dining room, despite my mother’s protests to wait for dessert, and brushed by Sandra to grab my coat.

  I needed a beer stat.

  I texted the guys to round them up, and to my good fortune, they were already at Connor’s house drinking. The drive to his place gave me enough time to shake off the worst of my anger toward my family.

  I let myself in, gave my friends a brisk head nod, and went straight to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of whatever Connor had in the fridge before going back into the living room.

  Bear inclined the neck of his bottle toward me. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

  “Dinner with the family.”

  Bear huffed. “What happened this time?”

  “Jacob Reed is running for U.S. Senate, and I apparently need to find a respectable job to make him look good.”

  “The usual then?” Bear laughed to himself, then motioned to Connor. “At least this kid has some good news.”

  I turned to Connor. “What?”

  “Nelson is retiring,” he said, readjusting his hat.

  I almost spit out my beer, partly because it wasn’t good, but mostly out of shock. “Really?”

  Dick Nelson had been the football coach for something like thirty years. He was a legend, although in recent years the team’s record had been horrible. “Are you gonna get the job?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” Connor said, around a sip of his beer.

  “You’ll get it,” Bear said. “You’re the offensive coordinator and a great coach. You’re the logical choice.”

  I nodded in agreement, and Connor shrugged. “I hope so. I could use the money, and the boys could use a winning record.”

  I threw my feet up on an ottoman as SportsCenter returned from commercial break, and my mind wandered back to Piper for what was probably the hundred and fifteenth time today.

  Piper was fresh. Sharp and witty, not afraid to speak her mind. In the few hours I’d spent with her, she’d never censored herself. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup and wore the ugliest pair of worn combat boots I’d ever seen. She didn’t even tie the laces up. She was carefree, and I was hopelessly attracted to following wherever the wind blew her.

  Unfortunately, the wind wasn’t blowing in my direction.

  I’d told her I’d take her to a hockey game one day, and I wanted to keep that promise. Trouble was, she wasn’t super-keen on continuing to see me in a nonprofessional manner.

  I had to respect her wishes, much as I didn’t like them.

  I understood where she w
as coming from. It must be tough to be a woman in a business of men who tended to be pompous know-it-alls—I’d experienced their upturned noses firsthand at a conference when I confused a witbier and hefeweizen. They were a tough crowd to please and even tougher to be accepted into. I could see how it might look bad if we were to develop a relationship, but on the other hand, who gave a shit?

  I wanted Piper.

  “Hey.” Bear knocked his foot with mine. “You look possessed or something. Your eyes are all glazed over.”

  I shook away thoughts of Piper and took a sip of my beer. God, Piper’s beer was so much better than this crap. I told my friends so.

  “Then get her to give us some. In fact, does she need a taste-tester? I’ll gladly volunteer,” Bear said.

  I put the bottle down on the coffee table. “She’s coming on Friday. You can ask her then.”

  He raised his brows. “Oh, I can make her come on Friday. You betcha.”

  “Shut up,” I said, throwing a pillow at Bear.

  “Dude. Saying ‘you betcha’ doesn’t make what you said any less sleazy,” Connor said.

  “Seriously, though, does she have a boyfriend?” Bear asked, with a ridiculous eyebrow wiggle.

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re not her type.”

  Bear propped the pillow up behind his head. “And I suppose you know what her type is?”

  “Well, I figure it’s me since we almost made out the other day.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I mentally smacked myself. I was sure Piper wouldn’t want these guys to know what went down between us, and I sure as hell didn’t want their curious stares now.

  Connor eyed me from under the brim of his hat. “Almost?”

  I shrugged, not answering his question.

  “As usual, you couldn’t close the deal,” Bear said with a shake of his head.

  “Hey.” I sat up, garnering both of my friends’ full attention. “It’s not like that. Piper is great.” Connor and Bear nodded, their faces a little taken aback by my sudden change in attitude. “And we’re in a professional relationship. So . . . you know . . .”

  “No.” Bear circled his hand for me to continue. “We don’t know.”

  “No mixing business with pleasure.”

  Connor smirked. “Would’ve been more convincing if you hadn’t touched your eyebrow.”

  “You always touch your eyebrow when you lie,” Bear agreed.

  “I need new friends,” I grumbled, pushing as far back into the couch as possible to cover up whatever truth I couldn’t hide from my oldest buddies.

  Bear huffed out a laugh. “Nah. You’d never replace us. Who would you braid your hair with then?”

  CHAPTER 8

  Piper

  There were no parking spaces left on the same block as the Public, and I took that as a good sign, so instead of complaining about having to walk three blocks in these heeled boots, I reveled in each sloshy step. The closer I got to the bar, the more noise I heard, the more people I saw milling about outside. Opening night, and Blake had a smash hit on his hands.

  After our almost-kiss in his car, I’d waffled back and forth about whether to come tonight. I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression that our relationship was anything other than professional. But in the end, Sonja talked me into it and these boots. Although she couldn’t come with me because she was a big loser who’d scheduled an early morning workout session tomorrow, so I was stuck by myself. In these toe-pinching boots.

  The place was packed, and I held my bag close to my side so the poster I’d brought wouldn’t get bent. I slowly made my way to the back, hoping to find Blake. He wasn’t there, but Bear and Connor were laughing with a group of other guys.

  “Hey.” I tapped Connor’s shoulder for his attention, and he offered the smallest of smiles to me.

  “Hey, Piper.”

  “Have you seen Blake anywhere?”

  “He’s around somewhere.” He lifted his glass. “The Gray-Haired Lady,” he said with a salute to me.

  “There she is!” Big burly arms snaked around my middle, lifting me up with a shake before putting me back down. “Girl of the hour.” I turned around and did a double take. I knew it was Bear from his meaty arms, but without his bushy beard I couldn’t be sure.

  “You shaved.” My words came out more like an accusation than a question.

  He ran a hand over his jaw. “I go into hibernation for the winter and grow a beard. Once the weather starts to warm up, I shave it off.”

  “Makes sense,” I said, staring at him. Without the beard, you could see how handsome he was. The gnarly-tattoos and dirty-looking-man-bun kind of handsome.

  He pointed to the rest of the men surrounding us. “I’ve got them all drinking your beer. They love it.”

  They all nodded at me, and I smiled. “Awesome.”

  Bear introduced me to a Danny, Johnny, and Tyler, I think. With their plaid shirts and facial hair, it was hard to keep them straight.

  “Take your jacket off, stay awhile,” Bear said, motioning to an open seat at the bar.

  I sat down and ordered my amber ale from a pretty bartender with purple streaks in her hair.

  “Put it on my tab,” Bear said before a voice rang out.

  “No, put it on mine.”

  I turned to find Blake just a few feet away, his dimple winking at me. He held up one finger, silently telling me to wait as he put away some clean glasses and took care of a customer’s tab. He made his way around the bar, wiping his hands on his jeans before holding his arms out.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said in my ear when I hugged him.

  I knew I probably shouldn’t have, but between my excitement over his success and my delight at seeing his face again, I couldn’t help it. I hung on to his shoulders, making sure I didn’t wobble when I stepped back. He looked me up and down. “You look pretty tonight. Taller than usual.”

  His compliments never failed to make me feel a twinge in my belly like I was thirteen again and talking to the cutest boy in class. I lifted my foot up to show him the three-inch heels. “I never wear shoes like this. I’ll be lucky if I don’t break my neck.”

  “Why’d you wear them?”

  “My friend said they made my legs look good.”

  One side of his mouth slanted up sinfully. “I can’t argue with that.” He held on to my hand as I sat back down on my stool. “I’m happy you’re here. Everyone is loving your beer.”

  My cheeks hurt from all the smiling. “Glad to hear it.” I picked up the bag I brought. “For you.”

  “Another present?” He unwrapped the plastic around the poster and unrolled it, laughing. “You actually bought me a poster.”

  “I did.” It pictured a giraffe and the words Stand Tall and Dream Big next to it.

  “I love it,” he said with another chuckle, showing it to his friends. They didn’t find it funny, not being in on our joke, and went back to their conversation. The only thing that mattered to me, though, was Blake’s smile.

  “Thank you.” He leaned down a fraction of an inch, as if he was going to kiss me, but then straightened, rolling up the poster.

  I immediately felt at a loss. This was what I’d wanted, right? I wasn’t going to date him, or kiss him, or engage in any other physical activity that I dreamed up when I let my guard down.

  “I’ll be back,” he told me, and headed in the direction of his office. I spun on my stool, taking in everyone at the bar. A good number of businesspeople looked as if they’d come right from work, but there were also a lot of denim and flannel shirts on hardy Minnesota types. And there was what looked like an even amount of men and women, a good mix of a crowd that would only be positive for the future of this place.

  I saw Tim, who I used to work for at Twin Cities Brew Company, sitting at a high-top table in the corner. Deep in conversation with two other guys who looked vaguely familiar, probably other brewers, he didn’t see me. I was once again reminded how small the brewing community was, and ho
w reputation meant everything. We were all friendly with one another, helped each other along with tastings and festivals, and I would never want to do anything to jeopardize the others’ support. If they got a whiff of anything happening between Blake and me, I knew it could be my downfall. I walked a tightrope, being the only woman around here who brewed, and I didn’t need anything to push me over the edge.

  And, of course, that’s when Blake came back into my view. Because the universe hated me.

  He was being his charming self, smiling and shaking hands. There was no job, too big or too little, that he didn’t do. He helped the bar back clean up and restock, hopped behind the bar to pour, and never once failed to have a conversation with every patron who approached him. His parents were crazy for not wanting him to do this.

  Seeing him here, in his element, it was obvious this was what he was meant to do.

  “Hey, boys.”

  The sultry voice lifted me from my daydreams about Blake, and I glanced over my shoulder. A beautiful woman stood among the men next to me. She playfully put her head on—was it Tyler’s shoulder? Or maybe it was Johnny’s—and tugged at long dark hair that curled over her shoulder. She leaned forward, the slinky material of her dress showing off her near-perfect cleavage. It didn’t seem to escape the attention of any of the guys.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” the woman said to Bear with a hand on his back.

  He looked down at her briefly. “How’s it going, Tiff?”

  “Fine. Fine. How ’bout yourself?”

  He nodded but sipped his drink, ending the conversation. Connor plain ignored her, his eyes on the television above the bar.

  Clearly they weren’t fond of her, but I didn’t know why. She was model beautiful, with a tiny waist and endlessly long legs in heels higher than mine. But she knew how to walk in them. I looked down at my own outfit, feeling like a troll in the long tunic top and black skinny jeans. This was my dressy outfit.

  A man next to me offered the woman his seat, and she sat down with a smile then looked over at me, giving me a quick once-over. Clearly, I wasn’t any competition for her, so she didn’t bother with me. She sat up against the bar, typing on her phone, barely looking up when the bartender asked, “What’ll it be?”