Trouble Brewing

by Suzanne Baltsar

  So here I was in my misery, in the middle of slogging through payroll in my office, when my cell phone rang. My mother’s number was displayed on the screen. I didn’t really have time to stop and chat about whatever crisis she was experiencing right now, but I couldn’t ignore it, either. She was my mother.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, darling. Do you have a moment?”

  No. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Your father and I are just coming back from lunch, and we wanted to know if we could stop by.”

  “I’m not home right now. I’m at the bar.”

  “Yes. That’s okay. We wanted to . . . to see it.”

  Shocked, my jaw flapped open and closed. They wanted to see it, meaning my place, my bar. I knew it was crazy to think they might change their minds about what I wanted to do, but my hopes lifted anyway. I was an eternal optimist. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

  “See you in a little while,” my mother said, and I hung up, but just as I went back to QuickBooks on my laptop, Darren, the chef, knocked on the doorjamb.

  “Hey, Boss. I’m making a ham and cheese for lunch. You want one?”

  Darren was at least ten years older than me, and I still wasn’t used to him calling me “Boss,” but I appreciated the sentiment. Without looking up from the spreadsheets in front of me, I nodded. “Yeah, thanks. That’d be great.”

  Minutes later, Darren had made himself at home in a chair across from my desk after handing me a plate.

  I’d taken it gratefully. “How’re things going on your end?”

  “Good.”

  “Kitchen staff is working well together?”

  Darren had carte blanche over the food and his staff. The draw of the Public was the alcohol, but everyone knew the food had to match the beer—that combination was what kept customers happy. I’d hired Darren because he had enough experience to run the kitchen on his own, allowing me to focus solely on the business, but also because he had an appreciation for beer. When I interviewed him, we’d bonded over our mutual affection for a few drafts, spoken about other bars we enjoyed in the area, and found we shared a common sense of what the Public could be.

  We didn’t have a big food menu, but what we did serve was delicious, the usual pub fare with seasonal modern twists, paired with coordinating beers. Currently the biggest sellers were grilled cheese with bacon and tomato, shrimp skewers, and our specialty homemade chips.

  “Yeah. Everybody’s meshing really well together, but I wanted to talk to you about hiring someone else. Maybe just part-time to help out on the weekends to start. We need somebody else on the line. I need help expediting.”

  I couldn’t answer right away—I’d taken a huge bite of the sandwich. It was the first thing I’d eaten all day, and I was devouring the simple ham and cheese like it was Darren’s delicious braised brisket. Good thing my mouth was full, though, because it gave me a chance to do the mental math.

  Sure, it was good we were so busy that we needed to hire another person, but I had to be diligent about how and where I spent my money, especially in the first year of business. The first few months after an opening were always good because the place was a novelty; it was the following years you had to watch out for. But there could be worse problems than to have too many orders bogging down our kitchen.

  “Okay,” I said, brushing my hands free of crumbs. “Do you have somebody in mind?”

  Darren glanced down at the floor before meeting my eyes. “Actually, I do. My nephew is starting culinary school in the fall. He could use some hours on the line.”

  I nodded and swallowed a gulp of water from the aluminum bottle I kept with me. “Bring him by so I can meet him.”

  He smiled. “Will do. Thanks.”

  He stood up and grabbed his plate. I stood up, too. “Thank you, Darren. You’re doing a great job. The Public wouldn’t be doing as well as it is without your touch.”

  He shook my hand and backed out of the door. “I’ll be prepping in the kitchen.”

  I didn’t have time to sit back down because I heard my mother’s nasally voice calling my name. For the love of God, I needed to have my payroll submitted before 4 p.m., otherwise my staff wouldn’t get paid this week.

  I headed out into the main room, where my parents were standing with Missy, the bar manager. My father looked bored, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, while my mother seemed horrified, staring at Missy’s new fuchsia hair streaks and sleeve of tattoos.

  “Hey,” I said with a wave.

  Missy frowned apologetically. “They were waiting outside when I came in.”

  “It’s okay. Thanks.”

  She seesawed between me and my parents before correctly guessing she should head for cover. She always came in early to prep the bar, but today, she pointed toward the back. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  After she was gone, I led my parents to a high-top table by the window. My mother walked on her tiptoes like she was sidestepping shit on the sidewalk. My floors were immaculate. I should know, I’d personally mopped this morning. They took a seat, but my dad didn’t remove his coat.

  “Relax, Dad,” I said, purposely pushing his buttons. “Stay awhile.”

  He stared out of the window, pointedly ignoring me.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” I gestured to the bar.

  Dad shook his head, but Mom piped up. “I’d love a Chardonnay, darling. Thank you.”

  “I don’t have wine.”

  She glanced around, her brow furrowed. “This is a bar, isn’t it?”

  “A gastropub. I’ve got a list of fifty craft beers and a small choice of liquors.”

  Her nose turned up. “Water. Do you have sparkling?”

  “Tap.”

  My mother nodded begrudgingly while my father huffed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he wasn’t impressed. I turned to fill up two glasses of water and poured myself a beer before having a seat with them. “So, what brings you to my humble abode?”

  Mom folded her hands in her lap. Sunlight streamed in from the window, painting rainbows on the walls from the reflection of her diamond bracelet. “Well, your father and I wanted to talk to you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at my dad, obviously ordering him to speak up. He cleared his throat and moved his glass of water a few inches away. “You missed dinner last weekend.”

  “I told Mom I was really busy here.”

  He held his palms up. “It’s empty now.”

  “Because we don’t open for another two hours.” He knew we weren’t open. Missy had to unlock the door for him.

  He folded his arms back up, one on top of the other. “It’s our one standing appointment every month,” he said, referring to the family dinner as if it were a business meeting. “Did you lose your respect for your mother when you went off on this tangent? She spends a lot of time making those dinners for you.”

  “Sandra makes the dinners,” I said, unmoved by his withering glare. But after a solid ten seconds of staring, there was no way he was backing down. I sighed and turned to my mother. “Sorry, Mom.”

  She patted my cheek. “I miss you when you don’t come over.” Her fingers dragged through my hair by my temple. “You still haven’t gotten it cut yet.”

  I shook her off and focused back on my dad. He readjusted one leg over the other, his face wiped clean of any emotion. That was the worst part, his happy face—if he had one—was the same as his aggravated one. It proved beneficial in his political career, but as a father, it was pretty shitty.

  “I’ll be making a public statement next month to announce my run. I want you there, beside your mother and Tiffany.”

  It wasn’t a question, request, or suggestion. It was an order.

  I traced the top of my glass, not listening to his instructions that I should wear a suit because it would be televised. I hadn’t even agreed to go, but I guess I didn’t need to. I was a Reed. There were expectations.

  He never once said thank you or showe
d any sign of gratitude, and even though I wasn’t surprised, I hoped he spoke more kindly to his constituents than to his son.

  “Yeah, all right, I’ll be there,” I said, out of nothing more than pure familial loyalty.

  He nodded once and stood, buttoning his coat. My mother followed him, lowering her voice. “This place is . . . nice, but I think it could use some brightening up. Maybe some color on the walls.”

  “Sure. I’ll think about it.” I helped her with her coat and ushered her to the door.

  My father gave one last sweeping look around, and I witnessed brief disdain pass through his eyes. Even with his obvious contempt for what I was doing, I had to acknowledge that he’d showed up. It was the very least he could do. “Thanks for coming in.”

  “Well, I had to see what you’ve been wasting all your time on.”

  I smiled, holding back the string of curse words on the tip of my tongue and clenching my fists. “Well, we can’t all be senators.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  He pivoted, stalking out of the door. My mother kissed my cheek and followed him out, again walking on her tiptoes. I let out a breath, spotting Darren and Missy poking their heads out of the hallway.

  Missy winced. “Those your parents, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “They seem . . . pleasant.”

  Darren took a few steps toward the bar. “I didn’t know your dad was Jacob Reed, the politician.”

  “The one and only,” I said, sitting back down at the table to finish off my beer.

  “Didn’t want to follow in Daddy’s footsteps?” he teased with a grin.

  “Nah. I didn’t want to grow up to be an asshole.”

  Missy snorted and headed behind the bar to begin her duties as Darren went back to the kitchen.

  Fifteen minutes with my parents, and my day had gone from bad to worse.

  “You want a refill?” Missy asked.

  “Yeah, I think I do.” I grabbed the untouched waters and my empty glass from the table to place on the bar. I took my new cold beer back to my office, determined to finally finish payroll, but as soon as I sat down my phone chimed.

  I growled. “Can’t I catch a break?”

  I snatched my phone up, and suddenly the dark cloud that had been hovering above me all day disappeared. Piper’s picture flashed on the screen along with a text message.

  Good news.

  I chuckled at how she’d demanded to take my picture when we’d exchanged numbers. I’d turned my camera on her in return, but she’d ducked her head back, wiggling away from me. I did the only obvious thing then—I tackled her. I’d snapped a photo of her mid-cackle, her mouth open wide in laughter, eyes closed shut. Wild and beautiful.

  I typed back.

  Oh yeah?

  Monkey Bar just purchased 3 cases.

  I knew I probably looked like a grinning idiot. But this was the best news I’d heard all day. I sent back:

  1 down, 1 to go.

  Is that a threat?

  Believe me, you’ll be begging soon enough.

  We’ll see about that.

  I huffed out a laugh. We would see. And I couldn’t wait.

  CHAPTER 15

  Piper

  I turned my back toward the mirror, checking out how my butt looked in these new pants. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “They’re very blue,” Sonja said from her spot on my bed. “But I like them.” She stood up. “Put your shoulders back. You’re always slouching. When you stand up straight, it makes the shirt fit better.”

  I followed her directions and set my spine straight, making the bottom hem of my white T-shirt lift up to show a tiny sliver of skin at my waist. Between the new outfit, my dark makeup, and the soft curls Sonja had put in my hair, I looked far sexier than I had in a long time. But it was my first date with Blake, and I wanted to show him a different side of me.

  I had texted Blake two days ago to let him know Pete’s Tavern in St. Paul had bought two cases of the Platinum Blonde, with the promise to buy more if it sold well. I was beyond excited to have another bar pick up my drafts, but I suspected Blake was just as happy that I was going to deliver on our deal.

  No matter how much I fought my attraction to him, I’d been looking forward to this date for a lot longer than I liked to admit.

  The doorbell rang, and Sonja grinned. “I’ll get it.”

  “I can get it.” I stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, but she slipped out of my grip and went out to the hall.

  “Sonja, don’t,” I said, failing to edge her out of reaching the steps. She was halfway to the door when I hissed, “Sonja, do not say any—”

  She turned around, her back to the front door, with her hand on the knob. “Don’t say anything about how you’re so nervous you sweat through your first shirt? I’d never.”

  “I hate you so much,” I yelled in a whisper as she opened the door with a wink to me.

  I sank into the wall, listening as Sonja greeted my date with a cheery “Hey, Blake.”

  “Hey.”

  “Big date night, huh?”

  I imagined she shot him a couple of finger guns when she clicked her tongue, and I quietly slunk down another two steps just in time to see her dig her fingertips into his shoulder.

  “Do I need to give you the Hurt her and I’ll kill you speech?” Before Blake could answer, she cut him off. “Because you know I can. One good punch to the kidney, and I’d have you down for the count.”

  “I’d prefer to stay in your good graces and keep Piper happy.”

  “Good, good.” Sonja smacked his arm.

  Her whole display was over the top, but I appreciated how much she cared. She was, after all, the one who had taken me in when life was at its bleakest. In the last two years, she’d witnessed how I’d picked myself up from the pit I was in after Oskar’s blow to my self-confidence. I’d turned down blind dates and a few odd phone numbers, not ready to let go again. Until Blake.

  Sonja understood what this date meant—a new beginning—and she certainly wasn’t going to let Blake go without a warning.

  “Piper,” Sonja called, “Prince Charming is here.”

  I tucked back into the shadow of the staircase, unmoving, pretending I was upstairs and not eavesdropping on their conversation like a creep.

  I heard the door close and Blake say, “Prince Charming, eh?”

  “You know you ooze charisma, don’t try to act all modest,” Sonja said, and I smiled to myself. Blake was a tad cocky, but I liked that about him. Sure of himself without being arrogant.

  I ran my fingers through my hair before making myself known. Blake turned to me with wide eyes, slowly looking me up and down.

  Sonja nodded to me with a knowing smile before heading off to the kitchen.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” Blake said after a while.

  “Handsome,” I said against his ear as we leaned in to kiss each other’s cheeks.

  “Here.” He presented me with a gift that he’d been hiding behind his back.

  “A cactus?” I scrunched my nose up. Cacti were not particularly known for their beauty.

  “Yep. A cactus is hearty and strong, and it blooms flowers even in harsh conditions.” He handed it to me. “Reminded me of you.”

  My confusion melted at the explanation. “So much better than stupid old roses.” I placed it on the square side table in the living room before crossing back to Blake. “Thank you. That was really sweet.”

  I grabbed my purse and jacket and left with a wave to Sonja. She waved back, a piece of lettuce stuck to the fork in her hand. “Have fun.” Then she looked past my shoulder to Blake and flexed a bit. “Best behavior, Charming.”

  He laughed good-naturedly behind me. “See you later, Mayweather.”

  I closed the door on her resounding laugh and followed Blake to his car, but when he opened the passenger side door for me, his eyes stayed glued to my body. Even after he climbed in on his side.

  “You’re
staring,” I said, once he was behind the wheel, his eyes on my legs.

  His attention shot to my face. “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He laughed. “No, I’m not.”

  As Blake turned the ignition, the car filled with an expectation, a tension in the air. We weren’t fooling around anymore. We’d crossed over the getting-to-know-you phase, and even though this was only our first date, it certainly didn’t seem like it.

  It was more like a second, or even third. And if it was a third date . . . I shook my head. I couldn’t get ahead of myself.

  “So, where are we going?” I asked.

  “How do you feel about seafood?”

  “Do I get a lobster bib?”

  He briefly looked at me when he stopped at a red light, a goofy smile on his face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The drive to Stella’s Fish Cafe wasn’t long, and he’d only just finished the story of his parents visiting the pub before he parked. I didn’t hesitate to reach for his hand on the short walk through the parking lot, and he didn’t let go as the hostess led us to the rooftop.

  The cotton candy sky was wide open above our heads, and a slight breeze danced with the umbrellas over every table, the perfect atmosphere for a date. I spotted a guy with a lobster bib around his neck, and I tugged on Blake’s arm, gesturing to it.

  He shook his head in amusement.

  “Anything look good?” he asked after I’d had a chance to look over the menu. “Want any appetizers?”

  “Do you like oysters?”

  “Sure. You know what they say about oysters, though.”

  I kept my eyes down, ignoring his obvious ploy. “That they’re an aphrodisiac? I’m pretty sure that’s an old wives’ tale,” I said, and picked my head up, trying to look as bored as possible, “but I’ll try to control myself from jumping your bones.”

  He grabbed my hands. “It’s actually scientifically proven. I saw a show on it . . . something about the omegas, so don’t try to hold back on my account. Just let yourself feel whatever it is you need to feel.”

  I fought my smile hard, but it came through, contradicting my eye roll. Blake gave my fingers a satisfied squeeze before looking over the menu again.