by Crowe, Liz
Lori: Hmm, so, not so perfect, it seems.
Garrett: We were too young to get married, too selfish to realize what we wanted. We’re friends now, actually.
Lori recalled the stab of ugly jealous that had knifed through her right then.
Lori: Garrett Hunter — the Emperor of Maturity.
Garrett: Not really. But I do try to learn and move on.
Lori: So, how are you entertaining your sisters? They around right now?
Garrett: They took the kids to a play downtown. I’m too beat to deal with that, but I do like being around them. They’re good kids and a lot of fun. I like kids.
Lori: Sorry.
Garrett: I didn’t mean it that way, Lori.
Lori: I know you didn’t, but I am sorry.
Garrett: I’m a great uncle. I can live with that.
Lori put a shaking hand on her flat stomach as her head resumed pounding in time to her heartbeat. At that moment she knew it had to be Garrett’s. Anything else would be too much bad karma for her to bear. She kept reading, biting her lip with the memory.
Garrett: Now, I do have this other problem right now, however…. It’s well in hand and all, but could you give a guy a bit of a boost, you know, with your actual voice?
She’d called him then, whispered instructions, telling him what she wanted, how she wanted it as she rubbed herself to orgasm to sounds of his groans. The fact that the words “I love you” had yet to pass his lips again wasn’t lost on her, but he had said something just last night that seared her nerve endings still. She scrolled down to their last conversation, just a few hours ago.
Garrett: Do you know what today is?
Lori: The worst fucking day of chemistry class in the history of brewing chemistry classes?
Garrett: Nope. The first day I laid eyes on you, a year ago.
Lori: Wow. Yeah. You’re right.
Garrett: I really rushed you. I didn’t mean to.
Lori: We had a good time. Still are, best I can tell.
Garrett: Yes. Well, take your time. Get to know me long distance then maybe I’ll have a real shot. When are you coming home anyway? Should I hang your stocking on my hearth for Xmas?
Lori: I think you have more than a shot, Garrett.
Garrett: Don’t make false promises woman. My poor ego can’t take it.
Lori: I’m not, and yes, I have a flight back on December twentieth.
Garrett: OK. Will you not accuse me of being too inflexible if I make a plan then?
Lori: Depends.
Garrett: Don’t worry. It doesn’t involve springing jewelry on you in front of your parents. It’s more along the lines of “sand, sun, ocean, Garrett, Lori, New Year’s Eve.”
Lori: Sounds promising.
Garrett: I won’t do it if you think it’s too early for me to assume you’d want those words closely associated.
Lori: I do want them associated.
Garrett: Good. Since I made the reservation this morning. I will now duck to avoid the shoe you are mentally throwing at my head.
Lori: You are impossible. And your attempt to duck is well taken.
Garrett: Impossibly in love, is all.
Lori gulped, and stared at this words. Then hers.
Lori: You are a charmer, Garrett Hunter.
She remembered a long break in the conversation then. He wanted, needed her, to say something more. So she had.
Lori: I’m not ready to say much more than this: I love you
She smiled, remembering her phone’s buzz within seconds. His voice poured into her soul like honey. “Big words from a girl so far away.”
“Well, you did it to me. Charmed me all over again.”
“Okay. Well, go to bed. It’s late there I know. How’s the headache?”
“The same.”
“Sorry. If it doesn’t get better you should probably find a doctor.”
“I will. We have a brewery tour tomorrow. I’m excited.”
“Cool. Call me after, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I miss you, so much. Talk soon.”
“You too. Goodnight.”
“Hey!” Alicia’s voice snapped her out of her reverie. She shut the computer. She’d catch him later. Tell him the real news. What would happen then she had absolutely no idea, but suddenly this whole Germany thing seemed completely superfluous. She put a hand over her lips. “How’s Garrett?”
“I didn’t talk to him. I was just…never mind. Let’s go.”
Chapter Two
Lori eyed the tall, redheaded man who stood at the front of their group. Alicia elbowed her and whispered, “I am officially in love. Watch me work.” Lori rolled her eyes, but had to admit, the guy was a vision. Tall, broad shouldered, dressed in dark jeans, brewery boots and a T-shirt that hugged every single outline of his torso and biceps. A crop of longish red hair flopped over his forehead. Dark brown eyes kept coming back to hers, making her blush and look down. His jaw was shadowed with an early growth of beard.
Aric introduced himself as third brewer, and was obviously beyond agitated at having to host a tour of potential new brewing experts—one with women in it no less. “Aric the Red,” Alicia giggled into Lori’s ear as they made their way into the massive production facility. The sights, sounds and smells of an active brewery made Lori want to weep with relief. The hustling, organized bustle of brewers, brew boys and other staff made her grin like an idiot. She barely heard the man talking.
She wandered over to one of the smaller brew house set-ups they used for experimentals. Taking a sniff, she immediately identified hallertau hops and dark crystal malts in the vessel. She flinched when someone gripped her arm. “Hey!” She glared at Aric. He did the same.
“Don’t leave the tour group please. These are proprietary recipes and you are not allowed to….” She jerked her arm out of his grasp and made her huffy, embarrassed way back to the group. Realizing her nausea had been at bay since she entered the building, she let the astringent sting of hops and the yeasty rich undercurrent of the space fill her nose, calm her roiling gut. Alicia poked her in the side.
“Way to get my new boyfriend’s attention, Yank.” Lori stuck her tongue out at the woman and they giggled, then shushed at the nasty glares they got from the guy trying to lead their tour.
A few hours later, after an exhausting examination of the brewery operations, questions and answers from the professor who accompanied them, Lori found herself staring at a plate of food in the company’s cafeteria. Her stomach did an alarming flip. “Um could I just have some tea please?”
Aric jerked his chin towards the kitchen. “Help yourself.” He grunted before shoveling food into his mouth and ignoring everything and everyone around him, including Alicia’s not-so-subtle attempts at flirting. She sat back down, holding a paper cup of hot water and tea bag. The room faded to a pinpoint of extreme concentration—anything to keep from throwing up all over the table.
Alicia nudged her, making her wince. “Help me out here, Lori. Aric the Red doesn’t seem to understand our mutual destiny. Me, him, naked, tonight.”
Lori smiled, then bent back to her tea, her mind awash with sudden panic. Could she get her money back on this whole thing? Her dad had loaned her half the tuition and given her a small amount of money for living, but she had paid the rest, and it was gone, sunk deep, with six months on the lease paid ahead. Jesus.
She sipped and watched her fellow students chatting, eating, laughing and felt completely alone. “Are you all right?” The voice above her made her jump. Aric.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Just thinking.” He frowned and knelt down in front of her. She tried not to bite her lip at his proximity.
“I don’t think you are. You look green, and I can’t have sick people in the brewery.” She frowned and straightened up, attempting to look less weak and helpless–and pregnant. He put a huge hand on her leg, making her jump again. “Stay close to me in case I need to hustle you out.”
Alicia leaned
into her ear as he walked away and whispered in accented German. “Smooth move. ‘Stay close to me.’ I should’ve looked sicker.” She put an arm around Lori’s shoulders and switched to English. “You really don’t look too hot, Lori. Will you make it the rest of the time? There’s still another half day left.”
“Yeah. I’ll live.” She stood. “Let’s get on with it. You stay near me and work your charms on Aric the Red while I try not to hurl on his shoes. Deal?”
“Remind me never to order from that Indian place again, eh?” Lori grimaced at her friend and tried not to cry. What a mess. The overwhelming need to hear Garrett’s voice nearly made her sit back down, but she didn’t. She followed Aric’s tall form through the door and down the long set of steps to the cellar.
The cold crept around her ankles, worked its way up her jeans and into her bones. She started shivering before she even got down to the hard concrete floor. Aric looked back at her, shrugged out of his fleece jacket, and draped it around her shoulders, managing to look pissed off and concerned all at once. She stuck her arms in the soft fabric and zipped it up. It was suffused with her favorite aromas, ones that also mysteriously seemed to quell the rising nausea.
The ancient cold rooms below the historic brewery buildings were fascinating. Originally they were ice caves in winter, perfect for storing already fermented beer that would later be served in spring, summer, and fall. Brockton had several lagers in development, but the necessary time and storage space required to bring one from brew to serving had held them back.
Garrett had told her a few weeks ago that the city approved their expansion, and he and Eli had finalized the builder’s schedule for the addition of a giant modern version of this very cavern. Time, low temperatures, and patience were the key ingredients to successful lagers. She had her doubts about Eli on that last one and smiled as a memory of his wicked smile dashed across her brain.
Yeah, he could just as easily have done this. Be the father.
She shut her eyes and let Aric’s soft, sibilant words pass through her brain without hearing them. She leaned against one of the wooden storage tanks, staying back from the group a little. They ignored her as Aric launched into a lecture about temperatures and diacetyl. At one point he glanced around, spotted her and frowned, but she raised her hand indicating his cellar was safe from her vomit for now.
When the group moved forward deeper into the darkness and cold, Lori stayed put. Why she even came today was beyond her. She was miserable in body and soul. She needed to talk to Garrett. Now. She required the sound of his voice, the sensation of sharing this news, unburdening to him, realizing what it really meant—the lack of it hurt deep in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She stood, staring up at floorboards of a building older than most every structure in America and tried to calm her thoughts.
On reflex, she pulled her phone from her jeans pocket and stared at it as if it could solve the problem for her. She looked up and realized how far behind the group she’d gotten. Pushing herself off the tank, she trudged down the dark hallway, following the sound of Aric’s voice.
She shuffled along, not really worried about catching up, but then the place went quiet. The only sounds were those of creaking floorboards over her head. She put out a hand, felt the cold brick wall, let it calm her. A soft accented voice floated up from a side hall. Lori frowned, not thinking they’d go off the beaten path, but the damn place was huge. She shrugged, and forced her eyes to adjust in the even gloomier bit of the maze. After a few steps, she stopped again. The silence descended on her like a shroud, smothering her, bringing up a quick pinprick of unwelcome, but familiar, panic.
The pitch black of the hall deepened. Ghostly voices floated from far away. “Alicia?” She called out, her voice croaky and nervous. “Aric?”
Laughter and the sounds of a larger crowd met her eager ears. She sighed in relief, took one step and her foot slipped out from under her sending her crashing to the hard, cold floor. Her last thought was that she must have looked like a cartoon, with her legs bicycling around. Then her head hit a metal pipe, and the lights really went out.
Chapter Three
Eli scowled at the young man in front of him. “You. Out.” He pointed to the back door.
“B-b-but Mr. Buchanan, I….”
“You, my clumsy young man, have nearly ruined that batch of amber ale with your fumbling bullshit. Get the fuck out of my brewery.”
The kid reddened. “You told me to rack it. I asked you which tank and you pointed.”
“Christ in a sidecar son, I said ‘rack the amber that’s ready’. That implies you fucking read the fermentation log.” He took a deep breath. “I was pointing to the God-damned log. You know? That big black binder thing with the papers that I write in? Labeled ‘fermentation log?’ That thing?”
The kid turned, shoulders slumped. Eli had a moment of regret. He was actually a pretty intuitive guy, but he had to learn his lesson. “Go. Come back in the morning. I might be over it. Stupid shit.” He mumbled loud enough for the other workers to hear him, then slammed the clipboard down on his desk. He sat and ran a hand down his face. “Hey, Brad, go and see if that damn batch of amber is salvageable. If not, we gotta do another fifty of it.” He glanced at the new sales director’s targets. “Make it a hundred.” This place was becoming a fucking production facility right under his nose. A hundred barrels of one beer that translated to three thousand gallons. Multiply that times the seven or eight “flagship” beers they boasted plus all the pub and experimentals. No wonder he had a raging headache.
He glanced at his phone and his brain automatically transposed it to Germany time. Nearly three p.m. there. He ground his teeth.
Stop it.
His mind cast back to the original confrontation with Garrett Hunter, one he’d instigated and sometimes wished he hadn’t now that he had a real measure of the man. He liked it better when he could simply hate him and make fun of him in his fucking suits and five hundred dollar shoes. Now, he couldn’t anymore. The damn guy was actually becoming a friend.
After a couple of days spent dancing around each other once Lori had left, he’d finally marched up into Hunter’s office and shut the door by-passing the open mouthed large Marge guarding the boss’ lair. Garrett had looked up from a colorful spread sheet, frowned and sat back. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, you can.” He’d been a nervous wreck and couldn’t work like this anymore. “I want you to know, all the rumors and bullshit about me leaving. Not true.”
To his credit, the man barely reacted. He propped his elbows on his fancy schmancy desk. “What makes you think I want you stay?” He pulled a piece of paper Eli recognized as his contract from a neat nearby stack. “As a matter of fact I realized yesterday that it’s time for the one-year evaluation out clause you demanded when you were hired. I figured you for a fuck and run kinda guy so….” He tossed the paper towards Eli. “I mean, if the rumors are true.”
“Fair.” Eli shook his head. He’d perhaps underestimated Garrett Hunter. But the competitor in him rose, made him lean back and mirror the guy’s stance, draping an arm over the back of the chair.
Garrett’s eyes darkened “I have a business to run here Buchanan. I don’t babysit egos no matter how large. You think you’re irreplaceable. I know you’re not. It’s a fairly elemental difference of opinion.” They locked eyes.
Eli decided to drag the unspoken undercurrent of the conversation out into the room. “She doesn’t love me.” He put his elbows on Garrett’s desk. “Don’t worry.”
That set the man back on his well-shod heels, but Eli got no real satisfaction from it. He shifted again as the silence took on a life of its own.
When Garrett spoke again it was in short, businesslike tones. “I’m not talking about Lori.”
Eli realized he was very close to getting cold cocked—but he went on anyway. “Yes, actually you are. You just don’t realize it yet.”
Garrett glared at him. Then his face fel
l and he shook his head. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right.”
“I know I am. So, let’s cut the shit. I’m not leaving. You need me. I know this system; you and I have been working pretty well together on the expansion. Lori is….”
Garrett held up a hand. “Not a topic for discussion. Ever again.”
Eli rose. “That’s fine. But I need you understand something.” The other man kept his gaze neutral, and Eli’s admiration for him grew. “She, ah, meant nothing to me. Just a trifle. I mean, you know, a fling before she left. Okay? You’re the guy. Not me.”
The man knew how to use silence to his advantage, Eli acknowledged that fact as it coiled between them once again. He let it spin out. When he spoke, Garrett made his words count. “I don’t believe you, Buchanan, but I acknowledge that Lori can do that to you—make you insane, do and say fucked up things, act like an idiot.” Eli narrowed his eyes, felt his ears start to buzz. He held his tongue. The other man rose to his feet, buttoned his jacket. “Let’s just agree that Lori will make a decision herself. It’s not up to you nor me to decide who is ‘the guy.’ Fair?”
Eli gulped and took the hand Hunter extended. “You’re all right. For a suit.”
Garrett smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “So are you, for a prima donna asshole.”
Eli laughed, and spent the rest of his workday considering the fact that, under different circumstances, he’d like to have Garrett Hunter as a friend.
Garrett bolted awake, breathing heavy, staring around the dark room. What in the hell was that noise? The shrieking “wah, wah, wah” of an alarm nearly drowned out his thoughts until he fished around and found his phone. The words “Eli Buchanan” flashed. He hit answer, his ears still clanging.
“What the fuck?” He growled into the phone.
“Get down here. Now.” The man barked, then hung up.
By the time Garrett made it to the pitch black brewery he’d conjured all sorts of disasters in his head, but nothing prepared him for what met his eyes when he opened the door. Eli stood nearly ankle deep in rich brown liquid, cursing to high heaven, his head stuck inside one of their medium-sized fermentation vessels. The smell of malt and yeast was overwhelming. Garrett stood, open mouthed as the liquid pooled at his feet before heading towards the many trench drains in the floor. Fifty barrels–nearly fifteen hundred gallons—of expensive ingredients swirled away leaving behind a sticky mess and one pissed off brewer. His brain refused to process it.