Paradise Hops

by Crowe, Liz

  “Ow!” She stood, awkward and unwieldy. No wonder he had bolted from her. She was about as sexy as a snake digesting an egg. The older women tsk-tsked and held out a hand. “Why does he want us down there? I don’t feel like going,” She heard the whine creep into her voice and hated it. What she really didn’t want was to face him ever again.

  “I think he has a surprise for you. For all of us.”

  “Better not be announcing he’s leaving.”

  The woman frowned, crossed her arms over her ample chest. Lori tried not to roll her eyes. “Lori Brockton, you have got to stop being such a bitch.”

  Lori’s pulse raced as she stared at the woman who’d been a surrogate mother, aunt and sister to her at various times of her life. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me young lady. These men around here are willing to tip toe around you, but by golly I’ve been pregnant, and I know you are going to survive this.” Her assistant held up a shaking hand. “No, don’t interrupt me. I know you miss Garrett. I know you loved him and are kicking yourself to death over losing him the way you did. But that does not give you permission to treat everyone around here like bags of shit dust.”

  Lori clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, or saying something she’d regret. Mrs. Anderson went on. “You have been through so much. More than would make an average person buckle and give up. But you are a Brockton. You are not giving up. But I won’t let you ruin everything around you in the process.”

  “I’m not ruining….”

  The woman got right up in her personal space, put a hand on her shoulder and said words Lori would never forget. “You lost one man because you were being stubborn. Are you seriously considering losing another by being a bitch? Is it worth it to you, hurting him like that—constantly arguing, finding fault, reasons to fight? I don’t think it is. And you had better think hard about what you’re doing before it’s too late. Eli Buchanan is not about to leave Brockton Brewing, Lori. He loves you too much.”

  Mrs. Anderson tucked Lori’s hand into the crook of her elbow. Lori let herself be led out the door, speechless in the face of the woman’s firm lecture. They met her dad coming down the hall and the three of them took the back steps down to the production floor. Lori’s eyes darted around, trying to find him. Needing to see him. The realization of this made her swallow past a hard lump of emotion lodged in her throat.

  She had gone two nights now not dreaming of Garrett, not reliving every fight, every horrible, hurtful thing she’d ever said. The look in his eyes at the big proposal dinner, and those last fun conversations they’d had long distance were slowly fading. They all had worn a groove in her brain, and she was sick of them. She was so tired of trying to forget. She did want Eli to help her and not just with his body. And she’d screwed that up somehow, with her giant, protruding stomach. Oh, yeah, and her bitchy temper.

  She clutched the railing, as a strange tightening flexed across her middle. “Hmmm….” She tried to breathe through it suddenly regretting all those skipped Lamaze sessions. Her friend Kristy, had berated her no end when she’d admitted to going to the first one but none of the others. She had no partner, anyway, so what was the damn point? And all those proud papas in the room made her want to cry, or punch them all in the nose.

  Mrs. A stopped with her. “Hon? You okay?” She looked away.

  “Yeah, probably one of those fake contractions. I’m good.”

  “Well, stay close to me. Just in case.”

  Lori nodded and the second her feet touched the concrete floor she saw him. His tall, broad shouldered form, the face, lips and hands she’d lusted after for months, had at her disposal for a few amazing days filled her senses. But she’d lost him, just like she lost everything else. She frowned but he kept smiling. When he pulled an unfamiliar six pack holder from behind his back, she gasped, and stumbled back. Everyone around them laughed and clapped; her father grabbed one of the bottles, popped open the lid and took a gulp. Lori stared at him. Eli looked at her, seeking her approval.

  “What the hell is this?” She took the case from him. The familiar, standard Brockton emblem, the specific look they’d cultivated and demanded from every label and container was there. Along with the image of a dark blue suit. The words seared her brain: Paradise Hops: In loving memory of Garrett Hunter. She gasped. Her head felt light, her body heavy, too heavy.

  The room narrowed to two people. Eli kept his face neutral. She opened her mouth, already regretting the words before she said them. “You have no right to do this. You should have asked. You can’t,” A sob ripped out of her then. Weeks and months of unshed, unwelcome tears gushed out, choking her. Hands gripped her arms, she wrenched away from them. “This.” She held up the six pack. “Is not your call. God damn it, Eli.” She spluttered, trying to move towards him, but her feet were stuck, frozen in place.

  “Now, Lori, honey I think it’s lovely.” Her father began. She ignored him, kept her gaze pinned to Eli’s.

  “You are a vile manipulator. You don’t get to do this behind my back.” She stomped away, cradling the six pack to her chest. “We need to talk,” She tossed over her shoulder, and climbed the steps the office area, not waiting for him to follow her.

  After about ten minutes of deep breathing, of willing the damn kid to be still and stop beating her liver to death, then ten more of staring at the admittedly beautiful label, her anger had reached epic levels. Finally he ambled in, holding a bottle of the stuff. “You. Sit.” She pointed. He stood. She paced, trying to find words, no longer exactly sure why she was so furious. It was as if his presence in the room calmed her—which pissed her off all over again.

  “Why do you hate me?” She demanded. She kept the six pack clutched in her hands. He stared at her.

  “I don’t hate you, Lori.” Keeping his voice soft, as if dealing with a rabid animal or a drunk relative, he left plenty of distance between them. “Why would you think that?”

  “You made me leave,” she kept a tight rein on the tears now. “That week. You didn’t want me. You just wanted to fuck. I thought…I mean…I was…,” she gulped. He stayed silent. “And, all you do is fight with me now. I’m trying to make this expansion work on your timetable. The one you and,” her voice broke. “You and Garrett developed. I want it to happen, but you keep arguing with me. Taking their side, anything you can to be contrarian.”

  He took a breath. “Actually, if you think about it a second, you’ll realize that every time you walk in here lately you’re itching for a fight. I can’t say anything at all without getting my head ripped off.”

  She let the now familiar fury grip her brain. “I’m trying to get shit done. For the brewery. Like you told me to. Like my father told me to. Forget about him, you said. Come to work, he said. Let it go. There’s work to be done. He’s gone. Get over it. So I do it.” She heard her voice rise, sensed her throat ache and realized she was yelling. “I do whatever I’m told. I’m not allowed to cry. I’m not allowed to miss him I’m not allowed to be sad. I just do this fucking job!” She flung the six pack at the wall, barely missing Eli’s head but for a quick duck to the left on his part. They both watched the brown glass shatter, the dark brew mark the wall and drip down. The lovely, thoughtfully produced project of Eli’s heart dissolved in a cardboard, glass and malty mess.

  “You are such a child.” His voice roughened with emotion. “And as the token grownup in the room I will remind you that we,” he jabbed at his chest, “we miss him too. But we do that and work. We balance. We don’t take our unhappiness out on the people we work with. The people we love.” He glowered at her. She shrank back, then slumped into a chair. “Oh, no, you don’t get to faint, Lori. You’re way too fucking tough for that.” He pulled her up, kept his face inches from hers. She stuck her hands in her pockets to keep from reaching for him. Words kept coming from his mouth. “I’m sick of this. Sick of it. You are miserable. I realize what you’re trying to do and admire it but it’s not fucking working.�
� He bit the last of these words off with his teeth, spit them at her.

  She shook, the baby rolled, and a huge wave of sadness encompassed her, making her gasp. She gave up then, reached for him, clutched his arms as if he were the only thing keeping her afloat, but he stood stock still. So she stepped back and spoke. “You’re fired.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You want me to do something? To take steps to really get over him? Then this is it. You have to leave because I cannot deal with the guilt over what we did. The pain I carry in my head every day over how I hurt him. How I did that with you, you bastard.”

  “Okay, Lori,” The look of relief in Eli’s eyes alarmed her. “I’ll go. But first, you have to know that he and I talked about it. We came to terms with it, together. As friends. So you can let that go. Stop using it as an excuse to keep me at a distance. Or will that mean you have to come up with another one? Another reason to blame me for being alive because he is dead?” He moved close to her again, ran a hand down her arm, leaned in and touched his lips to hers then drew away. “Because you don’t hate what I can do for you, that much I know.” She slapped him so hard his head rocked back. He stayed in her space, as if daring her to do it again.

  The look in his eyes made her entire body light on fire. She remembered it well—the animal in him, the need to take her, show her what he could do. Dear God, she wanted it back.

  “You are a colossal asshole.” She whispered. Her body betrayed her, she swayed into him, drawn by the magnet that pulled her in before. Made her act in a way that nearly ruined her and left her this sniveling, guilt-ridden mess of contradiction. “I hate you.” The words were lost in a swirl of Eli. He gripped her neck, pulled her so close their lips touched. His eyes blazed, his voice low and hoarse. She tried to pull away but he would not let her. And she had never felt more relieved.

  “That’s okay, Lori, because I love you. Somehow I think it balances out in the universe. Let it go.” His low voice caressed her soul. “Please, just let it go. The guilt, all of it. It’s all right. He knew and still loved you, and you two would have been together, happy, forever. I know it, you know it, but it didn’t work that way. Now, you’re stuck with me.” He ran a rough hand across her cheek and whispered against her ear. “And you can fire me if you want, but I am not fucking going anywhere without you ever again.”

  She glared at him, then sensed the bright piercing pain she’d carried with her for months release, dissipate into the office air at the touch of his hand on her face. He grinned, forcing a smile from her in response. “Now, kiss me you crazy bitch before I lose my mind.” She wrapped her arms around him and lost herself in him. He cradled her face, swept into her mouth, owned her, showed her his real meaning as his hands slid down her body holding the baby between them. “Oh, good lord,” he whispered as he trailed kisses down her neck, forcing her back so she could prop against the desk and take some of the pressure off her aching back. “I love you,” he whispered, bringing his lips to hers again.

  Tears fell between them, coated both of their faces, and she didn’t know whose they were but didn’t care. Just that she was complete now. Garrett’s bright green eyes and handsome face flashed across her brain. Go, my love. She said to him. I’ll be fine. And he was gone. “I love you, Eli.” She said, brushing against the rough scratch of his beard.

  “Hmpf,” he muttered into her neck. “God help me.”

  Then she gasped and pushed him away, doubled over as pain ripped through her body. “Ow! Shit!” Then all hell broke loose.

  Epilogue

  The clatter of feet on the steps made Lori look up from her computer. The story of Paradise Hops: Garrett’s Beer, as it had been dubbed, had spread and the beer had won awards for its style and tons of publicity for the brewery. A framed version of the original label graced the wall of the pub, the brewery main office, and here at home. She set her reading glasses up on her head and opened her arms as a small form launched itself at her, giggling and hiccupping. “Mama!” The little girl looked up through her tangle of curly blonde hair. “Time to make supper. Can we have spaghetti?”

  She smiled and responded back in German. “Yes, let’s go make it together.”

  But the girl snuggled into her neck, and Lori sat, content to rock her, loving the feeling of the tiny, warm body against hers. Hers. This child was such an amazing ball of energy, temper and no minor bit of frustration. When she’d heard her parents conversing in German she’d insisted on learning it herself and had picked it up so fast it was scary. Lori pulled the unruly thick golden locks off the girl’s neck. “Where is your brother, Elsbeth?”

  She smiled and pointed over her shoulder. “He made us hot chocolate, Mama, and then made me clean up my toys. I hate Hunter.” She grinned over at the boy who lingered in the doorway, his dark green eyes thoughtful, hands in his jeans pockets.

  “You made a huge mess, Elsbeth. I was just helping Mama.” The little girl stuck her tongue out then jumped down and ran past him.

  “Tag! You’re it!” He watched her run down the hall then looked back at Lori. As she did about a hundred times a day, Lori studied the astonishing seven-year-old miniature of Garrett that lived in her house. From his eyes and thick brown hair, to his serious nature, his fastidious way of ordering his small world he was without a doubt his father’s son.

  “Can I have a hug?” She held out her arms again and gathered him in. He seemed to relax for a minute, to be merely a little boy and not a man in miniature. “I love you,” she whispered into his hair.

  He nodded. “I know.” The sound of the door slamming made him jump and his eyes light up with joy. “Papa!” He screeched and raced out to the front hall. Lori stayed put, let the kids have their daily greeting. She leaned back in the large leather chair and smiled as her eyes lit on the certificate from the Munich Brewing Institute.

  They’d moved to Germany when Hunter was about a year and a half, renting a small flat where Eli had played Mr. Mom and had excelled at it, cooking like a mad man every day, if leaving huge messes behind him. He made his way all over Munich with the boy in tow, museums, breweries, quaint little shops. As a toddler, Hunter had been an excellent companion, seeming to study everything around him even then, his huge green eyes taking it all in. And Eli was never anything but “Papa” to him, which seemed perfect to them all.

  She plucked the photo out of the corner of the framed certificate, the one from Garrett’s fridge, of her and him laughing, happy, carefree. She put it back, stretching her legs out and wincing at the familiar pain in her back. They’d returned to Michigan with her certification, and pregnant again. After Elsbeth was born, Lori had taken over as general manager of Brockton Brewing with Eli as production manager, handling the newly successful lager series like a pro.

  They didn’t get married until she was about eight months along with Elsbeth, in a small, subdued ceremony in the pub. After exchanging simple titanium bands, they’d kissed, and Eli had cradled the baby between them, like he had that day in the brewery office. The day she’d finally come to her senses, stopped fighting fate, and her life took its new course.

  The screeching and laughing in the hallway took on a decidedly rambunctious edge, but tiredness closed in on her as it did lately at this time of day. She smiled at the sight of her husband in the office doorway, draped in their children, Elsbeth on one shoulder and Hunter hanging off his right bicep. “I seem to have developed some growths, wife.” He intoned, shaking them so they giggled. “Do you have a solution?” She shook her head, tears suddenly close to the surface.

  “Okay, off me you urchins. Get back to the mines. We’ll bring you some gruel later, if you’ve made your quotas.”

  He set them down, knelt to kiss each of them on the forehead and shoved them out the door.

  “Off to the mines!” The little girl marched, her brother shrugged and followed her.

  Lori watched, loving him, loving her life, but her eyes kept coming back to the photo. Eli pulled
her to her feet, then sat and tugged her onto his lap. She snuggled into his neck, relishing that mix of malt and hops he carried around with him everywhere.

  The vine that decorated his skin, that permeated her life on so many levels, peeked out from his shirt collar. She traced it with her tongue, making him shiver. “Cut that out, unless you want to fit in a quickie before dinner. And I’m afraid the troops won’t wait.” He cupped her breast, pressed his lips to hers.

  “Mmm…later, then?”

  “It’s a date,” He touched her belly. “Hear that in there? Get ready to close your eyes. Mama and Papa need some alone time.” She sighed and stood. He stayed seated, pressed her hand to his lips and then lifted her shirt and kissed the hard bump of her stomach. She smiled and laced her hands in his long hair. “God, I love you like this.” He shifted, encumbered by growing desire.

  “Yeah, but this is it, mister. We agreed. I’m all done. You’re gonna have to find a fresh wife to knock up and indulge your creepy pregnancy fetish.” He looked up at her.

  “Sounds like a plan to me. Might let you watch, you naughty first wife you.” He grinned and smacked her ass as she walked away. Lori took the photo out of the certificate as she passed, and put it into the desk drawer. Eli stopped her and held her close. “I love you Lori.”

  She smiled as he led her to the kitchen, and into the bright light of their life together.

  The End

  About Liz Crowe

  Microbrewery owner, best-selling author, beer blogger and journalist, mom of three teenagers, and soccer fan, Liz lives in the great Midwest, in a major college town. Years of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as an ex-pat trailing spouse, plus making her way in a world of men (i.e. the beer industry), has prepped her for life as erotic romance author.

  When she isn’t sweating inventory and sales figures for the brewery, she can be found writing, editing or sweating promotional efforts for her latest publications.