“I don’t know what to tell ya, man. It’s not like I have nothing else going on in my life, so I have all the time in the world to sit and watch the carriage house like a hawk. There are other things to do, like, I don’t know, run our damn business?”
I love Luka, I really do, but if he asks me if I’ve talked to Wayne’s niece one more time, I am going to lose it. It’s been nearly a week since Luka first stormed into my office and demanded I talk to her. I’ve honestly tried, even if he doesn’t believe me. Every time I go over there or look over to see if anyone is there, she either isn’t around, or I get called into one issue or another around here. So no, I haven’t had a chance to talk to her, and I can’t say I’m all that sorry about it.
Luka is excellent with the business/money/numbers side of things, and I can honestly say the Spirit of Hops wouldn’t exist, much less be what it is today without him. Yet he really has no concept of what it takes to actually run this place day to day.
In the seven years since we opened, we have built this place from a hair-brained idea no one thought would take off into one of the most successful taprooms in the state. I’m a beer guy; Luka is all about spirits, so when we combined our passions into a single business, everyone laughed… and I mean everyone. No one had heard of a Brewstillery, especially not around here. I know other places that do craft beer and small-batch micro distilling exist, but not in our corner of the Midwest, that’s for sure. This place means everything to us, and that’s why I spend every single waking moment making sure it's running smoothly, from managing the staff in the taproom, to ordering supplies for the front and back of the house, to working with our head brewer and distiller on what we want to try next. There isn’t a moment of my day where I’m not actively working on or thinking about an issue with the business, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But that leaves me precious little time to chase after rogue nieces at all hours of the day.
“Well, I’m sitting in my office and can see her right now, taking another load out to that damn dumpster. Just see if she’ll move it around back or, hell, park a fucking bus beside it or something. I don't care. Just go fix it,” my partner barks before hanging up on me.
With a grumble and an eye roll, I push back from my desk and stomp out of my office, yelling, “Right away, your majesty!” as I pass Luka’s closed office door.
That stupid dumpster has been a thorn in my side since it was delivered five days ago, and Luka got a bug up his ass about it. Obviously, the old carriage house and Spirit of Hops share a parking lot because the buildings were once a single property. So when Wayne’s niece had one delivered, they dropped it in the parking lot. We have been spoiled pretty much since the beginning that Wayne’s side of the parking lot was never used, so we got full run of the space. Now Luka is bitching and moaning about the “eyesore on our property,” forgetting that we don’t already own the other building. So naturally, that’s my problem to fix.
I can’t deny I was surprised when she had the dumpster delivered. From the gossip I picked up around town, she is some crazy California type who didn’t even know who Wayne was before coming here. I fully expected her to take one look at the building and the town and hightail it back to Cali faster than you can say, “long-lost uncle.” I was honestly hoping for it, since that would make it so much easier for us to swoop in and take the unwanted place off her hands.
But for the last five days, there has been a constant stream of noise from the other side of the parking lot. I can only assume it means she’s been cleaning out the place. Maybe she’s cleaning it out to help sell it faster? One can only hope. And by one, I mean me.
With a sigh, I make my way across the parking lot and around the corner of the dumpster. I hear a string of colorful curses coming from the other side of what looks like a set of cabinets hanging precariously off the edge of the dumpster. Before registering the movement, I close the distance between myself and the cabinet and help shove it over the side.
“There ya go. You know, there’s a reason most people open up the door on one end of these things and, ya know… walk their shit in,” I say as I wipe my hands on my already dirty jeans. We got a shipment this morning, and I helped Mack, our head brewer, bring everything in.
“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” a husky feminine voice says from behind me, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, that's right, maybe because the guy that dropped this bitch off said it was welded shut, so not to bother? But clearly, a little ol’ woman like me must not know any better, right? What is it with the men in this town thinking women are nothing more than fucking kitchen appliances or warmer holes?”
Wow, okay then, frustration is one thing, but this level of open hostility is something I was not expecting, especially after helping her out of the goodness of my heart.
“You know, a thank you wouldn’t have been wrong,” I say, finally turning to face Wayne’s niece for the first time. My eyes snag on a shock of bright purple hair before quickly noticing the piercings and colorful tattoos filling almost every inch of visible skin below her neck.
“It’s you…” I say, doing a shit job of covering the shock running through me.
“It’s you,” she groans with a massive eye roll. “Douche canoe from the other day. Just lovely.”
“Douche canoe? Can’t say that's one I’ve been called before. Sounds… impressively sized,” I say with a smirk. Okay, maybe I’m not helping her with the assumptions she has of this town’s male population, but the angry spark in her eyes just calls to me.
“Are you kidding me? Talking that much shit out of your ass once, I can maybe forgive as an off day, but doubling down now? Is anyone seriously that level of asshole?” she snarks, throwing her hands to her narrow hips. I can’t help my eyes dragging over her thin frame, drawn to her tiny waist by her movements and the flash of perfectly creamy white skin on display between the band of her high-waisted leggings and the crop top she’s sporting. Dear god, she’s gorgeous. If you like the alternative, former emo or goth chick thing… which has never done it for me before, something about this woman’s sass is ringing all my bells.
“Why, is it working?” I tease, taking a sauntering step toward her.
“If by working you mean swinging me even further toward the lesbian end of the Kinsey Scale? Then sure. It’s working great.”
“Oh, that’s a visual I could get behind. Literally.”
“Scientists should study you… how to turn any woman fully lesbian in ten words or less.”
“Only if I get to watch,” I retort.
“Aaaaand I’m out,” she says, turning on the heel of her bright purple Converse to head back into the carriage house.
“Okay, okay, I’m done. No more threesome or voyeurism talk, promise. I’ll be a good little cub scout,” I say, following her and raising three fingers in a mock salute. As much as I want to keep riling her up, Luka will kick my ass if I can't get this shit done.
“There is no way you were ever a scout,” she tosses over her shoulder, not breaking her stride as she heads toward the back door.
“Got me again, but seriously. All joking aside, I’d like to meet the long-lost relative of that crazy old coot.”
That finally gets her attention, and she pauses, one hand on the back door handle, though she doesn’t turn to face me. Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it as a win for now.
“Name’s Kendric Davis. I knew Wayne pretty well before he got sick.” I pause, unsure if diving right in on the sales pitch would be the right move while I have her attention or if I should attempt to butter her up some more first.
“Before? So what, you dumped him like last week's hookup the moment he got sick and was too much of a burden?” Her sudden animosity gives me pause. As far as I, or anyone else, knew, Wayne didn’t have any family, and certainly, no one came around the last few years looking for him. What right does she have to get pissed over something she doesn’t have any chance of understanding?
“For your information, I played cards with him three times a week until… you know what? Never mind. All I wanted was to swing by and introduce myself and let you know I own the Brewstillery next door. If you are planning on selling at some point, my business partner and I would appreciate a heads up so we can put an offer in before it hits the market.”
With that, I spin and storm back toward the Spirit of Hops and my office without another word or waiting for her reaction. Could I have handled that a little better? Sure. Is Luka going to be pissed? Absolutely. But that asshole can just get off his lazy rear and go deal with… whatever her name is on his own. I’ve got more important things to do with my time than spend it sweet talking a judgemental wannabe from California, of all places.