I tear down the familiar streets of my hometown in my beat-up old Ford truck; the wind gusting through the open window as my phone blares with yet another call from Mac, the head brewer at Spirit of Hops Brewstillery, where I am, at least for now, the bar manager. I have low confidence in my continued employment if my luck keeps up the way it’s been today.
Mac has been texting and leaving messages for longer than I want to admit today, sounding like a broken record.
“Charlie, where are you?”
“Charlie, we’re brewing today, and you pulled the short straw. You coming?”
“Dude, Charlie, you fucker, where are you?”
I swear the planets are aligned against me today or some shit. Not only did I oversleep this morning, but I had to run down to The Cities to pick up some supplies my brother Donnie conned me into getting him for his next art installation and then ran into insane traffic on the way back… on a Saturday!
My dumb ass forgot to plug my phone in last night, and my ancient truck can’t charge it, so I only saw the messages from Mac about ten minutes ago when I got home before turning around and running out again, cursing up a blue streak.
I fucking hate letting people down like this. I’m not a flakey person, I swear, but I must have some sort of bad juju or curse, or I pissed off the wrong witch at some point in my life because I have the worst luck of anyone on the damn planet. And now I’m frantically weaving through the usually quiet streets of Rapids Bay, trying to get to the brewery, salvage what I can of my shift, and make the rest up to Mac.
As I approach the last stop sign in my neighborhood before I hit Main Street, the notification for yet another message from Mac comes in when I realize I’m going too fast. And just my fucking luck, there is another car sitting at the intersection. I slam on the brakes, tires screeching, but it’s too late. The sickening sound of metal meeting metal fills the air as I rear-end the car.
“Fuck a fucking duck,” I curse under my breath, quickly tossing my phone onto the passenger seat and ripping the keys from the ignition before shoving open my door. My annoyance surges, and I mutter a string of colorful curses as I climb out of my truck. This is the last thing I need right now.
“Damn it!” I curse under my breath, surveying the minor damage to my truck before turning my attention to the person my shitty luck has inconvenienced. I can’t believe I will be even more late to work. I approach the vehicle I hit, a Subaru with out-of-state plates and a bumper sticker that reads, “Peace, Love, and Craft Beer.”
The guy in the other car doesn’t look thrilled either, and he has every right to be upset. “I’m so sorry, man,” I say, trying to sound sincere as I assess the damage to his car. “I’ll take care of it. Whatever the car needs, I’ve got it covered. My brother’s the mechanic in town. He’s a wizard with cars. We’ll handle it,” I ramble, my words getting away from me without really registering what I’m saying.
The guy in front of me is surprisingly calm, given the situation. He’s average height, around my age, maybe an inch or two shorter than me, with sandy brown, slightly disheveled hair and a scruffy beard. Before I can continue my rambling, I notice the reason for his calm composure–a little girl strapped into a car seat in the back, trying to put on a brave face for her dad. She clutches a raggedy stuffed animal to her chest as her wide eyes stare at me.
“Hey there,” I say gently, leaning down to her eye level through the window. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re going to fix everything, I promise.” I give her a reassuring smile, and she sniffles, her lower lip quivering, but she gives me a little nod. I turn back to the man, who I assume is her father. He takes a deep breath, clearly trying to get himself under control.
“I’m so sorry,” I begin again, my frustration giving way to genuine concern. “Are you okay?”
“Well, accidents happen,” he says in a deceptively gentle tone, but I can hear the strain in his voice like he’s clenching his jaw. He then glances over his shoulder at the little girl and offers her a reassuring smile.
My heart sinks. “Is she okay?” I ask, genuinely concerned.
The man nods, crouching down next to the car door to comfort her. “We’re both a little rattled, but I think we’ll be fine.”
My gut churns with guilt for causing both of them this level of headache. “I’m really sorry. I’ll take care of all the repair costs, and like I said, my brother is a whiz with cars. He’ll get you fixed right up.”
He looks up at me, still comforting the girl. “That’s kind of you, but let’s just exchange insurance, and I can let you get on with your day.”
I nod in agreement, knowing that it makes the most sense. My heart still races, and I feel like the biggest idiot. I’ve never been in an accident before, and now I’ve not only fucked up my entire day as far as Mac is concerned, but I’m also going to get hell from my brothers for making such a boneheaded move.
I fumble for my wallet to retrieve my insurance information. “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll get everything fixed as soon as possible, I promise.”
The man nods, his concern softening into a small, understanding smile as he stands, pulling out his wallet. “Don’t worry about it. Accidents happen, and no one’s hurt, at least. And, well, I’m new in town, so I could use some local help. You mentioned a mechanic?”
Relief washes over me at his response, followed by another wave of embarrassment at my earlier word vomit, remembering what I had said. “Uh, yeah. My brother Donnie works at the garage in town. He’ll take care of you, no problem.”
His eyes brighten a bit at that, and he smiles again. “Sounds good. Take it you’re local then?”
“Born and raised,” I reply with a grin. “Charlie Larson, at your service.”
I extend my hand toward him, and he hesitates for a moment before shaking it. “Callum,” he says by way of introduction. “And this is Georgie,” he says, indicating the little girl.
I offer a warm smile to Georgie, who peeks out the window from the back seat. “Hey there, Georgie. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll get you guys fixed right up.”
“Well, Callum,” I begin, my words tumbling out in a rush again. “I hate to sound pushy, but I’m already running late for work… very late, actually. How about this? Follow me to the brewery in town, and I’ll make it up to you. You can enjoy a free beer while we get your car sorted, and I’ll get you both some dinner. My treat.”
Callum considers it for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as he glances at his daughter. I can tell he’s thinking about the offer, and I’m just praying he says yes. The last thing I need right now is to miss work entirely to deal with insurance claims. He looks back at me, his eyes searching for something. Maybe it’s reassurance, or perhaps he’s just weighing his options. But there’s something about his gaze that catches my attention.
“So, you work at the brewery?” Callum asks, his curiosity clearly piqued.
I nod, giving him a grin. “Yeah, I’m the bar manager there. At least for now, if my ass isn’t fired for being so late,” I say with a self-deprecating chuckle. “It’s a pretty great place, if I do say so myself. It’s a Brewstillery if you want to get technical, and we have an awesome mix of drinks on offer at any given time. You’ll love it, I promise. And it’s always family-friendly,” I reassure, tilting my head toward Georgie, not wanting to give him a reason to turn me down.
He glances at his daughter in the backseat, watching our interaction with wide eyes, and then back at me.
“So, what do you say? Follow me, grab some dinner, and we’ll sort out the rest after?” I say again, trying to sound as casual as possible, needing him to take me up on my offer but not wanting to come across as too pushy.
I watch as Callum considers my offer for a moment and can see he is about to refuse when the little girl calls out, “Daddy! Hungry! You like beer too, Daddy. Let him feed me!” Her little voice deepens and drags out the last two words in a comically exaggerated way that I can’t help but chuckle at. I watch her father’s resolve melt before my eyes at her plea.
“Well, clearly, the decision has been made. Whatever the boss says goes,” he says with a resigned sigh.
“Great! Just follow me, and we’ll get this all sorted out.”