I’m elbow-deep in beer taps when two of my brothers, Donnie and Alfie, saunter into the brewery, the familiar jingle of the entrance bell announcing their arrival. Donnie, with his unruly beard, and Alfie, perpetually wearing a beanie no matter the weather, make an odd pair as they sidle up to the bar with mischievous grins plastered across their faces.
“Charlie, my man!” Donnie greets me with an exaggerated and awkward hug from across the bar, nearly knocking a tray of empty glasses from my hands.
“Easy there, D. Glasses are expensive,” I chuckle, giving him a brotherly shoulder check.
“What's up, Charlie?” Alfie raises his hand for a high-five, and I oblige. “We need your genius to settle an argument for us.”
I glance at the clock above the bar. “Argument? I thought you two were handling Mom’s party?”
Alfie nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! We want it to be the bash of the century. Not every year dear ol’ Barbie turns 60!”
“Well, it better be better than last year’s. That clown incident scarred Aunt Martha for life,” I quip.
They both burst into laughter, and the three of us brainstorm ideas for Mom’s birthday party. It’s a good distraction from the everyday grind of running the brewery. I’m caught between Donnie’s grand ideas for the party and Alfie’s instance on involving a petting zoo. Donnie swears she’s wanted a miniature pony since the 80s. I think Alfie just wants an excuse to play with baby goats.
Once they throw around themes like “Tropical Tiki Extravaganza” and “Medieval Mead Mayhem,” I know it’s time to put an end to their schemes. Nothing good will come out of either of their brains at this point.
“Moving on…” I say, passing each of them another beer, hoping that’s enough to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“So, Charlie,” Donnie smirks, taking a sip. Dammit, I don’t trust that look. “You’ve been avoiding the Callum Conundrum. What’s the deal, man? You not gonna give the new guys a hard time?”
I chuckle, wiping down the bar absentmindedly. “I’m not the hazer, guys. I’m the peacekeeper. Besides, Callum seems like a decent guy.”
Alfie raises an eyebrow. “Not the hazer? Are you forgetting the months you spent convincing her it was called ‘hops’ because it was really dried grasshoppers?”
Donnie snorts a laugh into his beer, clearly remembering what Alfie is talking about before adding, “And decent? Is that all you got? He’s been in town, what, two weeks now? Give us the dirt.”
“First off, Emily deserved that shit. She spent her whole first week furious that our tequila wasn’t tequila cuz it didn’t have one of those creepy worm things in it. And we don’t even call it tequila, so there’s that,” I say to Alfie before turning my attention to Donnie. “And second, he’s a brewer, not a reality show contestant,” I say, glancing toward the entrance. And right on cue, Callum strolls in, and I swear the temperature in the room seems to rise by a few degrees. His brown hair is tousled from the wind outside, and his shirt has a smudge of something bright purple on it. But what stands out the most is the bright pink unicorn backpack, I’m assuming must be Georgie’s, slung over one shoulder.
Donnie reaches awkwardly across the bar to slap me like he’s trying to get my attention, even though I’m already looking. Brothers, I swear.
“Speak of the devil. Here comes Callum, the brewmaster of our hearts,” Donnie coos.
I glance over, and Callum stands there, looking like he’s about to face the firing squad.
I can’t help but laugh at the not-so-subtle teasing, but I feel a pang of sympathy for Callum. New guy in town, new job, and now he’s got the three stooges at the bar, giving him a hard time. I give him a nod and a smile, trying to signal that he’s not alone.
Callum shoots me a quick nod as he heads behind the bar to start his shift. Donnie and Alfie exchange mischievous glances, and suddenly, I can sense a storm brewing, and it has nothing to do with the beer taps.
“You know, Charlie,” Alfie says, leaning in conspiratorially but making no attempt to lower his voice. “You could make things interesting around here. Spice up the workday drama.”
Donnie grins. “Yeah, give Callum a run for his money. It’ll be hilarious.”
I’m not sure I like where this is going, but they're already plotting before I can voice my concerns. Ideas fly around—switching labels on the beer taps, hiding Callum’s tools, replacing the malt with cocoa powder. It’s like I’m in the middle of a bad sitcom, and I’m the reluctant protagonist.
I glance at Callum, who’s concentrating on setting up for the evening rush. He’s unaware, or at least pretending to be unaware, of the storm brewing behind him, both metaphorically and literally, as Alfie accidentally knocks a pint glass off the counter.
But the storm catches up to him when Donnie suggests they fill Callum’s shampoo bottle with blue food coloring. I don’t know why they’re picking on the poor guy, but it’s time to put a stop to this nonsense.
“Guys, come on. Callum hasn’t even been here a month. Let’s give him a break and not send him running back to Denver, yeah?” I protest, trying to maintain some semblance of order in the maelstrom that is my brothers.
Callum, sensing the conversation is about him, turns around. “Give me a break? What’s going on?”
Donnie and Alfie exchange glances before bursting into laughter. “Oh, nothing, Callum. Just… plotting the downfall of the new brewer,” Donnie says, chuckling. I swear, the man is barely a year younger than me, but acts like he’s twelve. And the giant wildling next to him isn’t much better.
Callum narrows his eyes at the two. “Downfall? You guys think this is a game?”
I step forward, trying to defuse the situation. “Hey, Callum, it’s just some harmless banter. My brothers are just idiots who are entirely too easily entertained.”
He sighs, glancing between the three of us. “Harmless, huh?”
Donnie and Alfie exchange a sly look before bursting into laughter. I shoot them a warning glance, but it’s too late. The damage is done.
“Come on, man, we’re just messing with you,” I say, trying again to put things at ease. “These two are a couple of clowns.”
“You promised never to bring up clowns again!” Alfie wails. The idiot.
Callum doesn’t seem entirely convinced, and the tension in the air thickens. As they continue their good-natured ribbing, I catch Callum shooting me a look. It’s a mix of confusion and something else I can’t quite place. My gut tightens as I realize I might have inadvertently given him the wrong impression about all this.
Just as we’re all caught up in this ridiculous conversation, Callum’s bag vibrates under the bar top. We all exchange confused glances, and Callum digs his phone from the front pocket. He reads the message, and a mix of frustration and amusement crosses his face.
“Sorry, guys. Duty calls. Georgie’s teacher needs me to bring her a change of clothes. Seems like glitter glue was involved in an unfortunate accident.”
We all laugh, imagining the chaos of a glitter glue explosion. Callum glances at the three of us troublemakers and shakes his head. “Leave off the hazing plans while I’m gone, yeah?” he says, his tone sharp, before tugging his bag over his shoulder and storming off, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.
Donnie and Alfie freeze, their eyes wide.
“Well, that went well,” Alfie mutters.
I shoot him a glare. “Ya think?” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Smooth, guys. Real smooth.”
* * *
The night wears on, and the atmosphere in the brewery becomes increasingly awkward once Callum returns from his run to Georgie’s school. Donnie and Alfie try to lighten the mood with their usual antics, but the damage has been done. I catch glimpses of Callum through the shelves of beer kegs throughout the night, and he’s clearly still fuming. It doesn’t take long for me to realize the mess I’ve stepped into. My brothers meant well, in their own weird way, but they took it too far. Callum’s not just the brewer; he’s a single dad trying to make a living to support himself and Georgie. I can’t imagine the stress he’s under, and now my brothers and I have made his first weeks on the job even harder.
Finally, as the last customer heads out, I decide it’s time to fix this mess. I find Callum in the back, heading toward the main storage room.
“Callum, wait up,” I call, jogging to catch up with him.
He turns, arms crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and disappointment. “Not now, Charlie.”
“Yes, now. At least let me explain,” I press, unwilling to let the night go without settling things between us.
“Fine. You want to do this now? What the hell was that earlier, Charlie? I thought you were supposed to be the sane one,” he snaps.
“I am, I swear. I had no idea they would go that far,” I say, genuinely apologetic.
Callum lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t need this right now. I’m trying to make this work, to make a good impression, and now they think I’m a fucking joke. I’m just trying to make a good life for Georgie here, and it feels like I’m back in high school with the hazing bullshit. I’ve had my fair share of frat boy shit in the past, and I’m just not up for it. Especially not now. I’ve got Georgie to think about. I’m not risking my career on a stupid prank. ”
“You’re not a joke, Callum. You’re a damn good brewer, and I’m sorry my brothers made you feel otherwise.”
He looks at me for a moment, as if assessing the sincerity of my words. “I just don’t want to feel like I have to prove myself to fit in. Been there, done that, don’t want the t-shirt. I’ve got a daughter to set an example for.”
I nod my understanding. “I get it. And I’m sorry if it seemed like we were planning something mean-spirited. We’re just a bunch of knuckleheads here, and sometimes, we forget that not everyone is in on the joke. Let me make this right. I’ll make sure they don’t pull anything,” I promise. “And if they try anything, I’ll be the first to put an end to it… and kick their asses. Advantage of being the older brother,” I say with a grin. “You’re part of the team, Cal, and we’ve got your back.”
He eyes me for a moment before nodding. “Thanks, Charlie. I appreciate that.”
I watch as he walks away, a weight settling in my chest as he rounds the corner into the storeroom. I can’t let Callum feel unwelcome or that anyone here is out to get him, especially not with everything he’s juggling. I need to put an end to my brother’s shit and make sure Callum knows he’s already part of the family here without needing to prove himself to anyone.
* * *
The next day, before my shift, I corner Donnie and Alfie in the coffee shop up the street from the brewery where Alfie is working, and Donnie is holding court with the mob of little old ladies. I pull them into the back corner, away from prying eyes and ears, giving them a stern look, arms crossed, ready to lay down the law.
“Alright, you two,” I begin, my voice low and serious. “Callum’s had enough to deal with since moving here. He doesn’t need you two idiots making things harder for him. No pranks. No initiation, no hazing. Got it?”
Donnie and Alfie exchange glances, guilt and a bit of annoyance written all over their faces. “You sound like dad,” Alfie mumbles.
“Yeah, well, I kinda feel like him right now, having to police two grown fucking adult men to make sure they don’t pull pranks like they’re back in high school!” I retort, not letting them off the hook. “Callum’s a good guy, and he’s got enough on his plate without your juvenile antics. So, from now on, be decent human beings and leave the guy alone.”
They nod, sufficiently chastised, and I can only hope they’ll take my words to heart. From the very beginning, all of us involved with the Spirit of Hops have wanted it to be a place where everyone feels welcome, especially someone like Callum, who’s trying to build a life for himself and his daughter. I can’t help if I feel weirdly protective of them. It’s probably just a result of the less-than-stellar welcome to town I gave them. But regardless of why, I feel like it’s my personal responsibility to make sure they are happy and want to settle in Rapids Bay.
Over the next few days, I make a conscious effort to include Callum in conversations whenever possible, and invite him out for drinks at Valkyrie with the crew after work a couple of times. Slowly, Callum relaxes around us, the tension in his shoulder easing day by day. We find a rhythm, working seamlessly together behind the bar. We chat about everything from beer preferences to Georgie’s latest escapades. It turns out she’s quite the budding little artist, and Callum proudly shows me a drawing she made he keeps tucked in his wallet.
The more I get to know Callum, the more I realize how genuine and caring he is. He’s not just a talented brewer; he’s a devoted father doing his best to create a good life for his daughter.
One evening, about a week after the incident, I find Callum alone at the bar after closing time, nursing a beer. I take a seat beside him, a comfortable silence settling between us.
“You know, Charlie,” he begins, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I wasn’t sure about this place at first. But you’ve made it feel like home. Thanks for having my back.”
I raise a non-existent glass in a toast. “Hey, what are friends for?”
Callum chuckles, clinking his real glass against my fake one. “Seriously though, thanks. It means a lot.”
We sit in companionable silence, the hum of the empty taproom around us. As I steal a glance at Callum, I can’t help but feel a warmth spreading through my chest—a feeling that goes beyond simple friendship. It’s something I’ve been noticing more and more over the last few days, and I’ve tried not to overthink it. Enjoying the warm fuzzies just being around him seems to give me.
Maybe it’s the shared laughter, the easy friendship, or that Callum is an all-around good guy. Whatever it is, I find myself looking forward to the days ahead, eager to see where this unexpected journey with Callum will lead.