Paradise Hops (3 page)

He had given her an eyebrow waggle that made her giggle in spite of her serious message. “Talk about what? Us? I mean, did I miss something?”

“No, smart ass. About all this automation stuff. I mean, I agree it’s gotta be done, but some of these people have worked here practically their entire lives and they would be the first to get replaced by machines or computers.” She recalled the feel of his hand, warm, non-threatening as he had leaned in to her ear.

“No one gets let go from Brockton, unless they deserve it. Deal?”

 She’d moved away from him, alarmed at the warning signs her body had sent her. From the tingle in her scalp to the warm glow starting in her belly, it all made her more nervous than she cared to admit. By the end of that day, she’d looked up to find him half sitting on her temporary desk in the ordering department. The entire room watched them. Lori sometimes hated it that the whole damn place knew her story and wished for something resembling a private life. But, she’d grown up in this building, been brought here as a baby, learned to walk among fermenters, and these people were her family.

“Hey, Lori.”

She’d tried to avoid his eyes, but his presence sucked up all the oxygen in the room. He simply would not be ignored. “Can I help you?” She attempted to keep it businesslike. Mrs. Anderson, the oldest employee in the place and un-crowned matriarch, had stifled a giggle behind her. Lori had rolled her eyes and was gratified to see his huge, warm smile, yet again.

“Yes, as a matter of fact you can,” he went on to request a complex sales study that would take her a solid day to complete. She’d frowned, half disappointed, half relieved that he hadn’t been there to ask her out or something. Then he’d winked, and left. Her skin pebbled in the car at the memory of watching his broad, suit-covered shoulders retreat.

Then, three days ago, he’d plopped down next to her while she ate a salad in the break room. He kept tossing an apple in the air and catching without looking at it, which had unnerved her. He was so comfortable in his skin and so unaware of his effect on her it made her aggravated, and something else—something she had not allowed herself to feel for years. “I have tickets to the hockey game this weekend. Would you like to come with me? Because I’d like it, I mean, that is…. Oh, hell. Do you even like hockey?” He’d blushed and let the apple roll across the floor when he missed. Lori had stayed quiet, looked down at the bowl of lettuce and tomato she’d grabbed on the way out the door this morning.
Was this it? The moment she would finally let go of the fear?
She looked back into Garrett’s eyes. They were earnest, questioning, and eager.

“Sure.” She’d said. “I love it. I am from Michigan, after all. What time?”

Lori wrestled open the back brewery door, ears already ringing from the curses that echoed through the large, brightly lit room. The brewery boys and three second brewers stood in a line, like they were in a marine barracks all looking as nervous as mice observed by a very hungry cat.

“And, who the fuck,” boomed a voice, “might you be? No one told me there was a girl brewer in this place.”

As a reflex, Lori looked around, seeking out the female who’d pissed off the faceless angry voice that must belong to Eli Buchanan their new master brewer. She’d been instrumental in convincing her father to hire the guy. He was a brewing celebrity, a genius, temperamental, and prone to quit perfectly good breweries if the mood suited him. He was exactly what Brockton needed. They had to get past their staid, complacent attitude in a rapidly changing craft beer environment.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you. The one who showed up fifteen minutes late for my morning staff meeting.” She flushed, frowning at the line of men, many of whom had worked for her father for years, as they shuffled their feet and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Who the hell are you, and why are you on my brewery floor?”

She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders, and channeled the anger building in her chest. “I’m Lori. Lori Brockton. This is the first day of my brewery rotation.” She hated how thin her voice sounded.

“Your brewery rotation eh?” She stumbled back at the vision that emerged from between towering stainless steel fermentation vessels. “What is this? Brewing Day Camp? I’m supposed to babysit the Brockton kids?” He glared at her, making her blink in the glare of his bright, steely blue gaze. Eli Buchanan was larger than life. At least six foot five, with long blonde hair held back by a small piece of leather. Clad in light blue jeans and a Brockton Brewing grey T-shirt, the span of his shoulders and definition of his torso forced an exhale from Lori’s lips. He kept quiet as her eyes took him in, from rubber boot clad feet to the light red hair covering his jaw. “Well? See anything you like?” He glared at her.

“Uh, no, I mean, it’s not camp. I mean, you are…I’m….” she stuttered, then stopped. The man remained stock still, still holding her gaze as if challenging her. She stood up straighter. “I’m here for the next six months to learn this part of the business. You know, so I can be your boss someday.” He frowned at her. She frowned back.

Then he tilted his head back and laughed, stepped into her personal space and smacked her ass so hard she yelped. “I look forward to that day girl Brockton. Yes, I do.” A couple of the men started forward as if to protect her, but she waved them back. This asshole had another thing coming if he thought she’d be intimidated by him. As much as she felt she should have been, something about him was as non-threatening as Garrett, but in a different way—a much more spine-tingling way.

The following ten hours of back breaking work nearly made her throw in the towel. But, after an hour scraping out the last of a twenty barrel’s worth of wet, heavy spent mash—the leftover grains from a batch of beer made on their smaller system, she felt sore as hell, but invigorated. The smells, sounds, and sights in this heartbeat of the entire operation—the reason all three hundred of her father’s employees came to work every day—this she loved.

“Brockton!” An angry voice behind her made her jump. Wet, sticky malt grains dripped from her face where she’d accidently splashed some onto herself as she cleaned out the large vessel. She swiped at them, smearing even more of the mess across her cheeks. Without warning, Eli wiped her face with a clean white towel, his touch surprisingly tender, lingering longer than necessary. But his frown stayed stuck in place. She stepped away from him, confused and aggravated by her own automatic response to his brief touch.

“Some guy in a tie is looking for you,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder but didn’t move. Lori had no experience with hypnosis, but she’d swear at that moment he’d done it to her. They locked eyes. Then the sound of harder heeled shoes on the concrete floor forced her look past him. Garrett’s bright smile was familiar, yet somehow strange and out of place at the same time.

“I’m actually here to see you, Eli.” Garrett stuck out a hand and the other man looked at it, glanced in Lori’s direction, then back over before gripping it without a smile. “Glad to have you on board.”

Eli took his hand back, and swiped at it with the towel he’d used on her face. If he noticed the rude gesture, Garrett didn’t indicate it in the slightest. Impressed, Lori moved a step closer to him and glared at the tall, arrogant, blonde man.

Eli shot her an unfathomable look, but spoke to Garrett. “Sorry, but no suits in the brewery. Wouldn’t want to get you messy.” He walked away, waving over his shoulder. “Glad to be on board, boss, thanks.” The sarcasm dripped from his words like venom. Garrett turned to her, his handsome face calm, as if the odd exchange with the rude employee had never happened.

He stepped close and whispered in her ear. “What’s up his ass?” She shrugged and leaned the trowel she’d been using for the last hours against the wall. Rolling out the stiffness in her upper back, she sighed when Garrett tugged her into his arms, the connection surprising but pleasant all at once. “Mmm…you smell great,” he muttered into her hair, pressing soft kisses along her jaw and neck. Lori relaxed, realizing this was as far as they’d gotten two nights ago on her front porch before he’d given her an utterly mind blowing kiss and then sauntered back to his car, leaving her open-mouthed and wanting more.

Feeling strong and unafraid for the first time in years, she molded herself into his lean frame, the expensive wool fabric pleasant against her exposed arms, the warm, malty smell of the day’s brew still filling her nose. She pulled them into an alcove between the small brew house platform and a nearby fermenter. Her body sent a cacophony of mixed signals to her brain—fear at letting go, utter terror at the touch of his hands mixed with a pure burst of lust that left her breathless.

The sudden vision of Eli, the single day’s memory of his large hands, rough jaw and strutting attitude shot through her brain, making her gasp and pull away. Garrett tilted her face up to his, concern in his eyes. “You okay? I’m sorry. I guess seeing you covered in sticky malt turns me on. Sick, I know.” He shrugged, and ran his thumb over her lips. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly freezing cold.

Garrett’s eyes darkened.  He slipped his jacket off, and tried to drape it around her shoulders. She stopped him. “No, no, Garrett, I’ll ruin it.”

He folded it over his arm and propped his other hand on the fermenter at her back.

“I gotta finish this, or he’ll make me stay all night. Guy hates my guts.”

Garrett chuckled. “I doubt that very much.” He pressed firm lips to hers once more, but she cut it short. “Anyway, sorry for attacking you like that.” He grinned which lifted her heart. “Can I take you out for a drink later? Beer? Wine? Coffee? Tap water? Anything, really, if I can only….” He sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, so close she felt it—the unmistakable press of an erection. White hot anxiety made her gasp, turned the room an eerie shade of orange as her vision narrowed, and her body went into flight mode.

She struggled out of his embrace, unwilling to let him see how lame she was but knowing if he held her much longer she’d likely scream and run away, and that would be a disaster. She grabbed the nozzle and started spraying out the inside of the metal container, holding back tears with everything she had. Garrett was a good man. He wouldn’t hurt her, but she obviously was not ready for much more than a few kisses. Poor guy. She should cut him loose now. Let him find somebody normal.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He tossed his suit coat onto a stack of malt bags, took the hose from her hands and turned it off. “Didn’t mean to rush you. Sorry for being so pushy.” The noise of the slowly cooling metal vessels, the clank, clunk of their contracting sides filled the silence. He reached out and touched her cheek with a fingertip, pulling it back with a single tear quivering from the end. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying.

He started to speak, at the same time she opened her mouth to tell him why she was so skittish.

“Hey, love birds, cut the shit and let her finish!” Eli’s loud voice boomed through the space. “I would like to go home sometime today, if that’s okay with the boss lady there.” He sauntered over, plucked Garrett’s suit jacket off the malt bag as if touching road kill and handed it back to him. “Save yourself a dry cleaning bill and head out, Hunter. I’ll send your girlfriend after you soon enough.” Garrett ignored him, kept his eyes on Lori as he shrugged back into the dark blue coat. Straightening his tie, he turned and put a hand on Eli’s shoulder, making the other man blink.

“Take good care of this one, Buchanan.” Garrett’s voice dropped an octave lower, giving warning in spite of the jovial tone. “As you said, she is the boss lady.” The two men locked eyes, and Lori’s face warmed at the raw, testosterone-fueled tension between them. Garrett walked away without another word, leaving Eli glowering. And apparently pissed as hell—which he took out on her for the next two hours, making her wash down every exposed piece of stainless steel in sight. Twice.

Chapter Three

Lori sat behind the wheel of her car, sipping hot tea. She mentally braced herself for the day’s onslaught of hard labor, chemistry and math pop quizzes, not so subtle insults about her gender, her place in the company, and her overall contribution to humankind. The simple act of climbing out of her car turned into a battle with the myriad of aches in joints and muscles she didn’t even realize she had. Taking a deep breath, she opened the brewery door and was immediately assaulted by the strains of music so breathtakingly beautiful she took a step back, hand to her throat.

Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata
, one of the pieces she’d learned to play as a teenager and could likely still to that day, poured from the room. It wrapped around her like a blanket, pulled her forward into the comfortable space she’d come to love. The room was lit up like midday as always at five in the morning. A few brew boys scurried around in a hurry lest they be reamed out for laziness. She stepped in further as the piano reached the climax, booming through the expensive sound system, shooting straight to her heart. She hadn’t touched a piano keyboard since the night she’d been so badly hurt. She’d tried, but every time she did her fingers locked up, and the nausea choked her, so she’d stopped making the effort.