Written in the Stars (4 page)

“And what were you being punished for?”

Grace pulled a face. “I tended to be late for class. But mostly because I couldn't shut up. Isn't that a bunch of rubbish? I mean, what crime is there in talking? Can I help it if I have the gift of gab?”

“Maybe you had more fun than Sophia. Ever think of that?”

“Ha! Sweet little Sophia is a prankster with a wicked sense of humor. No, it's just that the quiet ones get away with everything. For example, if there was something broken, I would get blamed instead of my sister. She's got those big brown doe eyes that make her appear so innocent. And she had Garret wrapped around her little finger. Still does, the little minx.”

“So you were always being wrongly accused?”

She flicked a glance at him. “Well, no...I was almost always to blame...you know, clumsy and all that, but I at least deserved the benefit of the doubt, wouldn't you say?” She took a long pull from her bottle and then gave him a sideways look. “Oh, I just bet you're the good egg too. Strong, silent type. Hard worker. Dependable.” She gave his knee a little shove. “Come on, fess up. I'm usually pretty good at reading people right off the bat.”

“Think so, huh?” Mason thought he could read people too, but Grace was a bit of a mystery that he found himself wanting to explore. He chalked up his instant attraction to being so busy with the brewery that he had neglected his social life; being with her laughing and flirting had him realizing that he missed the company of a woman.

And it wasn't easy to make Mason laugh, at least not lately.

“Well?”

Mason shrugged and took a swig of ale, thinking he'd like another bottle after this one.

“Thought so.” She nodded slowly.

“Don't be so quick to judge,” Mason said, but in truth Grace had pretty much nailed his personality. Birth order had something to do with it—­he was the oldest. “I might have a few surprises up my sleeve.”

“I'm not judging. I despise judgmental people. Oh wait, is that being judgmental?”

Mason chuckled. “Really? Then what are you doing?”

“Assessing, maybe.”

“Oh, sizing me up, huh?”

“Let's go with getting to know you. You're avoiding the question, Mason.”

“Do you really think I'm that boring?”

“Hey, those were all good qualities that I mentioned.” Grace gave his knee another nudge, harder this time, making him think that the porter was kicking in. “I didn't say anything about you being boring, now, did I?”

“Not in so many words.”

“I didn't say it in any words. Are you kidding? I'm fascinated by the whole brewing process. Especially those giant teakettles out there.”

“Ah, that's the mash tun and boiling kettle.”

“The who and what kettle?”

“It's where the malted barley is soaked to release the sugars. This is important because the sugars are what the yeast eats during fermentation. When people refer to a malty beer, it really means it's a sweet beer.” He liked the direction of this conversation much better.

“Eats? I have this vision of little yeasty things gobbling up the barley like Pac-­Man.” She did an imitation of chomping with one hand.

Mason laughed. “You have quite an imagination.”

“Gets in the way of normal thinking sometimes.”

Mason chuckled and took a swig of his drink. “I somehow get the impression that there's nothing normal about you.” He gave her knee a nudge this time. “Am I right?”

“You would be right on the money. I just had a similar chat with my mother.”

“Ah, thought so.”

Grace chuckled. “But, seriously, this is interesting stuff, Mason.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean it. When I know how something is produced, I have a better understanding and appreciation for it. Do go on.”

“Brewing beer dates back over seven thousand years. I could give you the whole history, but then you really would think I'm boring.”

“We might not have to go that far, but I would love a tour of the brewery sometime.”

“I can arrange that. I happen to know the owner.”

Grace laughed softly. “Well, you were right about one thing. This chocolate porter packs quite a punch, especially on an empty stomach. Last thing I ate was my not-­good-­for-­me cheeseburger and fries. And that was, like, ages ago.”

“Does that mean you're ready for another one?”

“A cheeseburger? Do you have one in your pocket?”

“Let me check...ah no. But I can get you another ale.”

“You're reading my mind, but not until the tornado warning is lifted. Let's not tempt fate twice. I can wait.”

“Well, I can't.” When Mason pushed up to his feet, Grace joined him. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Coming with you, of course.”

“No, you're not.”

“Um, watch me.” She took step closer, clearly meaning business.

“What about the flying cows?”

“I'll take my chances,” she announced firmly.

“Are you always this bossy?”

“Yes, without fail.”

“Okay, then, take my hand. I don't want to have to fish you out of the fermentor.”

“You mean that big vat of frothy stuff?”

“Yeah.” Mason reached over and took her hand.

“Enough said.”

Although he didn't mean for there to be anything personal about the touch, Mason liked the feel of her small hand protectively tucked within his grip. He really didn't think they were in much danger, or he wouldn't go out into the main building, and the storm sounded less fierce than it had a while ago. The flashlight illuminated the way to the fridge, where Mason located two more chocolate porters. He handed one to Grace. “I need both hands, so stay close, okay?”

“I get lost easily, as you already know,” Grace said, and looped her arm through his. “I'm staying glued to your side through this maze of beer-­brewing stuff.”

Mason didn't mind one bit that she had her arm hooked with his as he weaved his way past the machinery. “Well, I'll be happy to get you up to the bistro or wherever you're staying tonight. If your car is too wet, I'll toss your luggage in my truck.”

“Thank you. I was going to stay with Sophia while I visit, but she has to get up at the crack of dawn to work at the bistro. I'm a night owl and I tend to play my music fairly loud. And as already mentioned, I talk way too much for her liking. I love Sophia to pieces and we get along famously for the most part, but we are on totally different schedules. Even though she offered, to be fair to her I'm going to rent a cabin here at the marina. I would drive the poor thing crazy.”

“One of our cabins on marina property, I guess. Danny takes care of the rentals.”

“Oh, I suppose so. My visit was sort of last-­minute after my rather unexpected career move, so I don't have a lot of details nailed down.”

“We'll get it figured out.” Mason stopped by the bathroom door. “I think we can sit here and lean against the wall. The worst seems to be over.” He sat down and patted the space beside him.

“That's a relief.” Grace joined him and then opened her ale. “I hope the electricity comes on soon.”

Mason blew out a sigh. “Me too. I'll find out which cabin you're staying in and take you there. The keys are over at the office, where I got the dry clothes. Your cabin will be within walking distance of the bistro, I'm guessing.”

“Good, I don't mind walking. I did a lot of hoofing it while living in London.”

Grace's comment reminded Mason how very different their backgrounds were and that after her stay in Cricket Creek she would likely be moving back to London. But just when he thought he'd better keep his distance, her leg brushed against his, and damn if he didn't want to lean over and plant a kiss right on her pretty mouth. Must have been the kick of the strong chocolate porter, the intimacy of the storm, the muted, thick darkness, and that sexy voice of hers making his mind go places it shouldn't have. “So when will you go back? I guess you have a job waiting in London?”

“I'm actually in between jobs at the moment.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. That's too bad.”

“Thanks, but not really.” Grace shrugged. “Once the challenge is over I get bored. I don't like staying in one place too long either. I liked traipsing all over Europe, exploring. I don't like the feeling of being tied down, I suppose. You?”

“Other than a couple of years away at the University of Kentucky, Cricket Creek has always been my home.”

“A couple of years?”

“Much to my parents' dismay, I dropped out of college to go on the pro bass-­fishing circuit.”

“You can make a living catching fish?”

“If you're good at it.” He rested his wrists on his bent knees, letting his beer bottle dangle between his legs.

“And were you?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It was pretty much my dream to go pro from the time my father taught me how to cast into the water.”

“You were hooked?”

Mason chuckled. “Good way of putting it. Of course, growing up on a marina helped me hone my skills. The water has always been my playground.” Just thinking about it made him want to get out in his boat. He took a swallow of ale.

“So why did you give up on your dream?” she asked quietly.

Mason toyed with the swing top on his bottle. He didn't usually like talking about giving up competitive fishing, but there was something about Grace that had him opening up. “The recession hit Cricket Creek hard. The town relies a lot on tourism, and the shops up on Main Street struggled for a few years. Some even closed. With no extra money to spend boating and fishing, the marina was hit hard too.”

“Oh, that makes sense. But why did you have to quit pro fishing if you were making money at it?”

“My dad's health. The stress of hanging on to the marina did a number on his heart. I had to come home to help out. I didn't want my family to lose the marina. It's been in our family for years. My family means more to me than fishing.”

“But the marina seems to be thriving now, right? If you don't mind me asking, why didn't you go back out there and chase your dream?”

Mason inhaled a deep breath.

“Sorry. I shouldn't pry. I guess I am a...what did you call it?”

“Busybody. Hey, no, it's okay. Being a busybody goes hand in hand with living in a small town,” Mason said lightly. “News and gossip travel like wildfire.” He'd never really talked about how much it bothered him to have to quit or the girlfriend who'd dumped him when he gave up his career. He didn't want his parents to feel guilty that he had been on the cusp of hitting the big time. But for whatever reason, he didn't mind talking about it with Grace. “By the time I got back onto the competitive circuit, the technology had changed. I was pretty far behind the young guys trained by coaches on college fishing teams.”

“They have college fishing teams?”

“Yeah, and in a lot of high schools now too. It's a fast-­growing sport, relying a lot on GPS technology that helps find fish and mark locations. Bait is important, and even that is becoming something of an art. It's all about color and how it moves through the water. Fish, especially bass, can be damned picky.”

“I just think of worms when it comes to fishing.”

“All of the bait in pro fishing is artificial. I made a lot of my own, and if a certain kind of bait won a tournament, well, selling the design could make you a ton of money. Trust me—­it's much more than casting a hook into the water.”

“So did you try to get back into it at least?”

“At the insistence of my father. I was back on the tour for a year and lost a ton of money, lost my sponsors, which included the use of a bass boat. Unless I wanted to sink my own past earnings into trying another year, I was done. Entry fees and the cost of traveling along with upkeep on a bass boat is an incredible amount of money.”

“So you invested in the brewery instead.”

Mason nodded. “It was a hobby I had for a long time. I knew, for whatever reason, I had a knack for it. And what can I say? I love a well-­crafted beer.”

“I think that anytime you get to be creative and love what you do, it makes work so much more fulfilling.”

“And by living in Cricket Creek I can still help out at the marina. My parents have come back home for the birth of Mattie and Garret's baby, but they will still winter in central Florida. They have lots of friends down there now, and they fish in a co-­ed bass-­fishing club that travels all around the state.”

“It sounds like your parents have a great marriage and have fun together.”

“Oh, like everyone else, they have their moments, but, yeah, you're right. I can't even imagine them not being together.”

“Rare these days.”

“I suppose.” Mason shrugged. “I guess you're right, but there seems to be a fair amount of happy couples in Cricket Creek. Maybe it's the small-­town lifestyle and old-­fashioned values...oh, hey, I didn't meant to infer that that if you're from the city—”

“It's okay.” Grace put a brief, gentle hand on his knee. “I get what you're saying. No offense taken. So go on.”

“Plus, I'm still needed here too.” When Grace fell silent, he gave her little nudge. “What, no more questions?”

“I'm just sorry that you had to quit fishing when you were so close to fulfilling a lifelong dream. Does it bother you?”

Mason hesitated to talk to her about such personal things, but whether it was the chocolate porter or her company, he felt himself confiding in her. “Well, yeah, I admit that it gets to me now and then, but I didn't like all of the time spent on the road. Fishing tournaments meant lots of travel, sometimes for weeks on end. When you're not winning, it becomes a grind. So does living out of hotels and campers. Then again, maybe I just didn't have the courage to go out there again after a year of failure.”