Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“I…” I gaped at her in shock. I had never mentioned love to her. I was sure of it.
“And have you, or have you not, been moping about this house for the past two days, trying to figure out a way to show the man your affection and get back into his good graces after the debacle at the Tavern Saturday night?” She lifted a censorious eyebrow, and I winced. Honeybridge gossip was insidious… but in this case correct.
She nodded once, reading the answer to both of these questions from my face.
“Exactly as I thought. So, chop chop, darling.” She put an arm around Rosalia’s shoulder and ushered her from the room. “I’ll need help packing my things, Rosalia, dear. What slacks do I have that will coordinate with the gold Honeybridge Mead logo? Thank goodness I look amazing in gold. That’s our only saving grace.”
I stared after her for a moment, then slowly smiled.
Patricia Wellbridge was annoyingly image-obsessed. Often petty. Terrifyingly vindictive. But when she cared about something or someone, she was an absolute juggernaut.
And I was proud as fuck that she was my mother.
I had many, many questions for her, but apparently, they’d have to wait. For now, I had a bag to pack.
Even knowing that Flynn had left his phone behind, I continued to call and text him updates all morning. Partly it was because I wanted him to have a status update on the Meadery, if he was able to get his phone back, and partly because… well, I’d gotten used to texting him often, just to make him smile.
I wanted him to know I’d been thinking of him when he read those messages in the future. I wanted him to know I’d meant what I said Saturday—I wasn’t giving up. I was ready to fight for him—for us.
Now more than ever.
Me: All the mead is bottled. Swag packed and organized. Just boxing everything up now and I’ll see you in Portland.
Me: My mother is currently in the Tavern, talking to Dan, and trying to convince him to do Yogaerobics because his strong “Scorpio rising” energy needs an outlet. The look on his face, Flynn.
Me: Just talked to my boss. He went over my Brew Fest schedule. Apparently he thinks I don’t need to eat or sleep. Remind me why I ever enjoyed that job?
Me: You know, I used to help out at Pop’s shop a lot—probably more than you knew—and he’d make me sweep while I talked to him. Every damn time.
Me: And I’d get so into whatever I was saying that I wouldn’t pay attention to what my hands were doing, and he’d interrupt me. “I think you missed something, JT.” or “You missed a big thing right there, Frog.” Used to drive me crazy.
Me: But when I was talking to Conrad earlier, I swear I heard Pop’s voice in my head. I’ve been missing the obvious.
Me: I’ve figured out a solution. A plan that will let both of us have what we want. And fuck, I can’t wait to talk to you about this.
Me: I really, REALLY hope you’ll give me that chance, Firecracker.
“Are you sure he doesn’t need one of us in Boston with him?” I asked Alden for the third time while we hauled the last of the Runway Brew into the back of the refrigeration truck.
I was pouring sweat despite the refrigerated air, but it was nothing compared to the nervous stomachache I had worrying about Flynn and PJ.
“I’m sure. PJ’s probably just following his muse or whatever.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Flynn will track him down wherever he’s hiding out, chew him out for going off the grid, then hotfoot it back up here in time for the first Brew Fest events. Hopefully.” He chewed his lip. “Really wish he had a way to update us more often, though.”
When I hopped out of the truck, my phone buzzed. I nearly dropped it in my haste to answer. “Flynn!”
“Noooo,” Alice said suspiciously. “But if you’re expecting a call from the mead maker, should I assume you have good news about the contract?”
I grabbed the bar rag from my pocket and swiped at the sweat on my face. “No. Definitely not.” Flynn had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in Fortress, period, so that was that.
“Bummer. But then maybe Mr. Shaeffer was right. After Brew Fest, you could make a lower offer and convince him that Fortress is where he needs to be—”
“It’s off the table, Alice,” I said firmly. “I don’t do business that way. Conrad called me an hour ago to ream me out over taking yesterday and today off, and I told him the same. Not sure if he actually believed me or not,” I added wryly.
“Daaaamn. I imagine he wasn’t very happy.”