The former barn had lots of cool features. There was barn wood lining the walls of the bar. We had a mixture of low tables, couches, armchairs, and high-tops in small grouped sections throughout the space. It helped to make the big open space feel smaller, inviting. Off the entry to the right was a small hall that led to the restrooms, kitchen, and our tank room. In there we had more high-tops for tastings, and a few large windows that looked out over the restaurant.
This afternoon the place was quiet, the Sunday brunch rush was over, and we still had a couple of hours until the dinner crowd began filtering in. There were a few people gathered near the bar watching the Bears game, but mostly the staff was gearing up for the evening shift. I wiped down the bar, filling in for our bartender Daryl, who was on break. As I heard a throat clear behind me, I turned to see the smirks on two faces I’d rather not face this afternoon—Cole Sullivan and Maxwell Harp. Terrific.
“Beer?” I asked. Might as well face this head-on.
“Hmm, I’m not sure. Sully, what are you all brewing that’s good right now?” Max rubbed his bearded chin like he was contemplating the problems of our age.
Sully’s shit-eating grin was a sure sign that I wouldn’t be enjoying this as much as they would. “Well, Harp, we have a lot of good beers. What are you in the mood for?”
“How about something chocolaty? And with a hit of mellows?” Max replied.
Sully laughed. “And then we can sit around and tell stories about the Little People? Sounds perfect.”
“Fuck you both,” I growled as they bent over laughing, slapping each other on the back. They were pretty damn proud of themselves. “How?” I really didn’t need to say any more than that.
Sully faked that he wiped tears from his eyes. “Waited a long time for a woman to capture your heart, Spencer. Didn’t realize she’d be four.”
“Screw off, Sullivan. Do you want a beer or not?”
Sully moved around the bar to grab his own glasses, pouring an EvolutionIPA for himself and Max. “Stout?” he asked as he tipped his head toward the tap with Barn Owl on it. I nodded. Placing the beer in front of me, he clapped me on the back. “We’re screwing with you, man. Maggie had a shift yesterday at the bookstore to help Ivy plan out some holiday orders. Seems like our bookstore owner was rather impressed with your natural ability to deal with her daughter.”
Dammit, I didn’t want to like the fact that Ivy was talking about me as much as I did. However, I knew I couldn’t let these two know that I was feeling anything. Taking a sip of, if I might say, a damn fine stout, I tried to subtly ask, “Ivy was impressed?”
Max sank down into a bar stool across from us and chuckled. “Man, you’re going to have to work on your poker face. I thought you couldn’t stand this girl.”
“I can’t. I mean, she’s fine, but she’s a lot.” I wasn’t sure how to explain all that had been the interactions between Ivy and me over the past seven months or so. “She’s just always pushing, always trying to get me to talk about big issues. She has a lot of strong beliefs, and God forbid if you don’t fall in line with her way of thinking…” I trailed off, thinking of some of the conversations we’d had about politics since she’d arrived in town. And climate change. I mean, I knew it was a big issue, but Jesus.
I looked over the bar to where Sully now sat on the stool next to Max so they could apparently give me shit for the next hour or so. Great. “The first time Ivy came in here, she ordered a beer and then immediately began to question me about our sustainable practices and how we were planning to deal with the increasing temperature of the planet. She went on for quite a bit about how that will impact the ingredients in our beer.”
Max nodded while Sully looked thoughtful. “How is climate change impacting our ingredients?” he asked.
I thought back to that late April day where Ivy had come in, hair up in some crazy knot, in a flowing skirt and tank top. She hadn’t worn a bra, and I don’t think I even heard half of what she said at first. Then she snapped her fingers in my face and started in on the climate. “Honestly? I can’t remember it all. Something about how droughts will impact hop production and how we also needed to find ways to conserve water.”
Sully sat there for a moment, then spoke. “Maybe we need to look into it. As a brewery, if we could find ways to help improve the environment while making the beer we love, that could be win-win.” And then he grinned at Max before looking back at me. “And I sure don’t want to piss off Ivy. The first time I met her was here back in April or May. Remember? She’d came in here to tell us about the bookstore. Then, somehow, she began to share the benefits of moon water, crystals, and something about my sign. Maybe she’s a witch?”
“A green witch,” Max murmured while taking a drink.
“I’m sorry, what?” Sully asked with a laugh.
Max raised an eyebrow. “That’s what Emma said, that Ivy considered herself a green witch.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Sully asked.
“Hmm, maybe she’s going to curse our boy’s junk? Better watch out,” Max said as he lifted his beer in a mock toast.
I dropped my head. These two.
“Not sure,” Max replied. “Emma said it was something to do with plants. And maybe her essential oils? Not sure. So”—he glanced at me—“I think your junk is likely okay.”
“But it might smell like flowers if she has anything to say about it,” Sully finished.
I looked up at the ceiling. Lord, give me strength. Looking back at these two that I considered my closest friends, I dove in. “I have bigger problems than Ivy being a green witch or whatever.”
The two fools looked at each other, then back at me.
“Do share,” Max said.
“Margot is coming, and she talked to Ivy on the phone on Friday night,” I said, my heart rate deciding that just that sentence alone meant it needed to speed up.
