Unsurprisingly, the place was packed. Tapping the first keg of a new brew usually drew a crowd.
The bar hummed with chatter and a light seasoning of tension. Clusters of service industry folks gathered together. A few off-duty firefighters ribbed one another. One table was full of teachers. Even a few tourists were here, posing for selfies near the taxidermied moose head.
And, of course, the Maple Street Mafia had set up at two high tops near the front of the room.
I gave them a solicitous wave, pleased with myself when Olive Foster gave me a small smile. Bitsy Bramble glared, and Dot, Marigold, and Sally didn’t even acknowledge me. They were too preoccupied with the tasting flights lined up in front of them.
Nate’s face lit up when he saw me. My cousin was a science nerd turned technical brewmaster. He’d opened this place a few years ago with Chief Ashburn’s little brother Reed. The two of them made quite a team. They’d put a lot of work into making this place a success.
So I’d come tonight to support them, even though my thoughts were elsewhere. My muscle memory said grab a pint, find some friends, flirt with girls. But my brain was fully fixated on Vincent, who was probably enjoying a bath right now.
This used to be my place. I’d eat a pretzel, chase it with a pint or two of good beer, and talk to people. Listen to music. Unwind.
The louder and more chaotic a place, the easier it was for me to relax.
But that had all changed recently. Tonight, the chaos made me agitated and uneasy.
“Hey, Jas.” A small, warm hand landed on my bicep.
On instinct, I shuddered and spun around. “Brynne.” I gave her a tight smile.
She pulled me in for a hug that felt all wrong. “Haven’t seen you in ages,” she said, her tone flirtatious. She sipped her beer and raised a pierced eyebrow in challenge.
Brynne was an old friend, and yes, we’d hooked up off and on for years. She was pretty, fun, and a champion skier turned instructor who spent most summers partying and rock climbing.
“Been busy,” I said. “I’m a dad now.” With that statement, I stepped back, putting some distance between us.
The playful smile on her face fell, like she was registering the words I wasn’t saying out loud. “I heard. That’s so great. Congratulations.”
Before I could respond, Reed stood on top of a barrel and shouted, garnering the attention of all the patrons.
“All right, Maplewood. Y’all know the drill. One clean strike, minimal foam. Let’s pretend to be civilized.”
“Safety glasses on,” Nate cautioned from where he stood beside the barrel, along with Reed’s wife, Faith.
I used the distraction as a chance to get some distance from Brynne and wandered toward my cousin.
As I approached, I offered him my hand. “You finally dialed the summer ale?”
He nodded, adjusting his safety glasses. “Took me weeks. I was trying to achieve a drier finish.”
Reed gave him a playful punch, then pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek. “Leave it to Nate to try to create an emotionally unavailable beer.”
He hefted the mallet in his hand, then held it up. Those of us standing near took a big a step back. “Tip your bartenders,” he shouted.
The crowd erupted in cheers, then began a countdown.
Reed’s strike was clean, causing white foam to spurt out around the tap Faith was holding in place.
The cheers started up again, the sound deafening.
After adjusting the tap, Nate filled two glasses. Then he and Reed posed in front of the keg for photos.
We all lined up for a taste, the scent of hops and lemon soon filling the air. I accepted a glass from Nate, and immediately, the hint of lemon brought an image of Evie to mind. The scent was reminiscent of how Evie’s hair had smelled when we were so close the other night.
That thought came with an echo of the delicious anticipation of almost kissing her.
I was tempted to text her a photo and ask her how Vincent was doing, but I resisted. We’d made so much progress recently, and the last thing I needed was to scare her off. She had opened up to me and shared her fears, and every day, she allowed me to play a bigger role in Vincent’s life.
