"I will."
We stand there for another beat, the air between us still charged with whatever the hell just happened. Admiral sighs heavily and puts his head back down, clearly over our drama.
"I should go," Wyatt says.
"Okay. Let’s taste the beer tomorrow afternoon, around three o’clock."
"That works." He heads for the exit, then pauses and pivots on his heel. "Merri?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth…" He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was only trying to protect you back then. I just sucked at showing it."
Before I can respond, he's gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
I sink onto a stool, my heart still racing. Admiral pads over and rests his head on my knee, his sweet brown eyes full of dog wisdom.
"Don't look at me like that," I tell him. "This doesn’t change anything."
Admiral’s huff suggests that he doesn't believe me for a second. At this point, I’m wondering who exactly I’m trying to convince. Honestly? I think it’s me.
Chapter 7
Wyatt
I'm standing outside The Sassy Siren with a bag of coffee cradled in both hands. It might as well be a bouquet of flowers for how ridiculous I must look. I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.
It's the day after the coffee infusion, and Merri texted this morning reminding me about the tasting this afternoon. Standard procedure. Nothing weird about it.
But everything changed when I admitted that, even though I’d gone about it like a world-class prick, I'd only been trying to protect her when we were kids. I don't know if she believed me or if it even matters after all this time. Except I spent twenty minutes this morning selecting the perfect coffee blend to bring her. It’s my new Ethiopian roast with notes of blueberry and dark chocolate that I think she'll love. And then I wasted another thirty minutes wondering why I care so much.
This is getting out of hand.
The incident yesterday, with us standing so close, the way her lips parted as she leaned in, has been playing on repeat in my head for the past twenty-four hours. I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was the way her light green eyeshad gone wide, softening as she'd looked at me like maybe, just maybe, she didn't actually hate me.
And then Admiral groaned and snapped us back to our senses. Thank God for that dog.
I push through the brewery door, and Tommy spots me immediately from behind the bar. He grins and jerks his thumb over his shoulder.
"She's in the production room."
"Thanks."
I head through the taproom, and stride confidently past the regulars nursing their afternoon beers.
Merri doesn't notice me at first. She's got her back to me, standing on a step stool as she scrubs the inside of one of the smaller fermentation tanks. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a thick braid that hangs down her back, swaying slightly as she works. She's wearing a tank top that shows off her toned arms and those khaki shorts that fit her ass perfectly. And by perfectly, I mean they're doing absolutely nothing to help my current mental state.
I should probably announce myself. Instead, I just watch.
She moves with practiced efficiency, her whole body engaged in the work. Scrubbing, rinsing, checking her progress. There's something almost meditative about the way she works, like she's completely in her element. This is her domain, her craft, and she's damn good at it.
I've always thought Merri was gorgeous. Even when we were kids, and she was driving me absolutely insane, I couldn't deny that she was beautiful. The problem was that the moment she opened her mouth, all that beauty got eclipsed by her infuriating personality.
But lately I'm starting to think maybe that is part of what makes her so attractive.
She's passionate and driven, refusing to back down or settle for second best. She built this brewery from nothing, and she did it without compromising her vision or her standards. That takes guts and the kind of strength that's impossible not to respect.
Merri shifts her weight, reaching for a different section of the tank, and her shorts pull tight across her ass. I shift to ease the sudden tightness in my jeans.
