My chest tightens with emotion. "Thanks, Heather. And congratulations on the engagement. When's the wedding?"
"Next spring. You're invited, obviously. And bring a plus-one if you want." She winks. "You might have someone in mind."
I shake my head. "You're impossible."
"I know!"
My mind races as I head back to the brewery. The whole town's watching us. Taking bets on what happens next. And tonight, I'm having dinner with Wyatt Dalton. But it’snota date…
Who am I kidding?
By the time Wyatt arrives that afternoon, I'm wound tight as a spring. I've spent hours playing out every worst-case scenario. Awkward silences, old arguments resurfacing, or worse, the possibility that Heather's right and thereissomething between us we've been pretending doesn't exist.
The door to the production room opens, and Wyatt struts in as if he has no care in the world. I take in the dark jeans, the gray t-shirt stretched across shoulders that have no business looking that good. His hair's damp as if he just showered, and he carries himself with a confident swagger that's strangely sexy. My breath catches before I can stop it.
"Hey." There's a warmth in his voice I've only heard him use with Danny. "Ready to taste?"
"Always." I try to keep my voice steady.
We move to the brite tank, and I pour two ounces into our tasting glass. The coffee aroma hits stronger than yesterday. Itake the first sip, evaluating. The fruity notes from Wyatt's blend are coming through beautifully, playing against the crisp blonde ale base. But it's still not quite there. It needs another twelve hours to reach that perfect balance.
I hand the glass to Wyatt. His fingers brush mine as he takes it, his blue eyes smoldering as he holds my gaze and drinks from the exact spot I did. My stomach flips. He's absolutely flirting with me.
"It’s not ready yet," he says, his deep voice resonating low in my belly. "One more day?"
"Yeah." My voice comes out breathier than I intended. "One more day should do it."
"Perfect." He sets the glass down, still staring at me. "Are you ready for dinner?"
Gah! I can't think straight when he looks at me like that. What happened to the guy who used to put bugs in my backpack?
"I need to clean up first. I've been working all day, and I probably smell like hops and yeast."
"You smell great to me."
Wonderful. Now I'm blushing like a teenager. "That's because you smell coffee all the time. Your nose is broken." I grab my keys and phone from the counter. "I’ll meet you at the restaurant. It's Sal's Pizza on?—"
"I know where Sal's is. And I'm picking you up."
I blink. "What?"
He edges closer, hemming me in. "It's a date, Merri. I'm picking you up properly."
My jaw drops. It’s just like Heather predicted. "You said this was for research."
"I know what I said. But I was lying."
A buzz shoots through me. "How do you even know where I live?"
He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "I know lots of things."
"That's fucking creepy, Wyatt."
He shrugs. "Or observant. Take your pick." He checks his watch. "I'll be at your place in an hour. Is that enough time?"
I should argue, insist on meeting him there, maintaining some semblance of independence and control. But instead, I hear myself say, "An hour works."
"Good. See you soon, Gallagher."
