Tommy appears in the doorway, takes one look at our faces, and grins. "It's good?"
"It's phenomenal," I say.
"Hell yeah!" Tommy pumps his fist. "I'll start prepping the system."
As Tommy disappears back into the taproom, I turn to Merri. "What happens now?"
She smiles. "It takes up to five days. We force CO2into the beer at a specific pressure and temperature until it reaches the right carbonation level. After that, we’ll keg for distribution and can for the competition submission."
"Five days," I repeat, doing the mental math. "That puts us right in the anticipated window."
"Exactly. Which gives us plenty of time for final quality checks and adjustments if needed." She sets down the glass. "But I don't think we'll need too many adjustments. This beer is ready."
"So what do you need me to do now?"
"You can head back to Recon Roasters. Tommy and I have the carbonation process handled. It's mostly just monitoring equipment and waiting."
That shit ain’t gonna fly and I cross my arms. "No."
Her brows shoot up. "No?"
"This is my beer too, Merri. I want to be part of the process as much as possible. What can I do?"
She gives me a long once-over, head tilted to the side, as if she's trying to figure out my angle. Then she sighs. "Fine. I actually do need help with something. My cold storage room is a disaster. I need to reorganize and consolidate product for our distributor pickup tomorrow."
"Point me in the right direction."
She leads me around a corner toward the back and stops at a heavy insulated door. "This is the cold storage. We need to move the older kegs from the far side to the front for easy access." She props it open with a doorstop. "But be careful, the latch is broken. If it closes completely, we'll be locked in until Tommy rescues us."
"Noted. Keep the door propped at all times."
"Exactly."
We step in, and the temperature drop is immediate. I can see my breath in the air, and goosebumps rise on my arms.
"Welcome to the glamorous world of craft brewing." But she's smiling as she gestures to the far wall of kegs. "Come on. The faster we work, the faster we can get out of here."
We work in tandem and make good progress. Merri's stronger than she looks, handling the kegs with practiced ease.
"You do this often?" I ask, rolling another one into position.
"More than I'd like. This is the unglamorous side of owning a brewery." She wipes her forehead, even though the room is freezing.
We're about halfway through when I hear it, an odd scraping sound and then the distinctive snap of the lock.
We both freeze.
"Please tell me that was just the wind," Merri says, her voice tight.
I turn around. The door is completely shut, the doorstop lying uselessly on the floor inside the room. "Shit."
Merri rushes over, pulling on the handle as she peers through the small window. It doesn't budge. "Oh, no. Admiral! Did you bump the door?"
I can hear Admiral whining apologetically from the other side.
"Don’t worry. Tommy will find us," I say, keeping my voice calm. "He knows we're back here."
"Tommy's out front dealing with customers. He might not notice for a while." Merri's breathing is getting faster, and I realize she’s panicking.
