The next morning, I'm in a conference room with the camera pointed at me, praying I don't look as terrified as I feel. My palms are sweating. I wipe them on my jeans and force myself to meet Rachel's eyes.
"Ready?" Rachel asks.
"Let's do this." My voice comes out steadier than I expected.
She starts recording. "Wyatt, yesterday in your interview with me, you said Merri Gallagher was 'just your best friend's little sister' and that your relationship was 'only for the competition.' Was that the truth?"
"No. It was a lie. A stupid, cowardly lie." I look directly into the camera. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
"Why did you lie in the original interview?"
"Because I thought I was protecting her. I didn't want to expose our relationship to public scrutiny. I thought if I downplayed it, I'd be shielding her from pressure and attention, which is stupid because everyone in town already knows about us." I run a hand through my hair. "Instead, all I did was hurt her. I made her feel like she didn't matter to me when she's actually the most important person in my life."
"So youaredating."
"Yes. Or we were. I'm not sure where we stand now."
"How do you actually feel about her?"
I take a deep breath. "I love her. I'm completely, hopelessly in love with her. She's brilliant and passionate and stubborn and funny. This collaboration with her has been incredible, and it’s not just about the beer."
"What would you say to her if you could?"
I look into the camera as if I'm staring into Merri’s eyes. "I'm so sorry, Merri. You're not just Danny's little sister. You’re so much more. You're the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about before I sleep, the reason I smile for no reason in the middle of roasting coffee. I was wrong for not saying this the first time. I love you, Merri. Please forgive me."
Rachel stops recording. "That was perfect. I’ll give it a quick edit and send you the file. You can post it to your channels as well."
Thirty minutes later, my thumb hovers over the "post" button on Instagram. The video is captioned: The truth about how I feel about Merri Gallagher.
I tag Merri, The Sassy Siren, and Recon Roasters, and hit post. Then I call Danny.
He answers on the third ring. "Let me guess. You're calling to ask how to grovel."
"How did you know?"
Danny snorts a laugh. "Because you're predictable, brother."
"What should I do?"
"Put on body armor and bring flowers and chocolate. Merri's a sucker for good chocolate."
"That's it? Flowers and chocolate?"
"Don’t forget the body armor," he teases. "A sincere apology on your knees would go a long way. Merri likes grand gestures.She'll never admit it, but she does." He pauses. "Don't worry too much. She'll see reason soon enough. She's crazy about you and just needs to know you’re serious, and not trying to save face for the competition."
"I'm completely serious."
"Then show her, man. Go big. Make it count."
Outside The Sassy Siren, my stomach tightens at the thought of my video, the comment section, and its climbing view count. It went viral, at least according to Rachel. The light ocean breeze does nothing to dry the sweat soaking my shirt.
The heavy bouquet of sunflowers and roses I’m holding feels awkward in my hands, and the box of chocolates Danny recommended suddenly seems inadequate. Over 10,000 people have seen my apology online, but there’s only one person's response that I care about.
I take a steadying breath before pushing through the door, bracing myself for whatever comes next. The moment I step inside, the entire taproom falls silent. Every single person turns to stare at me, their conversations dying mid-sentence. The place is absolutely packed; I've never seen it this crowded on a Thursday afternoon. Locals fill every table and line the bar, some even standing in the back with their arms crossed like they're settling in for a show. Of course they are. Nothing brings people out like small-town drama, especially when it involves someone making an ass of themselves.
Merri's behind the bar, and when she glances up, everything about her goes rigid. Her eyes are rimmed with red, the kind that comes from crying and trying to hide it, and guilt hits me so hard I nearly turn around and walk back out.
"Merri." I move toward the bar, and the crowd melts out of my way without me having to ask. I can feel every gaze tracking my movement like I'm the main event at a prizefight.
