Ah, the sacred porch-swing conversation. That’s what Nana called a serious talk—you did it out on the porch swing, where the lake air could keep your head clear. I chuckled internally at Seb’s reference as we descended the rickety ladder into Mabel’s office, but any humor I felt was fleeting. I was too worried about Jazmine to hold anything else in my head.
When we raced down the main stairs, I realized that the taproom had closed—no customers, lights dimmed—and spotted a group of servers gawking through the front window, headed by the beer sommelier. His head turned when we jogged across the taproom floor, and I could tell he was pissed.
“Hey!” he called out. “Your buddies are causing a scene. If they don’t break it up, we’re calling the cops. I don’t want to, for Benny’s sake, but I can tell you this much. Tonight was the last time I do anyone any favors.”
Seb snorted and pushed past the servers. “Well, there goes your Yelp review. I swear, no one cares about service these days ...”
He shouted for someone to unlock the door, and when they did, we rushed outside.
And stopped short.
A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk in front of the brewery, near a black Jeep with a padded roll bar and a custom paint job on the hood that depicted anguished skeletons crawling out of the ground. The DIY monster truck was crookedly parked across a couple spaces, its natural height boosted by giant tires.
I knew that Jeep. The owner was none other than Pretty Paul Vanderburg.
He was in the middle of a shouting match that was occurring between Benny, a stranger in the crowd, and Jazmine.
Oddly enough, Lulu stood a few feet away, arms crossed, with a funny look on her face. “Shrewd” is what I would’ve called that look on anyone else, but this was silly little Lulu. I wondered what that was all about.
“There he is,” Paul called out when he spotted Seb. “My former brother-in-arms, come to rescue the damsel again. Looks to melike your eye has barely recovered from the last time we tangled. You sure you wanna come back for more? What, you and Benito going to gang up on me? Try to strengthen your odds?”
“No, Seb,” Jazmine warned.
Seb pointed at Paul. “Touch her and you’re dead, motherfucker.”
“No, Seb!” she pleaded again.
My pulse swished in my temples, adrenaline spiking. I absolutely didn’t want Seb fighting. It was juvenile and dumb, and even though Seb was nothing but lean muscle, Paul was built like a brick shithouse. He’d fought boxing matches for money in Detroit. He could very well put Seb in the hospital.
“Let her go, you piece of shit,” Benny warned, stepping up to Paul.
“STOP,” Jazmine shouted, pushing her way between them. “No one is fighting tonight.”
“Wrong,” Seb said, stalking toward them.
I tried to grab his arm but missed.
Jazmine physically pushed Benny away with her good arm. “I said, stop it! Did I ask for your help? No, I fucking didn’t!”
Benny stopped in his tracks, blinking at Jazmine with a stunned look on his face.
“See? The lady wants you to back the hell up,” Paul said. “No one’s holding anyone hostage, so stop yappin’ that bullshit. I just want to talk with her, like I said.”
Jazmine held up a firm hand to Seb. “Stop. I mean it.”
“What the hell is going on?” I said, coming up behind Seb.
Paul’s attention flicked to me. “Oh look, it’s the Ivy League bitch, blessing us with her presence.”
Now Jazmine shoved Paul. “Say it again and there won’t be any more talks between us. Ever.”
He held up both hands in surrender.
“Jaz,” I begged.
Eyes filled with guilt and shame met mine, and that made me feel awful.
“I need everyone to back off,” Jazmine said. “Please. I’m going to leave with Paul now—just to talk. And I don’t want any of you following me.”
