“What can I get you?” Braden asked Iris. “First one’s on the house. A thank you for keeping this one,” he jerked his head toward me, “semi-socialized.”
Iris laughed. “I’ll have whatever IPA he’s having,” she said, pointing to Ben’s glass of Hopical Storm.
Eli let out a low whistle. “Likes a hoppy IPA. Good taste.” He winked at her.
Then Harper appeared, moving through the crowd with the slow, deliberate grace of the heavily pregnant. She came to a stop beside us, her hand on her back. She was all belly now, a month from her due date, if she made it that long. She smiled warmly at Iris. “You must be Iris. I’m Harper. Welcome to Sunset Siesta.”
“Thank you,” Iris replied. “It’s so good to meet you. And congratulations.”
“Thanks. We’re very excited.” Harper’s eyes flicked to me, warm and approving, but they contained a deeply curious look I felt more than saw. “Terrified, but excited.”
“We saw Chase for a moment, but I didn’t get a chance to thank him again,” Iris continued. “His help at Heron House was invaluable. My new contractor is a godsend.”
“That’s my Chase. Miracles guaranteed.” She stayed for another minute, chatting easily with Iris about the horrors and joys of renovating an old Keys property, before patting her belly and making her excuses. “Okay, these two are demanding I go put my feet up. It was so nice to meet you, Iris.”
She gave me another one of those searching looks and then she was gone, leaving me feeling like I’d just passed the first round of a subtle, complicated interview.
“So, Iris, Austin tells us nothing,” Eli said with thesubtlety of a whale shark. “What’s the story with Heron House? Are you finding any pirate treasure? Any ghosts in the attic?”
“Not yet,” Iris said, playing along easily as I cupped my hand around her waist. “But I did find a family of squirrels living in the chimney, which was its own kind of terrifying treasure hunt. We had to call a specialist to lure them out. It was a whole three-day saga involving marshmallows and a lot of very angry chittering noises.”
The way she told the story, with self-deprecating humor and dramatic flair, had Eli roaring. “A squirrel saga! I love it! See, Austin? This is what we’re missing. Stories! All you ever tell us about is barnacles and bait.”
“Someone around here has to work,” I grumbled good-naturedly, taking a sip of my beer. But I watched Iris, almost hypnotized, as she effortlessly charmed my brothers. She wasn’t intimidated. She wasn’t trying too hard. She was just herself, and they were clearly eating it up.
“Oh, for the love of pelicans,” she said, shaking her head as she finished her squirrel story. “It was an absolute mess.”
Eli, who had been mid-sip of his beer, choked and sputtered into a fit of coughing hysterics. “Pelicans?” he wheezed, looking at me with unabashed delight. “She invokes seabirds in moments of high drama?”
Iris shrugged. “Well, I find a little whimsy in speech adds flavor to the conversation.”
Silent for a moment, Eli just stared at her. Then he turned to me. “Austin, where have you been hiding this woman? Don’t you dare screw this up.”
I just glared at him over the rim of my glass, but the corner of my mouth was twitching again. I patted her waist with my hand. Eli was still smiling, but as he held my gaze, his eyes were serious, evaluating. He liked to play thehumor card, but few people were more perceptive. As Eli took a drink, successfully this time, Iris turned to Ben, who had been listening with a quiet, amused smile.
“So, Ben.” Her tone changed, becoming more curious. “How are the paramedic studies going? Are you enjoying it?”
The shift was subtle, but I saw it. The way she gave him her full attention, remembering their conversation from the market. Ben straightened up slightly, pleased by her interest, and began to tell her about a particularly challenging pharmacology section he was working on.
As I watched them, a new and unfamiliar feeling settled in my chest. Pride. I was proud of her. Proud of the way she was navigating this gauntlet of my family with such easy grace and humor.
Braden chose that moment to lean toward me. “Hey, Austin.” His earlier teasing was gone, replaced by a more serious tone. “Come check out the new glycol setup for the keg lines in the back. I want your opinion on it.”
Eli, ever the opportunist, immediately chimed in. “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to see this too. Ben, you hold down the fort.”
It was a setup. The glycol lines had been working fine for months. But I also knew there was no getting out of whatever they wanted to say. With a sigh, I pushed back from the bar and followed my brothers into the back room. A cold sense of dread settled in the pit of my stomach.
The back room of Tidal Hops was a cluttered space that smelled of yeast and cleaning solution. Stacks of kegs, some gleaming and new, some scarred and dented, lined one wall. Shelves overflowed with spare parts, coiled hoses, and boxes of pint glasses.
And right now, it was more like an interrogation chamber.
Braden pulled the door shut behind us. The cheerful noise of the brewpub instantly muffled, leaving us in a humming silence broken only by the low thrum of a cooling unit. He didn’t head for the glycol lines. Instead, he leaned back against a stack of kegs. The easygoing, charming bartender was gone.
Eli moved to stand beside him, his posture relaxed. But the playful light in his eyes had been extinguished, replaced by the same focused intensity he got when he was mapping out a deep wreck dive.
“Okay,” Eli’s voice was low but direct, leaving no room for bullshit. “What’s the real story, Austin? She seems great. Genuinely great. Are you serious about this?”
Even though I’d expected something like this, I bristled at the question, at the sudden shift from casual banter to intense scrutiny. I took a half step back to create some distance, crossing my arms over my chest.
