Page 41 of The Secret to a Southern Wedding

“Not until one. Joshua is usually here to have us ready for the afternoon crowd, but he had to visit one of our suppliers today.”

“My bad if I’m intruding on you working. We could’ve met another time.”

“It’s not a problem. Even if Joshua handles the afternoon crowd it’s not unusual for me to get here early, especially if I’m working on a new blend. Come on in the back and I’ll finish up what I’m doing while we talk.”

Nodding, she followed him to the back of the bar. She tried not to notice the way his thin T-shirt clung to the muscles of his back and shoulders. Tried not to focus on the smooth swagger of his walk and how his hips and ass seemed to beg for her attention.

“It’s cold outside. Why are you only wearing a T-shirt?” She sounded irritated when she shouldn’t be. He hadn’t worn the T-shirt to deliberately entice her.

“I’ve got a hoodie around here somewhere, but it’s not too cold. It’s fifty degrees.”

“That’s freezing.” Imani had grown up in Georgia and now lived in Florida. Anything fifty and below felt like blizzard conditions.

He chuckled. “This is nice weather.”

“This is turn on the heat weather.”

“You sound like my dad. He’s already grumbling about it being cold. As if he didn’t live his whole life in Baltimore.”

In the back large metal bins lined one wall. Along another wall were several large kegs with hoses attached to them. A small table sat in the middle with glass jars filled with what looked like beer. Cyril walked over to the table.

“What’s all this?” She pointed to the jars and tubes.

Cyril held up one of the jars and swirled the dark gold liquid inside. “Testing out the lager I’m brewing for St. Patrick’s Day. It’ll be a special blend. Just while it lasts.” He brought the jar to his nose and inhaled.

Imani cocked her head to the side. “Wait, you brew your own beer, too? I thought you just brought in beer.”

“Let me guess. I don’t look like the kind of guy who would brew his own beer.”

She grinned but shrugged. “I mean...can you blame me for assuming you just had a bunch of beers on tap?”

“Honestly, that’s mostly what I do. I like beer and I don’t mind trying to make my own, but I’m not trying to become a beer maker. I mostly stock beers from local brewers around the state. Some of the larger ones I keep here, too. Then, when I get an urge, I’ll make a batch of my own blend to see if people enjoy it. Whatever I make is only on sale for a short time.”

“Why beer? I mean, I get that people love it, but what made you want to make and sell beer?”

He leaned his hands on the edge of the table. The muscles in his forearms and biceps flexed, drawing her attention to the edges of the tattoos on his arms. Imani’s fingers extended with the urge to push up his sleeve and see what he’d decided was important enough to permanently ink onto his body. She looked away from him to the jars of beer. Studying the items on the table was much safer than studying Cyril’s body movements.

“I like beer, and I’ve got good memories around it.”

“What kind of memories? You sneaking a beer from your dad when you were a teenager?”

He laughed. “Nah, my dad would’ve kicked my ass if he’d caught me stealing beer and my mom would’ve been right behind him.”

“Sounds like my mom.”

“I can see that.” They both laughed before he sobered. “Nah, my memories are of my dad and uncles sitting out back. Every payday Friday they’d get together at our house. My mom would take off with my aunt and their friends and my dad would hang with the guys. They’d open up a pack of beers and just shoot the breeze. They’d talk about work, politics, relationships, even pop culture. If me and my cousins were in the room, they didn’t change the subject or censor what they said. They let us listen in, as long as we didn’t interrupt. Said it was their way of giving us life lessons. I loved those times. When I was finally twenty-one and could join in, I felt like I’d arrived. After my mom died... I missed those days. When we moved here, opening a bar was a way to kind of bring back those good times.”

The emotion and trace of longing in his voice as he confessed the reason behind his business pulled at her heartstrings. “Sounds like those were good times.”

The smile on his face was nostalgic. “They really were.”

“You and your dad don’t go back home to visit and hang out like that anymore?”

His smile faded and the shutter from before hid the longing in his eyes. “Nah, we don’t. After my mom died things changed.”

“Was she the one who held you all together?”

“You could say that.” He crossed his arms, shutting off further discussion. “Guess we should talk about the St Patrick’s Day Festival.”

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