Page 38 of Rescued by the Single Dad

Hightailing it to the kitchen, with a sudden bounce in his step, he opened the fridge only to find that there wasn’t any beer to be had.

“That’s not like me at all,” he mused, closing the refrigerator and heading back to the living room. “I don’t have any beer.”

Her mouth opened, and she gasped. “What? Surely that must be some kind of brewmaster sacrilege or blasphemy or something. Will they strip you of your brewmaster title and diploma now? Or is it like a knighthood? Do you have a scepter?”

“It’s a chalice, actually. Obviously. And no. It’s a three-strike rule. And since this is my first offense, the higher ups will just deliver me with a stern warning. Maybe a slap on the wrist. But little do they know, I like that.” He bobbed his brows playfully.

Her giggle and the brightness of her smile warmed him. “Be right back. Just going to pop down to the pub. You liked the white ale, right?”

She nodded. “Unless you’ve got something new and extra delicious, you want to show me.”

Excitement simmered through him. “Oh, Ms. Barker, don’t tempt me.” Then with a flash of a smile, he slid into his Blundstones and left.

The music from the pub drifted up benignly through the trees.

It was Sunday night, so the place wouldn’t be too packed. Not like last night.

They were open to eleven on Fridays and Saturdays, but closed at ten Sunday through Thursday.

It was only eight-thirty, so the place still hopped with conversations and laughter competing with the music. Cars came and went from the gravel parking lot, and patrons that he recognized shot him a friendly wave.

He went in through the back, though.

If he went through the front doors, he’d inevitably be snagged by a local and forced to chat for ten or more minutes. And he didn’t want that. He wanted to get back to Brooke.

“Hey boss, thought you were done for the night,” asked Cooper, one of Clint’s brew apprentices.

“Just grabbing some beer,” Clint said.

Cooper was Clint’s right hand and the only person Clint trusted implicitly with his beer besides himself. He had one other employee in the brewery—Gladstone—yes, that was his first name, and he was good, but he still made a few mistakes, so they never left him unsupervised. But Cooper had proven himself on more than one occasion that he could fly solo. So that made Clint’s life easier. He could have dinner with his kid and take the evening or weekend off if he needed to.

And tonight, he needed to.

Or at least he wanted to.

“It's not like you to not have beer in the house,” Cooper said. “Are you sick or something?”

Clint chuckled as he went to the big walk-in cooler, grabbing a milk crate before he stepped in. He loaded up the basket with a dozen single bottles. All different kinds. This way, Brooke could take her pick. “Just forgot to stock up earlier. Are you getting ready to head out?”

“Gonna stop over on the other side for a pint, first,” Cooper said. His gaze turned sad, and he shook his head. “Such tragic news about Brooke Barker, huh? I keep looking out on the beach, hoping that her body doesn’t wash up or something here. She was so hot.” Panic filled his gray eyes. “And talented. She was a great actress ... I mean, actor.”

Cooper was young—early twenties—and neurodivergent, which came out mostly as social awkwardness and a limited ability to read social and facial cues. But he tried so hard and was far less bumbling with his words than when he first started at the brewery a couple of years ago. He was also looking for love and tended to find more weekend romances than anything that lasted past forty-eight hours.

“Yeah, it is pretty tragic,” Clint said, laying on the joint sympathy. “So young. So much still ahead of her. I just hope that the fact that they haven’t found a body yet, means that she ... I dunno, maybe survived?”

He probably shouldn’t plant that seed of doubt, but at the same time, who would Cooper tell ? It just felt weird to talk about Brooke like she died. Because she sure as hell didn’t. She was sitting, cute as a button, in his clothes, on his couch right now, waiting for him.

Cooper shook his head, and his brows pinched. “Not a chance. That water is ice cold. And based on where the news is saying she probably jumped or fell in, it would have been at least a mile and a half if not longer swim.”

Clint pinned his lips together and shrugged. “You’re probably right. Let’s hope they find her and bring her family some peace of mind.”

Cooper exhaled loudly through his nose and dropped his gaze to his sneakers. “Such a pity.”

“Anyway, I got what I came for. So I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.”

Cooper lifted his head and gave Clint a grim smile. “You, too.”

Clint took his basket and retreated out the backdoor. He made it halfway through the parking lot before a familiar deep voice made him stop.

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