Page 54 of Summer with the Single Dad

“Five years is more than respectable.” Clint clapped a hand on Bennett’s shoulder. “I know you no longer feel guilt when you feel happy, and that was a big step. But it’s time to stop feeling guilt about other aspects of your life. About other things that bring you joy … and pleasure.”

Wyatt nodded more enthusiastically than Dom, which was understandable. Dom and his wife Remy were high school sweethearts. They lost their virginity to each other and even though they broke up for a bit when Dom joined the marines and they slept with other people during those few years, they both claimed to have never loved anybody else.

They all took the death of their wives hard. Of course they did. But Dom seemed to take it the hardest. He was easily one of the biggest flirts, but it was all talk. Bennett was almost one hundred percent sure Dom hadn’t slept with anybody since Remy’s death. Bennett would even bet that Dom hadn’t jerked off since Remy’s death. Not that he thought about his brother jerking off.

He shook his head to clear that image.

“You need to talk to Justine,” Clint advised. Wyatt and Dom nodded. “You need to figure out where her head is, and while you’re working and she’s gone, figure out where your head is.”

“We can always ask Jagger to make up one of his spare rooms for her,” Wyatt teased, as he went to unlock the front door of the pub. Dom followed him.

Bennett gave Wyatt another warning look, but it was to his back. Both of them disappeared into the pub, leaving just Bennett and Clint.

“Come on,” Clint said, slapping Bennett on the back. “I’ve got a new batch of High Tide lager I want your opinion on. I can’t tell if it’s done or not.”

“It’s eight thirty in the morning.”

“Yeah, but it’s five thirty in Paris, so …”

Bennett snorted a laugh, but nodded, following his brother into the brewery and inhaling the heady scent of fermented hops and barley, along with the strong odor of industrial cleaner.

Cooper, Clint’s right hand; and Gladstone, another brewery employee, were hard at work. Cooper was sparging the grain, which meant that he was rinsing it, which marginally increased the recovery of sugar from the grain. Gladstone was busy checking temps and writing them down on the log sheet. They each gave Clint and Bennett nods and waves before getting back to work.

“You’re into her, aren’t you?” Clint asked, pouring them both glasses from the big spigot for the fermenter. The beer was a dark amber color with just the right amount of foam. Even though Bennett wasn’t the brewmaster, he paid attention when Clint spoke and understood the simpler parts of beer making.

They clinked glasses like they always did and Bennett took a sip. This allowed him a moment to think before he answered Clint’s question. But he knew Clint wouldn’t let him off the hook. He’d repeat himself until Bennett replied.

Licking the foam from his lips, he nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

“And she’s into you?”

He nodded again. “Yeah.”

“So, then … figure out how to make it work.”

“But it’s temporary and unprofessional and—”

“I thought Brooke was temporary and now she’s moved in and we’re happier than ever. We know firsthand that life can throw really shitty things at us when we least expect it. So take the good when it’s given to you.”

“Is that your new mantra?” Bennett finished his beer. “Needs a few more days in the fermenter, I think.”

Clint nodded and finished his beer as well. “I agree. And yeah, it kind of is my new mantra.”

Bennett exhaled deeply. “She’s a doctor, you know. A surgeon.”

“Wow. That’s cool.”

“She’s on sabbatical and not sure she wants to return to medicine. This vacation was supposed to help her figure things out.”

“And here you’ve gone and banged her head against a tree that now she probably can’t think straight.” Clint’s grin was cheeky.

“Or I’ve just gone and confused her even more. Given her another thing to consider and think about and fret over. Another thing to feel guilty about.”

“What does she feel guilty about?”

Bennett shook his head to dismiss Clint’s question. It wasn’t his place to say anything about the patient Justine believed she killed.

“Well, while I have you here, I need to order some things.” He wandered over to the wall, where a stained and torn catalog of beer equipment sat on a narrow table. There were dog-eared pages and a few pages with Post-it notes. He flipped to a page in the middle. “I need four new gas flow meters and six gas blow-off hoses. And I’ll need a new mash colander by the end of the summer. But that’s not pressing. I can wait.”

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