Page 27 of Resisting my Roommate

I shake my head, searching for something appropriate to say. A part of me is surprised by the vulnerability he’s currently showing me. Then again, maybe my assessment of him last night is right. He may have a hard exterior, but he’s soft on the inside. You just have to find a way past his tough outer shell first.

“That summer, I found his notebook with different recipes and decided to try my hand at making a batch. Even though he let me help him brew beer a few times, I had no idea what I was doing. I still wanted to try.” He laughs slightly and glances at me. “You’ll probably think this sounds ridiculous, but I swear I felt my dad’s presence with me.”

“I think that’s sweet.” I continue sipping on the beer, each swallow becoming more flavorful as I peel back more of his layers.

“To this day, whenever I’m making beer, whether it be in here or in my mom’s garage, I feel him. Hell, sometimes I come in here just to talk to him. Or to the garage at my mom’s.”

“Is all his brewing equipment still there?”

“It is. It’s actually where I do my test runs.”

I can’t stop the grin from spreading on my lips. “I love that story. It’s…perfect.”

“Thanks.”

“What about college?” I ask, wanting to learn everything I can about him while he’s in a sharing mood. There’s no knowing when he’ll shut down. From my experience, he can go from hot to cold in a heartbeat.

“I dropped out of college. Well, technically, I got kicked out.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “For what?”

He shrugs as a sly smile curves the corner of his mouth, causing the most adorable dimples to appear.

As if he weren’t attractive enough before, now he has to have dimples?

It gives him a boyish charm I find nearly impossible to resist.

“For brewing beer on campus.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “Did you really?”

“That, and I’d pretty much stopped going to class. My beer had started to grow in popularity. Why waste my time sitting in class when I could be brewing, bottling, and distributing my own beer?”

“How did you end up with all of this?” I wave my hand at my surroundings.

“A lot of blood, sweat, and tears.” He takes another swig of beer. “But I knew this was what I wanted to do. The idea of sitting in a classroom or in an office never appealed to me. I moved back in with my mom and worked my ass off to increase production. Then I started reaching out to every taproom, restaurant, and bar within a two-hundred-mile radius to see if they’d want to carry my label. It was tough at first, but eventually, I had sufficient demand to warrant opening my own taproom.”

“That’s incredible.” I laugh under my breath. “I feel like a failure next to you.”

“You’re not a failure. You were in the Peace Corps, for crying out loud. I was definitely impressed when I learned that.”

I shrug, averting my gaze. “I just wanted to do something worthwhile.”

“What did you do while you were in the Peace Corps?” He inched toward me, genuine curiosity etched on his face.

“My focus was on clean water. In a lot of less developed countries, clean water isn’t a guarantee, so my time there was spent educating the locals on its importance and helping to develop systems for them to be able to access it. Especially women, since they’re typically the ones responsible for fetching water for their families.”

He studies me for a moment, taking in every word as if truly interested. “Sounds like it’s something you’re passionate about.”

“I think everyone should have access to basic necessities.”

“And after the Peace Corps? What did you do?”

I take a sip from my beer. “Came back to the States and worked for a nonprofit in a similar field. But then I was laid off late last year due to budget cuts. With the wedding coming up, Carson suggested I focus on planning that instead of stressing over finding and starting a new job.”

“I see,” he replies evenly as another protracted silence stretches between us. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find something. You’re obviously passionate about what you do.”

“I hope you’re right,” I murmur.

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