Page 44 of Any Luck at All

Grinning, she went to cap the carboy. Which was when Hops, who’d been napping in the living room, darted toward them and took a flying leap. He’d aimed himself at Georgie’s arms, perhaps hoping she’d cradle him again, but she fumbled catching him, and he ended up falling onto the top of the carboy before she could grab him.

Could the dog fly? He’d never seen such a tiny animal soar so high.

Hops gave a scared yelp, snuggling into Georgie’s arms. She’d scooped him up quicker than he would have thought possible.

“Oh no!”

For a second he thought she was lamenting the fate of her beer—which, fair enough, they’d dealt with enough tainted brew for one day—but then she lifted the little dog, examining him carefully for any injuries.

Damn. He really wanted to kiss her.

Instead, he stepped closer and put a hand on her arm.

“It’s okay, Georgie. He didn’t get hurt. He’s just a little scared.”

Their eyes met and held, something passing between them, but Hops gave another little yelp and pushed into River’s arms. He snuggled the little puppy closer, kissed his head, feeling Georgie’s eyes on him, and set him down.

“I never knew a dog could jump that high,” she said, sounding a little flustered.

“Me neither,” he said with a grin. “He must have some basenji in him.”

Hops wagged his tail as if in agreement and proceeded to return to his favorite sandal. Maybe hehadimprinted on it.

She cocked her head. “What’s a basenji?”

“A dog breed known for jumping. I’ve helped my friend Maisie a lot at her dog shelter. It’s given me a somewhat encyclopedic knowledge of dog breeds.”

He glanced down at the carboy, and she did the same, groaning a little.

“It’s ruined, isn’t it? We have no way of knowing if there’s any dog hair in there. Maybe I’m cursed when it comes to beer.” She set the cap down on the counter, as if resigning herself to the fact that the beer wasn’t worth capping. Although he knew she’d said the thing about the curse as a joke, there’d been enough actual defeat in her voice for him to realize part of her meant it.

He leaned toward the counter and started the drumroll again.

“None of that,” he said. “The drumroll insists you do the honors. There’s no denying the drumroll.”

A smile crept back onto her face as she plugged the cap in and set up the tubing.

“But what if there’s hair in it?” she persisted.

“Then you and I and probably Jack will be the only ones to ever try it. Either that, or it will prove to be the magic ingredient we want to put in all our beers.”

She grinned at that. “In that case, I think I have a name for it.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, taking a step closer, telling himself he was doing it to check on the seal but knowing better.

“I hereby declare this beer Hair of Hops.” She laughed, that nice warm laugh of hers, and he joined in.

He let himself touch her arm again but stopped short of leaning in like he wanted to. Like he thought maybe she wanted him to. If—no, when—the time came, he wanted her to meet him halfway. “Now, what do you say we celebrate by eating some of the cinnamon rolls Aunt Dottie left this morning and drinking someone else’s beer? We can figure out what ingredients we’ll need for the cider and a couple of other experiments.”

“We could have been eating cinnamon rolls this whole time?” she asked with a smile. “What were you thinking?”

* * *

As they sat there scheming over cinnamon rolls and beer, a feeling of contentment rolled over River. It felt right. All of it. The new direction they were discussing, the relaunch of the brand, and…this. Sitting here with Georgie in his home, talking and laughing with her like they’d known each other for their whole lives instead of a couple of days. When he thought of all the time he’d spent not knowing her, he felt almost robbed.

“Hops is humping your sandal again,” she said, jarring him from his thoughts.

“Of course he is. When I bring him back to Maisie, he’ll miss that sandal more than he misses me.”

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