Page 59 of Bad Luck Club

“We won’t let that happen,” Dottie said fiercely. “We’ll find a way to stretch the rules without breaking them. I’m good at that, remember?” She winked. “Just leave it to me.”

Blue knew she should say she wasn’t interested in stretching any of Bear’s rules, but it felt like Dottie’s confidence was transferring to her with each sip of tea. So Blue finished the third cup and set it down, pushing all three across the table to Dottie, who had the saucers in a stack, waiting.

Nervous, Blue bit into the blue petit four just for something to do. She half expected it to burn her or be full of dry ice or something, but it was just blueberry-lemon cake with berry icing.

“Why did you say it was interesting when I chose this earlier?” she asked.

“Blue is a calming color,” Dottie said as she worked with the cups and saucers. “It speaks to your wisdom.” There was ahm, deep in her throat, as she studied the saucers she’d prepared. “Come over here for a moment, would you?”

Blue went to her on tripping feet, suddenly deeply nervous. But she saw no owls in the cups this time, just squiggly lines.

“A journey?” she asked. She’d refreshed her memory of tasseography after their last tea together. A journey wasn’t so bad. She already knew she was on a journey.

But Dottie’s mouth shifted to the side. “Maybe so. But they’re thick lines. Theycouldbe snakes.” She glanced at Blue with worried eyes. “Snakes aren’t a good omen, my dear.”

Of course they weren’t.

Chapter Seventeen

The last week and a half had passed in a whirlwind.

After his breakfast with Dottie on Monday, Lee had headed back to the brewery, filled with the kind of purpose he hadn’t felt in over a month, and headed straight into Georgie’s office and shut the door behind him.

She glanced up from her computer, startled. “Lee.”

“Yeah. I’m back. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.” Then he presented his plan, telling her he needed an allowance for travel and mini kegs of the three samples she wanted to push the hardest. They could enter one beer for Brewfest’s best brew competition, and River had narrowed it down to Hair of Hops, Cesspool of Sin, and their upcoming Home Sweet Home. So those were the ones he’d push.

She frowned as they wrapped up their impromptu meeting. “What made you change your mind about staying?”

“I’m not staying for good,” he said. “But you’ve sunk a ton of money into this place, and if I can help you recoup it and more, then I’d be an asshole not to try.”

“You act like you’re single-handedly saving the brewery,” she said with a pointed gaze.

Which was the kind of savior complex act their father would pull.

“No, but if you want long-term success for the brewery, it’s going to take more than making great beer and getting people into the tasting room. You’re going to need outside sales, and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s selling.”

“I want you to be happy, Lee,” she said quietly. “You can help us reach the pinnacle of success, and it won’t mean anything if you’re not happy.”

“I have no idea what will make me happy,” he said, some of his frustration leaking through. For a fleeting moment, his mind conjured the face of a woman who looked like an angel, with blue eyes and dark curls, but he quickly pushed the image away, then said with a sigh, “So I might as well make Buchanan Brewery successful while I’m figuring it out.”

His sister hadn’t seemed satisfied with his answer, but she didn’t stop him when he got up and headed to the storeroom to start pulling things together for his trip.

But on the way to the storeroom, he realized he’d gotten a text from Blue. When he saw her name pop up on his phone screen, his heart kick-started, but then a cascade of metaphorical ice water rushed over him when he saw the message.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to wear jeans and a T-shirt with some kind of graphic on it for an entire day.

Nothing personal. Just his stupid challenge.

Wear a graphic T-shirt? Did she think he actually owned any? Likely not, since the challenge was supposed to…well, challenge him. But what the hell was the point? Sure, it was well outside of his comfort zone, but so was skydiving, juggling knives, and fraternizing with clowns, and he had no intention of doing any of those things either.

By the time he left the brewery, shortly after lunchtime, his Mercedes-Benz was packed with multiple mini kegs and several dozen six-packs of the different brews, and his mood was almost as foul as it had been the night before. Because his mind should be on his sales trip, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Blue. Even the stupid dent on the back of his car reminded him of her. Part of him wanted to text her back, to tell her in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t a project and it would be best if they parted ways.

So why couldn’t he bring himself to do it?

It was a dick move not to respond at all, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger and cut her off.

He spent the rest of the afternoon at the Buchanan house, tasting the different beers and taking notes, then comparing them to the notes he’d taken from River’s tutorial the week before. He’d hoped to be left alone for the evening—Adalia was spending every spare moment in her studio, and Jack and Iris seemed to spend as much time at Maisie’s house as they did at home—but Jack and his little sister showed up when he still had his flight of beers and notebook set out on the kitchen table.

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