Page 23 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

His mum’s messages were all about his flight. She’d seen that his plane had landed but hadn’t heard from him. The last one, which came in while he’d been texting George, just said,hope you’re not dead.

His mum was so dramatic.

He texted back,Not dead. See you at the wedding. Love you.

She sent back a huge block of text that just told him he wasn’t funny, she’d been worried and she loved him too.

The shed where he’d stored the kombucha growler to ferment was dark and cool when he stepped inside. Though it was June, it wasn’t hot today. The sky was cloudy, and rain had fallen on their way to his place. He checked his brew and it looked pretty good. Thankfully, he’d brewed kombucha before.

It had seemed like a natural bridge between what he wanted to do and his family’s legacy. Kombucha always smelled rank to him right out of the growler, and this batch had that vinegary tang, so he figured it would be pretty good. He used a testing straw to sample it. Not bad.

Once he made some adjustments and added in flavors at the last stage, he thought he might be onto a winner.

For now, he was ready to add in the champagne yeast. He checked his watch and saw he still had a couple of hours before he had to go and wake Poppy.

Going to his workbench, he assembled everything he needed. He’d had proper plumbing installed, so he had hot and cold water, and the building was also climate controlled so that his ales and kombucha had the ideal environment to ferment.

The first thing he needed to do was make a slurry with hot water and sugar. He let the sugar and water cool before adding a teaspoon of the champagne yeast and letting it activate. He set a timer for five minutes and then stood near the door, looking up at his house.

Memories of Poppy from their marriage played in his head.

Poppy deserved to be treated with respect, unlike how she had been when he’d married her and brought her to the first board meeting. This time, he wanted to ensure that she was in charge. That Poppy got what she wanted out of this deal.

Not because of what he needed, but because of what she was owed.

He’d put so much bad karma out in the universe. Righting this one wrong wasn’t going to suddenly clear that debt, but it would give him less to worry about. Maybe he’d finally have the proof that he could be more than the playboy heir who took what he wanted.

Poppy’s room had a hardwood floor and a large Persian-style rug under a four-poster bed. There was a full-size wardrobe, with a smaller one off to one side. It had an en suite, which she appreciated, where she immediately washed her face and brushed her teeth.

She eyed the bed, but a wave of homesickness rolled over her. Was it still too early for a call back to Maine? Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she debated for about thirty seconds before messaging Merle.

He called her right away. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just missing home.”

“You’re British,” he said dryly.

“Ha. You know what I mean.”

“Everything okay with Alistair?”

Is it?“Yeah, he’s fine. I just...it’s odd being back here. Sorry, I know you’re working—”

“I called you. I bet it’s odd. I feel that way every time I go to a family dinner leaving my hair shaggy and not getting changed into a polo shirt. It’s like I’ve changed but the world hasn’t.”

She leaned back against the headboard. Once again, Merle seemed to know the right words to say. “That’s sort of it. There are some things that haven’t changed... I’m struggling. I made a big deal of keeping things just friends between us, but now I want more.”

“Tell him. I doubt that he’s not going to be all into it. He was watching you when we played darts, and even I could feel the heat.”

“That was because you and Liberty put on a show,” she said.

But her cousin was right. The heat between her and Ali had never been in question. It was just if she could take it to the next level and not let her emotions get messy. Sera had always been really good about keeping things physical and not emotional with the men she hooked up with, but Poppy struggled with separating her body and her heart.

If it wasn’t so early, she’d call Sera. Except there was no way to ask what she wanted to and not have it come out awkward.

“Want some unsolicited advice?”

“I did text you at, what, 4:00 a.m. your time.”

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