Page 6 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

She had to be careful she wasn’t allhello, lovewhen she should begoodbye, lover. It was a delicate balance, and one only she could weigh and decide on.

“So that’s your ex.” Sera threaded her arm through Poppy’s. “What did he want? The wedding again?”

“Yes, and his dad is going to sue me for the rights to put out the Amber Rapp tea blend.”

“That bastard. I’ll curse him,” Liberty shouted, starting toward her part of the shop.

Poppy grabbed her arm to stop her. “Not yet. But would you read my cards? I need some guidance.”

“Of course.” Liberty looked over at Merle, blew him a kiss. “Watch the shop?”

“Sure. Is Greer still here, Sera?”

“Yes, they are. Do you think the two of you can handle everything?” Sera asked.

“Definitely.”

Alistair rented a room above the Bootless Soldier Tavern on Main Street. He’d been corresponding with Owen Krog, one of the brothers who owned the place, and Owen offered Alistair his brother’s girlfriend’s old flat while he was in town. Both of them were interested in beer and brewing hard kombucha, and meeting and bonding online.

The apartment was basically one large room with a kitchen nestled into the corner. The counters were covered with a utensil jar and a large butcher-block cutting board. Owen had told him where the nearest grocery store was. Alistair wasn’t here long enough to think about cooking, but this place would be ideal if he were.

There was a bedroom in the back with an adjoining bathroom and a large king-size bed that was comfortable—not that he anticipated a good night’s sleep. It had been years since he’d slept for more than four to six hours at night. Part of him hoped if he did this good thing for Poppy, it would be one less blot on his soul. Perhaps the sleep that had eluded him for so long would come at last.

Probably not. He had so many blots that it would take another lifetime to fill them all in.

Walking across the hardwood floor to the window that looked down over Main Street he could just make out the wrought iron sign that hung in front of WiCKed Sisters. It was hard to reconcile Poppy as an independent businesswoman. Of course, it wasn’t that he didn’t think she was capable. It was simply that when she worked for Lancaster-Spencer Tea Makers, she’d hated it. Being her own boss had never seemed like something she wanted.

As if he needed another reminder of how little he’d actually known about her. Had that woman always been there? He couldn’t say.

He’d been so focused on fitting in for the first time in his life and earning his father’s respect that Poppy had come a distant second to everything else.

There was no way he was going to do that again. This time, he was making things right. For her. His craving to belong was still there, but it was tempered by his need to make sure that he chose the right place to fit in.

It would be nice if Owen was in town to join him for a pint, but he’d gone to Bangor to meet with a distributor. His brother Lars had been friendly but wasn’t interested in brewing, so there was no distraction from that fuckup with Poppy. Instead, when Alistair got to his room, he changed into his gym clothes, checked his running app for places near him to run and went out.

Running usually saved his sanity, but today, as he ran out of the town of Birch Lake and into the rural countryside, all he could see was Poppy’s face. Not just the way she was today but how she’d been when they first met.

He’d spent so much time staring at old pictures of her, they’d started to color the way he thought of their history. Poppy had been in love with him. Something he’d missed because she’d been an objective he needed to achieve his own goals. He’d hoped that maybe some residual feelings remained, but he knew that wasn’t reality.

He was one of those guys that took everything as far as it could go, even his fuckups. So he’d really screwed over Poppy in ways he hadn’t intended. He’d never meant to fall for her, but he had, then he’d felt so damned conflicted. It was hard to balance his family’s ambitions against his feelings for Poppy. There was no way she was going to forgive him. He wouldn’t forgive himself.

Getting her out of the Lancaster-Spencer contract was the best he could do. He was determined that, even if she turned him down, he’d convince George and Mum to side with him. Maybe he would have been a better man to have worked behind the scenes to just make it happen for her.

But no matter how much he thought he’d changed, there was still a part of him that wanted the accolades. Wanted Poppy to be all like,Alistair,you’re a legend... Just not in the way she’d said it today.

Also he’d needed to see her again. Was tired of picturing her as that teacup instead of the vibrant, sexy woman she was. Poppy was more than he’d remembered.

Take the hint.She wasn’t going to ever look at him again the way she had on their wedding day. That was his fault.

He headed back to his room drenched in sweat, but his emotions still roiled inside of him like a storm off the North Atlantic, flooding him with all the feels he knew better than to indulge in. Part of him wished Merle had taken him up on the fight he’d been spoiling for in Poppy’s tea shop. Of course, if he had, then Alistair would definitely be on his way to London alone.

He showered, then checked the Secret Tea Society Discord. The group had given him space to develop friendships outside of his family and wealthy connections. He hadn’t expected that. But most of his life these days was new territory.

No one was online. The tavern served food, so he decided to go get dinner.

The Bootless Soldier reminded him of pubs in the UK. They even had a dartboard in the back and did trivia nights. A pub night might be what he needed. Getting pissed and talking to strangers had always been his jam.

He needed to just be Ali. Not Alistair Miller, second son of Howard Miller, eighth Earl of Winfield and CEO of Lancaster-Spencer Tea Makers. It was time to get his drink on and forget his mistakes, even if just for a few hours. Pocketing his keys, he made his way downstairs and into the tavern.

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