Page 26 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

He stood up a bit straighter as he led her to it. “I make more than I can drink, though George says that’s not necessarily true. So I started selling it to local pubs and shops. We’re close enough to Folkestone, and I have a connection with a pub on the beach there. They like to stock local ales.”

“I like it. It’s simple and classy.”

“I picked that tip up from a woman I used to know.”

She’d thought she could simply keep the past where it belonged and focus on learning what she could from Alistair. That was it. But their lives were too deeply woven together. They’d been kids when they got married, so their influence on each other was written on the souls of the people they were today.

His face showed the signs of that life, and there were moments when she caught him watching her carefully. There were those land mines that she remembered hearing mum’s favorite singer, Sting, talk about. They’d both planted them on their way out the door, and now they were navigating a dangerous minefield, hoping not to get hurt again.

“She was always too smart for you,” Poppy said with a bit of an edge. She hated remembering how much in love with him she’d been and how she’d kept trying to show him how to reciprocate that love.

“Indeed. Also, I have a hard head—everyone knows that. Just took longer for her wisdom to sink in.” A look crossed his face that she didn’t recognize...maybe regret. “Want to see the brewing operation? Or the kombucha shed?”

“Both. Since you won the right to set the challenge for the summer, I have to brew my own kombucha. I’ve never been a fan of it.”

“I’ll let you try some of the stuff I’ve brewed. See if I can change your mind.”

He led her to one of the smaller buildings, and as soon as she stepped inside, she realized that it was temperature controlled. Pulling out her phone, she opened the notes app.

“Is temperature important in fermenting the kombucha?” she asked.

“Not really. When you’re making your SCOBY and doing your second fermenting, room temperature is fine,” he said.

“The SCOBY is a starter like they use in sourdough?”

“Yes. It’s the base for the kombucha. It usually takes about seven to twelve days, but I’ve heard of some people who let it go a lot longer,” he said.

“Then the first thing I need to do is grow the SCOBY?”

“Yes. The next steps all take about a week and half to two weeks. So you should have enough time to do it before the deadline,” he said. Then he showed her the kombucha he’d put into the new bottle with the airlock while she’d been sleeping.

When she worked with Alistair at Lancaster-Spencer for those few disastrous months, he’d been impatient and bossy. Here, he took his time showing her all the steps he took to make his concoctions and how he fermented them.

Her questions—which were probably basic to him—were answered. All of them. He even shared his own experience with the mistakes he made and how he learned from them.

“Thanks. I’ll probably be DMing you while I do this at home.”

“Feel free. I can send you a list of supplies I use... It’s the least I can do after you helped me out with the flavors,” he said.

A part of her wanted to say he didn’t owe her, but they weren’t lovers or even friends. They were friendly acquaintances, which meant that he could owe her. No denying it felt good to ask him for something and not feel guilty. “Sure. I’m ready to see the big operation.”

“Ha. Dad calls it my ‘lockdown hobby’ and is insistent I start working again,” he said as he led her out of the shed.

“Don’t let him do that. Your beer is something you worked hard to make,” she said.

He stopped walking, leaning against the side of the beer barn before opening the door. It seemed like he wanted to say something.

She put her hand on his arm to stop him from moving. “Your dad is a bully. Sera would say he probably didn’t get to go after his own dreams, so he crushes everyone else’s.”

“Maybe. What’s that got to do with me?”

“Don’t be like him. Do your thing if that’s what you want. Is this why you took your leave of absence? It must tick him off to know you don’t want to be his little clone,” Poppy said.

“It does. But he’s still got George,” Alistair said, opening the barn door and leading her inside.

There were three big vats, and she knew they were for different stages of the fermenting and brewing process. He took her to a tasting table and went to get some samples for them before she realized he hadn’t actually told her the reasons behind his break from the family company.

It had always been important to Alistair that he be the heir to Lancaster-Spencer along with George. He had so much pride in his family’s legacy and his place in it. Was this something he was doing to distract himself from what he’d lost?

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