Page 64 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

“I can do that.” He took her hand, tugging her into his arms, and she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing.

She held him tighter. But she couldn’t hold on to him this tightly forever. It wasn’t good for either of them. He had to want to stay.

They made popcorn, drank iced tea and watched her movie. When it was midnight, he left.

She toyed with asking him to stay, but in the end, she hadn’t. Everything had been rushed the first time, she was doing it different with Ali.

Eighteen

The summer days were long and felt like they’d last forever, but as July bled into August, Poppy knew they wouldn’t. The hints of fall were in the air, and she and Alistair weren’t having discussions of the future.

She wasn’t entirely sure if that was her idea or his. But so far, it was working for them. Working in a way that made everything feel as sweet as the sun-warmed strawberries she’d found at a farm stand on her way home from work.

The last of the season. That was what Charlotte, the woman who owned the farm stand told her as she put them in the basket on her bicycle.

Liberty was even talking about the end-of-summer ritual. The plan was to go up to Hanging Hill to celebrate the transition of the seasons. Poppy was looking forward to that. The last transition, from spring into summer, had been powerful for her at the Tor. The start of her and Ali.

He was leaning against her front door when she pulled into the drive of her cottage. She loved her little house set a few blocks off Main Street. She wasn’t sure she’d see Ali today, as he’d been working with Owen to get ready for the Beer Fest, which they were hosting this weekend in the park.

“Hey.”

“Hiya. Hope you don’t mind me just showing up.”

“Of course not. I picked up some strawberries on my way home. I was going to try to dehydrate some to put in my end-of-summer tea blend,” she mentioned. “I haven’t checked our kombucha today.”

“I climbed your fence and checked them. I think they might be ready,” he said.

“The gate is never locked, so next time you can just walk through it,” she pointed out as she unlocked her front door.

“Good to know,” he said.

Pickle ran to greet them, dancing around both of their legs until they petted her. She followed them into the kitchen, where Poppy put the strawberries on the counter next to the fresh-cut flowers she’d also picked up.

Alistair pulled a vase from the cabinet under the sink and put water in it while she got them both some herbal peach iced tea from her fridge.

What felt like an attack of vertigo overwhelmed her. There were moments when she wanted to stub her toe really hard so she’d know this was real.

He was everything she’d wanted from him when they were married. All the things she’d asked for that he never had time for, which was nice. But it was the unspoken things that really got to her. The way he seemed to know when she needed him. Making her laugh about nothing or having a serious conversation about how much they’d changed.

It felt like a dream she’d never expected to come true.

She could almost believe it was real, except there was one thing he never talked about. Him.

He talked about her, his brother, Lancaster-Spencer, beer brewing, kombucha, even D&D and WiCKed Sisters. But when she broached how long he was on leave from Lancaster-Spencer, he always changed the subject.

She sighed to herself as she followed him out to the shed where their jars of kombucha were. They’d added the champagne yeast a week ago, so anytime now they’d be able to sample it and transfer it to bottles. But it would have to taste dry and boozy first.

“Poppy?”

“Hmm?” She hadn’t been paying attention at all. She wanted to ask him about his future with Lancaster-Spencer. But she also didn’t want to ruin these perfect long summer days with him.

Now who was being fake?

Not fake, exactly, just not wanting to lose this unexpected happiness. Was there really anything wrong with that?

“Should we try it tonight or wait a few more days?” he asked.

“The recipe said seven to fourteen days, and it’s been seven. Maybe we should try it at ten days?” she suggested. “Will it be ruined if we take the airlocks off too soon?”

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