Page 73 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

“You were, and you did,” she said, unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face. “But it worked out for me. FUAM is one of my top sellers.”

“Does everyone know what it means?”

“Just Liberty and Sera,” she said. “So my way back to tea is now for you, not in spite of you.”

“Yeah. Well, my favorite is black tea,” he said.

“I didn’t know that. You always drink oolong.”

“Just to annoy Dad because he insisted we have Earl Grey at home,” Alistair said.

So black tea. “Black tea is a nice base. What else do you like?”

She’d made a lot of assumptions about Ali. Spent a lot of time dwelling on all the ways he’d never seen her, mainly because lately, he seemed to really see her. Not realizing that she’d never really tried to see him either.

She’d had an idea of him. Howard Miller’s second son, bad boy, player, reckless. The tabloids’ favorite fodder. He’d been all of that during their courtship and marriage. And to be fair, he was still those things, but she saw depth to him now.

That one-dimensional image of what she thought he was... One of the hardest things to accept was that she’d been just as culpable in the downfall of their relationship. She wasn’t going to take the blame entirely, but there was a lot she was doing differently this time that never occurred to her before.

“Vanilla and strawberries,” he said. “Those are two of my favorite flavors.”

“Really? Strawberries make you break out if you eat too many of them,” she pointed out.

“Thanks for the reminder. But yeah, they remind me of you,” he admitted. The alarm on his watch pinged.

“Ah, that’s sweet that you’re willing to risk skin irritation for me,” she said.

He shrugged. “I can be sweet, you know.”

“I do know. I like it. It’s just unexpected.”

“Good. I like keeping you off-balance.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because that’s how I feel around you, moon fairy. Only fair to try to keep things even.”

But they weren’t even at all. She was falling for him. Although her mind was going to figure out a way to keep her heart safe from him again, every part of her being wanted to be with him.

Alistair dropped Poppy off at her place and headed back to his apartment. The beer festival had gone off without a hitch, and Owen was now talking about brewing some autumn ales and doing an Oktoberfest if Alistair wanted to stay.

He did want to stay, but he had obligations in the UK. His own place and brewing business that he’d started. He also needed to go to the board meeting in September to relinquish his voting rights in the company. Though George had mentioned Poppy’s voting rights, she’d already given those all to Ali in the divorce. All she’d asked him for in return was that he made no claim on anything involving WiCKed Sisters.

So was he going to stay? If he did, he needed to find a real house. This apartment was okay, but it wasn’t anything special. And he’d like to have Poppy at his place once in a while, so when he was alone...he wouldn’t be, not really.

George had sent him an email with the offer that they were sending to Poppy today. Ali had read it, and it looked pretty fair to him. But he saw a few places that he suspected she’d argue and a few that he knew she could get them to back down on.

He’d been toying with offering her his advice, but the truth was, it washerdeal. He wasn’t even sure George should have sent it to him.

Which made him feel edgy and tense. So he ditched the Ducati, changed into running clothes and went for a long run. As his feet pounded the pavement, his mind wandered through scenarios. Each one had a different outcome.

It had been years since he’d felt this calm when it came to making a decision. He knew his therapist would be pleased. He was going to have to call her when he was back in the UK. He wanted to have one more session and get her take on everything with Poppy.

Poppy.

She was really what had him in this scenario mode. He thought he loved her. Honestly, he had no real stick to measure love by. He cared for his mum. A lot. He liked George and Pickle. But these emotions he held for Poppy were deeper and more consuming. As if there was a part of him that no longer belonged solely to himself.

Was that love?

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