Page 10 of The Barista's Beloved

5

“It’s here! It’s here!”

Maeve looked up from her logbook and grinned at Aimee Sanchez, her new production assistant and favorite employee. Not that she was supposed to play favorites, but it was hard not to. Most of the guys she’d hired liked whiskey well enough, but they came to work to do a job and left at the end of the day without thinking about it further. Aimee threw everything she had into everything she did. Maeve suspected there were a lot of promotions in her future.

Now, the tall brunette was waving a sheaf of mail at her. She’d played softball in college, Maeve knew, so it seemed wise to duck. Just in case. Aimee snorted. “I’m not throwing it at you.”

“The new Whiskey Times is here?” Maeve stretched out her hand.

“Oh, it’s here. And you’re in for a surprise.” When Aimee passed her the magazine, Maeve found her own face staring back up at her. She yelped. “I’m on the cover?”

“I thought you said it was just going to be an interview for a feature about female distillers,” Aimee said accusingly. “I would have come in for the photoshoot if you’d said it was for the cover.”

“I thought it was just a headshot,” Maeve said, dazed. She flipped open the magazine and found the table of contents. ‘Female Distillers Flying High. Maeve Brennan and the New Faces of Whiskey.’ “Holy shite,” she breathed. Then she stood abruptly and strode to the door of her tiny office and shrieked her brother’s name at the top of her lungs.

Iain came running from his own office down the hall, where he led their marketing and sales efforts. “What? What is it? What broke? Who’s hurt?”

“Nothing, nobody.” She shoved the magazine in his face, making him step backwards onto Aimee’s foot.

“Ow!”

“Well, now somebody is,” Maeve said. “Are you okay?”

Aimee nodded. “I’m fine. Look, Iain.”

He finally looked at the magazine. “That’s you.” He blinked, then looked closer. “That’s you? On the cover of Whiskey Times?” He whooped and grabbed Maeve in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet.

She laughed. “Put me down!”

He did, although he held her by the shoulders for a moment longer, shaking her slightly to emphasize his words. “This. Is. Awesome.”

“So awesome,” Aimee chimed in.

Maeve let the grin spread over her face. “It is pretty awesome.”

“I have to go work up a press release,” Iain said abruptly. “Like, now.” He practically ran out of the office.

Aimee laughed. “I have to go file the rest of this mail and check on the number two still again.”

Maeve nodded distractedly as the other woman left, then sank down into her chair and flipped to the page the article started on. The fresh faces of American whiskey include Maeve Brennan, an Irish native with a decidedly new take on the classics…

She finished the article feeling like her head was floating somewhere near the ceiling. When the magazine had called her, she’d thought it was a coup to even be asked for an interview. Whiskey Times was the biggest publication in the field—her father had been featured more than once. He’d never been on the cover, though.

The reporter had told her they were putting together an article about several female distillers, a growing trend in the States that she was proud to contribute to. She’d eagerly consented, thinking that Iain’s promotional efforts were really paying off. She’d never dreamed of seeing her face in glossy print bigger than the thumbnail portrait they usually printed next to the biographical information about each interviewee. But there she was. Full-sized. Looking fierce and proud and competent, a red-headed child of the Brennan dynasty striking out and making waves on her own.

Her throat ached suddenly, and she wanted more than anything to call her mother. But it was late in Dublin, and Colleen Brennan was probably putting her grandbabies to bed at Fionn’s house, a weekly tradition. They’d talk tomorrow. In the meantime … she glanced at the clock. It was nearly lunchtime. And there was a friend waiting for her who she was pretty sure would be happy to hear about her accomplishment.

* * *

The taco truckwas worth the drive. Maeve felt obscurely like she was betraying Max’s friendship as she inhaled the carne asada drizzled liberally with a molten tomatillo sauce that was deceptively pale green.

“These are really good,” Ben mumbled around a mouthful of food. They were perched side by side on a rickety picnic table bench, facing away from the table and the other customers who were sitting on the opposite side.

Maeve nodded, and caught a drip of salsa that was trying to escape from the far end of her taco. She popped her finger into her mouth without thinking, and Ben shifted next to her. She glanced up at him, but he was looking down at his own taco. She chewed another bite and finally paused to take a breath. “Noah once started a petition to make Max keep his carnitas tacos on the menu permanently at Frankie’s.”

“I’ve had those.” Ben nodded. “They’re amazing.”

“These are different,” she said thoughtfully. “Different, but good.”

---