Page 11 of Pitcher Perfect

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Where’s he parked?”

“In the parking lot of Dave’s coffee shop. You need to get out more.”

That explained why I hadn’t seen it. I’d been so busy the past few weeks—months, okay, years—that I rarely ventured out beyond home, the brewery, and the market. All of which were on the opposite side of town from the coffee shop. Guilt hit me. That meant it had been a few weeks since I’d visited Dave. I needed to go say hi and see how he and Mikey were doing.

“So what? I was hungry.” But it seriously was delicious. I’d give him that. “Am I supposed to make a maple bacon porter to go with a chicken and waffle sandwich?”

Tyler’s eyebrows rose. “You know, that sounds pretty delicious.”

I swatted his arm. “We’re not doing maple bacon like an Oregon cliche.”

Tyler sighed loudly. “Fine. Crush my dreams. Seriously, why are you so worried? This is a great opportunity. There’s no risk. You said you were fine entering the competition despite your dad’s connection.”

Easy for him to say there was no risk. He wasn’t the one managing the beer production for our taproom plus the restaurants and grocery stores where Ty had secured contracts. Normally I spent months adjusting recipes, testing, and perfecting through home brewing before bringing it into our professional equipment. The competition timeline meant I basically had to spit out a mind-blowing beer in twenty-four hours.

Sure, I’d said I was fine entering a contest that was so big for my dad, but I wasn’t. Not really. I wasn’t going to refuse to participate, but it was going to take effort to keep a smile on my face. My dad’s footsteps were the last I wanted to follow.

“Sure. No risk. It’s fine, don’t worry.” Despite being frustrated, I would do it. I would be an idiot not to acknowledge that even the press as a participant would be good for us.

“Is it because you think he can only make killer breakfast sandwiches? He needed a niche for his food truck.”

“I know. It’s fine.” My words sounded less than convincing.

Tyler studied me so carefully it made me squirm. I caught a glimpse of his rarely used serious side. Being my oldest friend, cousin, and the person who got me through the darkest times of my life, he knew me better than anyone. For better or worse.

His mouth opened and eyebrows lifted. A moment later, he said, “Ah.”

“Ah, what? Why are you looking at me like I’m a Rubik’s Cube and you’ve just solved me?”

“Bro, you’re not that difficult. Come on.”

I cracked a partial smile.

“It’s because he’s a chef,” Tyler said softly. “I knew it would bother you that your dad won this competition years ago, but I didn’t think about your beef with chefs in general.”

I stiffened. The pity in his eyes soured my stomach. “I don’t have a beef with chefs.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What about that gorgeous guy you were flirting up a storm with at Pride last year? The one with the epic sleeve tattoos and the tongue piercing?” Ty’s expression got dreamy for a second. “The moment he said he was a chef, you ran out of there like your ass was on fire.”

“He called me babe.”

Ty snorted. “Okay, Aus.”

I turned away from him to find something to clean. There were always things to clean when making beer. “I said I’m fine. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

Tyler grabbed my shoulder and squeezed. “Your dad’s an asshole. Both your parents are assholes. That doesn’t mean all chefs are flighty pricks who abandon their kids to gallivant around the globe. Give Caleb a chance. He wants this as much as we do.”

I doubted that.What difference would something as high-status as Portland Pairing matter to someone with a food truck in a small town?I winced. We were a small brewery in a small town. I was being a judgmental asshole.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll figure something out.”

He clapped my shoulder. “If you say fine one more time, I’m turning it into a drinking game. He’s a nice guy. I’m sure you’ll come up with something amazing.”

I tried to relax my shoulders and failed miserably. “Do we know that he’s staying in town long enough to do this?”

Tyler sighed. “Yes. If anything, I’m worried about the townies accepting him. You know how people here can be hesitant about outsiders.”

“Maybe they’re onto something,” I mumbled.

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