Page 22 of Pitcher Perfect

Caleb walked over to read the four quadrants outlined with electrical tape. Each rectangle had one of the four of our names written across the top. Ty’s tracked the number of days since he’d said “epic.” Ethan’s tracked the number of days since he’d gotten a customer’s phone number. Dom’s tracked days since he’d acted like our boss, which was a terrible habit of his. We were all equal partners, but since he managed the operations and financial side of things, he could get a bit bossy. He’d done that in college, too, organizing our grocery lists, chore charts, and bill splits.

“Is yours written in permanent marker?” Caleb scratched at the zero before “days since skipping lunch to work.”

“Yeah.” I was embarrassed.

“Do you really work that much?”

“I have a lot to do,” I said defensively.

He briefly gripped my bicep. “Hey, I get it. You’re the only one brewing. I’m the only one cooking for Be Eggcellent to Each Other. It can be overwhelming with so many steps involved and no one who can help.”

I released a long breath. “Exactly.” I was glad he understood. “We’ve talked about possibly bringing on a part-time brewer once we’ve grown more and can afford it.” The guys had their work cut out for them convincing me to prioritize that when we could spend any extra money we got in so many other ways. But in that moment, I wanted Caleb to think I was a reasonable guy and not a chronic workaholic. I didn’t want to examine why that was.

Caleb scratched his chin as he stared at the board.

“What?”

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Just trying to figure out what mine would be.” He gestured at the counts. “Maybe days since I ate more bacon than I put on sandwiches. Or days since making terrible egg puns with my customers.”

I felt lighter. Maybe he really did get me, get us.

“It’s great that you have such good friends. I wish I had a crew like that.” He smiled sadly.

It tugged at my heart. “Did you leave your friends when you moved here?”

“Sorta. I have some college buddies, but we’re scattered everywhere. Back in Portland, I hung out with some people I worked with at my pod since we all had similar hours, but getting close to people was hard with how much I worked. It’s not as hectic here, which is nice.”

“I get that. If I hadn’t met those bozos in college, I don’t know that I would have made friends as an adult. It’s fucking hard.”

Caleb laughed. “It is. Tough to find people to date too. Though, of all places, there seems to be a good community of people to meet here.” His attention lingered on me.

I was the first to break eye contact. I wanted to ask more about the kind of person Caleb was interested in dating and how many of those boxes I ticked, but I needed to keep my attention on work.

Odds were he would notice how little room I had in my life for anything unrelated to the brewery and realize I wasn’t worth the effort. It was for the best, anyway. I doubted he would stay in Dahlia Springs for long. If we got any good publicity from the competition, Caleb might decide the town was too small and head back to Portland like so many others had before. I refused to get invested in whether the guy would stay. I knew Ty, Ethan, and Dom were staying, and that was all I needed to worry about. They were my people.

I finished the tour by showing him the back of the brewery and where we hoped to expand for an outdoor seating area as I tossed the wrapper for my delicious sandwich.

“I hope the lease for that lot goes through. Sitting out here and enjoying a glass after a long day would be amazing.” He turned his attention toward the dumpster and recycling area. “Are the steaming bins full of the grain you talked about?” Caleb asked.

“Yeah, the grain-out.” I smiled. I loved that he’d listened to me. “A local farmer we work with uses it as feed for her cattle.”

“That’s amazing. Ethan mentioned that you guys have a few relationships with farmers for the hops and some other ingredients. It’s great that you’re trying to keep everything local.”

“Ty and I grew up here, and it was important for us to support as many local businesses as possible. It’s sort of the Dahlia Springs way.”

“I remember visiting a farm as a kid when my parents brought my sister and me here.”

I led him back to the taproom. “You mentioned your mom was born here. How often did you visit?”

“Only a few times. I’m from northern Idaho, and my mom missed the coast, but I think it was tough for them to afford vacations. We took a few trips out here and stopped in Dahlia Springs on our way to and from the coast. I loved it. I rode my first horse at a farm nearby.”

“I went to school with the kids of the family who own it. We had a lot of birthday parties out there.” I wondered if we had ever been there at the same time.

Caleb laughed. “I bet. It had to be amazing growing up here.”

I stiffened as I finished pouring an IPA. He didn’t need to know my tale of woe. “Yeah, it’s a nice town,” I managed.

CHAPTER7

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