Page 38 of Pitcher Perfect

Austin shifted againin my passenger seat and let out a frustrated huff as we approached Dahlia Springs after an amazing day in Portland. We had probably looked at every single product in the stationery store as we’d nerded out over our shared hobby. It was amazing walking out of therewithhim that time. We got a do-over.

“You okay?” I glanced at him again.

“Sorry. Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about my absolute lack of ideas for the competition. Plenty of them would workfine, but I can’t think of anything new that’s grand prize worthy.”

“Does it have to be new?” I asked.

“Isn’t that in the rules?” he asked slowly.

“I mean classics are classics for a reason, right? Maybe we’re overthinking it.”

He gave me a wry smile. “You meanI’moverthinking it.”

I laughed. “I’m doing it too. Sure, I make my living with breakfast sandwiches, but I know that’s not right for this competition. I can cook a lot of different things, and I feel stuck because there are too many possibilities.”

Austin nodded as I turned onto Main Street. My body relaxed once we got back into town. I loved Portland, and always would, but Dahlia Springs feltright.

“I guess I’m feeling the same thing. There are so many kinds of beer. If we specialized in saisons or IPAs or something, it would be easy. It feels impossible to choose a style without the whole event having a theme. If it were a chocolate festival or all about chili, it would be easier. But a free-for-all where there will be a mix of cuisines and, hell, probably even some desserts? It’s overwhelming.”

I reached over and patted his leg. “We’ll figure it out.” I did it without thinking and wanted to leave my hand there to see if he would grab it.But what if he doesn’t?I pulled it back and gripped the steering wheel before I could make a fool of myself.

“Take the next left,” Austin said.

“I know your work with the beer is really front-loaded in terms of our timeline, which means we can finalize and fine-tune the food recipe later. Though I understand that knowing the food will help pick a direction for the beer style and flavor profile.”

“It’s like the chicken or the egg. I could talk myself in circles on this with what needs to be figured out first. I need to start brewing in the next week to be safe.” Austin sounded defeated.

After spending all day in Portland together, it felt like we weren’t any closer to narrowing things down. I kept my nerves to myself because I didn’t want to add stress to Austin’s shoulders. I knew the stakes were higher for the brewery, but it was important to me too. If I could help them, I knew Frank Ambrose would be more likely to give me a chance with the restaurant space. And well, I just wanted to help Austin, wanted to make him happy, make the other guys happy too.

I knew I could keep going with the food truck for as long as I needed. Dave wasn’t in any hurry to get rid of me since he’d said his business had picked up with my arrival.

Ambrose might even already have someone in mind for the space, though Dave had done some poking around and said he’d heard there were no offers. If that was the case, it stung worse that the stubborn man would rather wait for anyone else to offer instead of me.

It wasn’t like the small town had a ton of leasable restaurant spaces, though, and there was no way in hell I had the money to fund construction. My opportunities to open a restaurant in town would be few and far between, and I needed to seize the opportunity—or move to another town, which I refused to consider yet. Being in Dahlia Springs helped me feel closer to Mom. I had been too young to really remember details when she’d told me stories of her childhood there, but knowing she’d walked the same streets as me, breathed in that fresh air, possibly known some of the same people, it helped ease some of the permanent ache in my chest.

I knew I could feel those things back in Idaho, where I could have dinner with Dad in my childhood home, but Idaho wasn’t my place. Oregon was. Being near the ocean and mountains was where I belonged. Dahlia Springs had everything I needed. I glanced at Austin.And wanted.

“In the next week sounds good. I still get to help brew, right?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“Good.”

“It’s the old Victorian at the end of the block, on the left.”

I parked across the street from Austin’s place and turned off the ignition.

Since Austin made no move to jump out, I turned toward him as much as my seat belt would let me. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded idly. “I hope so.” He scratched at the seam of his jeans near his knee. “Where will you cook everything? Would you take your truck to park near the Expo Center that day? I didn’t even think about the logistics of preparing the food.”

“Hey, don’t worry. It’s my job to worry about the food part. It’s not all on your shoulders,” I said a bit more insistently than was probably called for. I’d been around him enough to recognize signs that he seemed to feel he had to do everything on his own, not accept help or ask for it.

“Remember I mentioned the friend’s kitchen where I used to cater?” I continued. “I’ll reach out to him to ask if I can work in there. It’s not too far from the Expo Center and would work way better than the truck.” I smiled at him. “We could make some team shirts.”

“What would our team name be?” Austin already looked like his mood was improving.

Suddenly, my car began rocking. It scared the hell out of me. I looked around.Earthquake?

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