Page 1 of Pitcher Perfect

PROLOGUE

AUSTIN

Three months earlier

“Areyou seriously going to visit a nerdy paperstore instead of going to happy hour with us? Come on. We’re only in Portland for the evening.” My cousin, Tyler, aimed his most potent puppy dog eyes at me.

My three best friends and co-owners of Tap That Brewery and I were rarely all together in Portland since we moved to Dahlia Springs. Some of them visited regularly, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to the city for something other than a quick supply run for my brewing.

I huddled under the awning at the parking garage to stay out of the Oregon rain for as long as I could. “I can do happy hour with you bozos in Dahlia Springs, but I can’t buy good, quality notebooks there.”

Tyler fake coughed. It sounded like “dweeb.” Rain fell from the edge of the awning onto Tyler’s perfectly styled pompadour. He scowled.

I sent silent thanks to reliable Oregon rain for getting some payback on my behalf. “Real mature. If having expectations for high-quality pens and paper makes me a dweeb, then I proudly accept the label. You keep writing notes on the back of receipts, my guy.” I half-heartedly shoved his shoulder.

“Ooh, burn,” he said.

“Okay, children. Let’s stop the bickering.” Ethan, ever the peacemaker, stood between us and patted our chests as he flashed his dimpled smile. “If Austin doesn’t want to drink himself silly before our dinner reservation like you two, leave him be.”

Tyler pouted again.

“Because then he can be our DD,” Dom, the last in our merry little band of misfits, said.

Tyler held up his hand for a high five, and eventually, Dom took pity on him and slapped it. Dom was the biggest and strongest of us all, and his high fives smarted.

Ty hissed at the contact. “Epic.”

“I’m gonna run a quick errand, then I’ll meet you guys at the bar,” Ethan said, staring at his phone.

Dom arched an eyebrow while Tyler frowned.

Since they weren’t going to say anything, I jumped into the line of fire. “Are you going to stop by Jack’s coffee shop?”

Ethan blushed. “I told him I’d say hi the next time I was in town.”

I admired Ethan’s relentless belief in love. His relationships never lasted long, but he never let a breakup or getting ghosted keep him down. The man was determined to continue loving love, and I had to respect that. I, on the other hand, had been burned too many times to trust the concept. Every man I’d ever dated had acted like my job was a personal threat to their happiness. I liked to work.Why is that a big deal?

While Ty and Dom ribbed Ethan about how miserable he’d been with Jack, I pulled up the hood of my black Columbia rain jacket and split off from the group to head to my favorite stationery store before it closed. Fortunately, it was in the Pearl District, only a few blocks away from where I needed to meet the guys for dinner in about an hour, which gave me lots of shopping time.

It had been less than a year since we’d moved to Dahlia Springs—my hometown a little over an hour southwest of Portland—to open our brewery. Though, in some ways, I felt like it had been years since I lived in Oregon’s largest and most vibrant city.

Moving to Dahlia Springs with my three best friends to open our dream brewery had been a great decision, but the small town lacked many of the creature comforts I’d grown used to since moving to Portland for college nearly fifteen years ago. I missed having a selection of more than three cuisines a short walk away. Portland had the concerts, museums, and breweries—not that I took advantage of those things often since I had a tendency to spend most of my time working, but I enjoyed knowing Icouldget out and experience those things.

When I reached the store, I paused to admire a display of three-dimensional paper hearts in shades of pink and red.How is it almost Valentine’s Day?It seemed like we’d just put away Christmas decorations at the brewery last week. Before I knew it, it would be time to begin working on our first seasonal ale.

I dropped my hood and shook the raindrops from my coat before entering the store. Inhaling deeply, I crossed the threshold and appreciated the scent of old books. If that were a candle, I would be tempted to snag one. The light was low and soothing. A worn leather chair sat in a corner between shelves of Moleskine notebooks and matching sets of desk organization pieces. It was a cozy space filled with everything to make a notebook nerd like me damn near giddy.

After a brief perusal of the store, I stopped at a large bookcase filled with notebooks of varying sizes and styles. I selected a grid notebook with a sage-green spine to examine when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

A man about my age picked up a fountain pen and wrote on the tester notepad. He wasgorgeous. Tall, over six feet, broad shoulders, long legs. I wished I could see what he was working with under his puffy navy-blue coat. He had dirty-blond hair, lightly tanned skin, and some delicious scruff on his face—not as thick as the closely trimmed, short beard I had, but I bet it would feel good against my skin.

He looked over at me and smiled, a hint of appreciation in his quick once-over. I glanced away immediately. If I had even an ounce of Tyler’s game, I would chat him up. It had been long enough since I’d been with anyone other than my right hand, but I was only in Portland for the evening to get dinner with the guys. I wasn’t there to get my dick wet.

I skimmed through a bullet journal and tried to casually glance at the man again. A little visual appreciation couldn’t hurt. When I looked again, I caught him regarding me. I offered the time-honored and awkward smile reserved for strangers, just a quick tug at my lips. A braver man than me, he full-on smiled, then returned his attention to the pens.

By the time I’d grabbed the fourth notebook, I wasn’t even paying attention to the product in my hand. All I noticed was the proximity of the man who had shifted to the fountain pens closer to my bookshelf while I casually moved to the notebooks closer to the pens.

The man held up brown and blue ink bottles. “Which one of these do you think is best suited to send the message of ‘If you leave your dog’s shit on the sidewalk in front of my place one more time, I’m going to hide a dead fish in your car’?”

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