Page 25 of Beyond the Hate

“Gloat?”

She plants her hands on her hips. “Your distillery didn’t suffer any damage but the brewery is practically destroyed.”

I frown. “And you think I would gloat about it.”

She motions to my clothes. “You certainly didn’t come to help in the outfit you’re wearing.”

“What do you need help with?”

She waves to the debris scattered on the ground. “What do you think?”

I remove my jacket and hang it on the lowest branch of the one tree left standing before rolling up my sleeves.

“I came to offer you a different kind of help, but I can do this, too.”

She raises her eyebrows. The skepticism is plain to read on her face.

I grab a piece of wood from the ground. “Are you sorting materials? Or does everything go in the container together?”

She points to a pile of wood. “Wood goes there. Building materials go in the container.”

I gather a few pieces of wood before carrying them to the pile. Paisley follows me the entire way.

“What did you mean about coming to offer a different kind of help?” she asks once I’ve dropped my load.

I go back to gathering wood while I contemplate how to answer.

“Well,” she pushes when I don’t speak.

I stand to face her. “The distillery wasn’t damaged during the storm.”

She scowls. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“We have a lot of extra space as we’re planning to expand production.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“I came to offer you the space for you to brew and produceFive Fathomsbeer.”

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops open. “I wish I could say I’m imagining things but I’m not prone to flights of fancy. And I know I’m not dreaming as my vision is always impaired while I dream. Perhaps my ears are due for a thorough cleaning.”

“You don’t need to have your ears cleaned.”

“But why would you offer us space in your distillery? What do you get out of it?”

First of all, the offer was made to her. Without Paisley, the brewery wouldn’t be on my radar. And, secondly, why does she assume I’m getting any benefit out of my offer?

“It’s a friendly offer as a fellow smuggler.”

“A fellow smuggler?” She waves toward my suit pants.

“Being well dressed doesn’t mean I’m not a smuggler.”

“When was the last time you’ve been to the beach?”

Ha. Joke’s on her. “I was there this morning.”

“You were?” She slides her glasses up her nose as she contemplates me. Understanding lights in her eyes and she snaps her fingers. “Of course. You were checking on Miles. How is his surfing shack?”

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