Page 2 of On The Rocks

March, with her typically capricious ways, had spit a mixture of sleet and rain for most of my ride into New York. But now the sun had forced its way through the gloom, leaving blue skies with angry clouds in the distance.

I rolled up to the front of the building since we weren’t open for business yet and parked next to Kira’s shiny new SUV. There were a few other cars dotting the parking lot, as well as Ronan Parrish’s black monster of a truck.

Ronan, Kira’s husband and brewmaster, was the king of ciders here at the taproom and we worked well together. He gave me plenty of ciders to play with while creating drinks for the bar.

I grabbed my black hobo bag, stuffing my phone and leakproof water bottle inside, before sliding out of my beloved purple Jeep Wrangler. My knee-length boots crunched on the gravel that surrounded the edge of the parking lot before going silent on the wide, slate pavers that led to the porch.

I climbed up to the barn. A smaller version of the sign from the entrance had replaced the old taproom sign. That big white barn owl that was part of the sign stared down at me with a lot of damn attitude, much like the men who ran this place.

The double doors had been opened wide to let in the clean, spring air. A babble of baby giggles was the first thing I heard as I walked into the taproom.

Not exactly the usual welcome.

A large, gated play area was set up in the middle of the dining room. Tables, booths, and chairs were still in storage, evidently. Ronan was sitting in the middle of the blankets and toys with a baby cradled in one arm, and her twin sister propped up in some sort of u-shaped pillow beside him. He was manning two bottles and his handsome, bearded face was soft with obvious love.

“Hey there, Dad.”

Startled, Ronan looked up. His hair had grown out some and his ever-present braids peeked from the curls and clinked with silver beads. He gave me a wide smile with a hint of fatigue around the eyes. “Lennon Hathaway, you are a sight for sore eyes. We’ve missed you.”

I set my bag on the bar and tentatively walked toward baby central. “I missed you guys too. And the girls have grown. Holy crap, what are you feeding them?”

“Just some breast milk.” He grinned as he nuzzled the top of his daughter’s head. “Ella is our fussy one this week.” He lifted his crooked arm with the baby in it. “Amelia is just happy to eat and laugh.”

The nipple of the bottle slid out of Amelia’s mouth as she flailed a little pink fist, and sure enough, that was the giggle I’d heard as I walked in.

Footsteps sounded behind me and I turned to see Kira flying in from the back storage room in her usual hurried stride. She was tall and curvy in soft black pants and a wraparound shirt in a deep forest green. She was a bit lusher than she’d once been, thanks to carrying twins just four months prior. Her long, curly hair was scraped back in a high ponytail and her face was devoid of makeup. A slash of dirt marred her cheek and a similarly exhausted, yet happy vibe filled the room.

“Len!” She crushed me to her in a-floral-and-baby-powder-scented hug. “We missed you!”

I hugged her back. “Same, girl.” She towered over me, but the softness was welcome after my last stint in Chicago. I’d spent an exhaustive month spinning through Los Angeles, Seattle, Portland, and ending with a residency in Chicago two days before.

She eased back and cupped my shoulders. “You’re too skinny.”

I laughed. “Okay, Mom. You worry about the twins, not me.”

“Being a mom looks good on her, doesn’t it?” Ronan asked from the pen.

“It sure does.” I did a slow spin as I took in the room that had become one of my favorite spaces. The iron rafters gleamed with a fresh treatment against rust, and a few more spaces had been created on the paneled walls for art.

The taproom hosted local artists like a mini gallery and changed out most of the artwork as it sold, save for the paintings of each of the seasons of the orchard that filled the back wall. It used to be three, but a fourth winter season had been added to the display.

The rest of the walls were empty, waiting for new media. The taproom was mostly devoid of neon, which I appreciated. The slick, city bars were jarring, and sometimes migraine-inducing by the end of the night.

But there was a brand-new addition to my bar.

Kira caught my gaze and ran around the bar. “We got you something.” She flipped a switch, and a warm golden neon sign popped off a panel of hexagonal wood tiles in a dozen different stains.

“Bad decisions make good stories,” I read aloud.

The neon and wood additions were just enough to elevate the bar area from pure mirrors and bottles to something more welcoming.

“Well, what do you think?” Kira nibbled on her lower lip.

“I love it. And do I spy new spirits on those shelves?”

Ronan climbed out of the pen with the babies, handing one off to Kira when he slid behind the bar with her. “Actually, you sure did. Hayes and his crew added an apple-honey vodka to the roster. Which, of course, made me want to use the lavender honey from the north fields. I have a new cider line with the four different honeys we have.”

“Well, that’s a bit different from last year.”

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