Page 57 of Raised On It

It’s obvious she wants to go back to where we first walked in, so I let go of her hand, freeing her to explore. She heads right back to the wall next to the entrance doors to read the plaques next to each picture telling the history of the company.

“Boss man, what are you doing here on a Sunday?”

“Hey, Dave, how’s it going? What are you doing here on a Sunday? Everything okay?”

“I was actually leaving some paperwork for you on your desk and thought I’d help a bit before I left. Things stayed busy in the pub all week. I know you’ve been burning the candle at both ends, but I’m glad you’re here. Not only do I need you to sign a few things but I also have an update on that investor in Portland. You have a few minutes?”

“Sure thing, but first, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Mason.”

Her gasp is audible, even from the other side of the room. If her beaming face is any indication, I’m guessing she likes hearing me call her my girlfriend as much as I liked saying it.

“Girlfriend? Miles Montgomery, Eastlyn’s, correction…Oregon’s most eligible bachelor is off the market? Alert the presses but more importantly, let me meet this woman!”

Slapping him on the shoulder, I stand next to my general manager and right hand, introducing him to “my girlfriend.”

“Dave Shay, meet Mason O’Brien. Mason, meet Dave, he’s thegeneral manager here at the brewery and the man who keeps things alive and well here at the home front while I’m traveling and dealing with everything else. The place doesn’t run without this man.”

“Hi, Dave, it’s nice to meet you.” She reaches out a hand, and he takes it and covers the top of their hands with his other.

“Not as nice as it is to meet you.” Not letting go of her hand, he turns his attention to me smiling his approval.

The door to the back swings open, and one of our tasting room servers walks through, sees me, and mutters, “Shit,”under their breath and turns right back around and through the doors.

“Dave, do you mind if I steal myboyfriendaway for a minute or two?”

“Not at all. It was nice to meet you, and when he goes back to his office to sign the contracts I left on his desk, come on back and I’ll take you on a little tour.”

“Will do.” Her eyes land back on me, piercing me with a look that says I need to start talking.

Taking her hand back in mine, where it belongs, I don’t say anything, and she seems content to wait for me to explain.

We push through the doors at the back of the tasting room that leads to where the magic happens. Her steps stutter as we pass the giant tanks full of her favorite beer, Montgomery hops, and my family’s future.

It isn’t fancy back here with the concrete floors, machinery, and supplies everywhere you look, but I know this is her chocolate factory.Her eyes are aglow with the light reflecting off the rows and rows of massive silver containers as if it were Christmas morning.

“I promise I’ll take you on your own personal tour as soon as we have a little chat. You won’t need Dave for that.”

She squeals, and she and her little romper jump straight up in the air. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she schools her face, trying to remind herself she isn’t happy with me.

One of the things I love about Mason is her inquisitiveness, so I know it’s killing her to not ask questions while we pass all the equipment filled with one of the loves of her life.

It’s Sunday, so when we reach the office, the place is empty. There are several rows of desks, a large conference room, and five offices. My office is at the end of a short hallway with Dave’s office, and Dad’s office on the left of the hallway, while on the right is Rhonda, our head of marketing’s office, and my assistant Bennett’s office.

I flip the light switch on in the room I spend more time in than I ever could have imagined. Simultaneously, I hear her read the sign on the door.

“Miles Montgomery. President and CEO.”

Feeling a bit sheepish, I shove my hands in my pockets and shrug my shoulders.

“So this is why you don’t work the farm anymore?”

“Yep. I do a surprisingly large amount of paperwork and travel,” I say, sitting down on the couch on the far wall of the room. I don’t think I’ve ever sat over here.

All my time is spent behind my desk. I’ve never really had a reason to kick back and relax. It’s a nice couch.

Her arms are crossed as she leans against the doorframe. “Why keep this a secret?”

“I guess I just wanted you to know me. People can get a little distracted by the business, and I wanted you to know me first. EBC has been my heart and soul for over a decade, but it’s not all that I am.”

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