Page 13 of Brewbies
“Why not? Saying it isn’t any crazier than doing it. Which we did.” She paused to flutter sarcastic lashes at him. “A lot.”
“We just don’t have to unpack it in public, yeah?”
Leaning out the service window, she made a big show of surveying the scene. “What public? It’s only you and me here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I obviously don’t. So you claim to be ‘like an adult.’”
He was really coming to hate the voice she used when imitating him, and the finger quotes were just not fucking necessary.
“But you can’t discuss the dirty, sweaty sex we had because you’re infantilized by a patriarchal society to want women but not to discuss, analyze, or control your own needs. Why do you think you’re alone at this age, driving a million miles away for one-night encounters rather than having a healthy sexual relationship of your own? I put it toyou, your dick game is strong, but you’re riding the emotional short bus, buddy. And that isn’t my problem.”
Holy fuck. He’d taken right hooks that were less aggressive. “I’m not trying to be your problem, Ms. Dunwell, I’m trying to do you a favor. This sort of”—he waved his hand at the everything that she was—“business works better on the other side of the water, closer to Seattle or Portland.”
And away from the property that was sold out from under me.
No, he reminded himself sternly. It was unethical to do this for personal gain. Which it wouldn’t be, because if she put the land back on the market, the price increase would be a bitch.
“Hell,” he continued, “People in Northern California wouldknityou a bikini and anoint your land with cannabis, and the SoCal set would ask you to pay twelve hundred bucks for two pieces of string. Either way, a woman like you would land on her feet. But Townsend Harbor?” He motioned toward the verdant tunnel created by a canopy of trees one had to wind through before the view of the charming town sprawled, ironically, over two symmetrical hills and the valley between. “We’re a tight-knit community of locals who can be as cliquish and myopic as you can imagine,” he said, encouraged by her silent, pensive regard. “People either are born here and end up dying here, move away when they launch and go to college, or retire here with discretionary income. Other than that, it’s just celebrity or tech giant second homes, artists in yurts and tiny homes, hobby farms, or the seasonal workers who come in with the tide of tourists and disappear when the good weather does.”
As he spoke, he did his level best not to notice her brows climbing higher and higher up her forehead. “Women. Like. Me?”
Curling his hands into fists so he couldn’t tug on his collar, he stood his ground. “Women who use sex to sell goods and services.” He motioned to the paperwork, quoting the legalese verbatim. “Under Article Four, subsection C. Women are forbidden from the public sale of articles depicting female sex organs within a thousand feet of the highway. To do so is a species of indecency and vulgarity that cannot be ignored or controlled by passersby.”
“Jesus Christ.” Her eyes rolled back in her head, conjuring the several times he’d made them do that in an entirely different capacity. “Are high schoolers not allowed to dance here, either?” She returned to scanning the page. “This law was enacted in nineteen twenty-six under prohibition. I mean, I know there are some retirees in this town, but I bet even these ass waffles who came up with this BS law have kids who are in the ground.”
Ethan’s air left his lungs as she shoved the half-read paperwork in his face.
“I do not accept the service of this document. Take it back.”
“Um. That isn’t how this works.” She was making it awkward. Could she not just be cool about this? “Listen, I’m not trying to be confrontational here,” he said. “I don’t want any more awkwardness between us, but this corner has seen almost every sort of business lease this land and try to make a go of it, from taco trucks to fireworks to firewood. They’ve all failed.”
“You’re saying you allowed someone to sell wood on this corner? Kick them out, too?”
It was his turn to give theoh come onface. “It’s not close enough to the picturesque downtown, which is lousy with kitschy coffee shops, nor is it on a corner where people usually stop on 101 for drinks. Did you think of these things before putting up your sign?”
A tightening of her skin over the sharp bones of her face was the only warning he had before she let him have it with both barrels. “I’ve been doing this a hot minute, Sheriff Small Town. I know what will work and what won’t. I scoped this place out very carefully. Bought it with cash in a great deal. And it’s not like I’ll be mov—”
Just when he was finding his footing and a place to interject, she cut herself off, slamming her lips closed.
“Be what?” he prompted.
She side-eyed the highway. “Nothing. I’llbehere as long as I feel is necessary. I don’t know who signed that little petition, and I don’t care. I’ve already been welcomed to Townsend Harbor by those who matter—in fact, I’ll be attending a local book club at the…um…at a bookstore which name I absolutely know, and is owned by my friend Cady.”
Oof. Of course Cady got to her—she was still considered a recent transplant after almost a decade, and was the town’s self-appointed welcoming committee. But even she had to be grandfathered in by way of a local aunt who owned a business for over twenty years.
“I’m glad for you,” he said with a bland bit of nothing. “But that doesn’t affect the issue at hand.”
“The issue at hand is that I have been doing this a long time, and have the skills and savvy to make this business work, but your concerns are noted.”
She jumped a little when he slapped the papers on her counter for emphasis. “These aren’t concerns, Ms. Dunwell—these are orders. You have a notice to shutter your stand in seven days until a hearing can be made in front of the town council regarding this issue.”
“The issue being a bunch of prudes signed a petition because they still subscribe to the ludicrous idea that breasts are sex organs and not mammary glands, you ridiculous, back-asswards hillbilly.”
Sigh. “There’s no need for name calling, ma’am. I’m just doing my job.”
“Fuck that!” She shoved a finger in his face. “Your job is to protect and serve, not pump and dump.”
