Page 6 of Break My Heart
‘Maybe she’s running some kind of special,’ Jason says. ‘Have you been over there?’
‘No, and I don’t plan to.’
‘You’re being an idiot,’ Nick says. ‘You’re making this personal and it’s not. It’s business. You have to check out the competition.’
‘He’s right,’ Jason says. ‘You gotta go check the place out. You have to see what she’s doing that’s making everyone go there instead of here.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Brody says. ‘I’ll go over there.’ He smiles a little. ‘Since you’re too afraid to.’
‘I’m not afraid,’ I say, wanting to punch him. He only said that because he knows how much I hate being told I’m afraid of shit.
‘He’s afraid of the owner,’ Brody says to Jason. ‘That Gina girl must be pretty damn scary if Sawyer can’t even step foot in her brewery.’
‘Okay, just shut the hell up.’ I slam my hands down on the bar and lean toward my brothers. ‘You want me to go over there? Fine. I’ll go right now, but it’s not going to change anything. I don’t carewhat the hell she’s doing. It’s not going to change what I do here. This is my brewery and I’ll run it my way.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Nick says, but it’s only half supportive. I’m pretty sure under that smile he’s silently laughing at me.
I go around the bar to leave, then turn back. ‘Shit. I can’t go. I gave Milo and Wade the night off since we’re slow.’
‘I can fill in for you,’ Brody says.
He used to bartend, so I’m not worried about him being behind the bar, but I’m not sure I trust him to run the place if it got busy.
‘Go ahead,’ he says, noticing me hesitating. ‘I got this.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ Nick says, reassuring me. ‘Just go.’
‘Call me if it gets busy,’ I say to Brody.
His gaze bounces around the empty space. ‘Um, yeah, sure. I’ll call you.’
‘I won’t be gone long,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll just go there, check the place out, and leave.’
Brody, Jason, and Nick stare at me, not saying anything.
‘Okay, well, see ya.’ I hurry out to my car, just wanting to get this over with. I don’t even know why I agreed to this. It’s stupid. Going to Gina’s brewery isn’t going to help me with mine. If anything, it’ll just make me more pissed off, especially if the place is packed.
I hope I don’t run into her. I don’t want to talk to her. And I don’t want her seeing me there, thinking I’m spying on her to find out what she’s doing to be more successful than me.
I can’t believe I let my stupid brothers talk me into this.
Chapter 2
Sawyer
G’s Brewhouse is in a white concrete building that looks more like an old prison than a place you’d want to hang out and drink. It’s on the outskirts of town, surrounded by farmland. It’s not a good place for a brewery, but I guess if the building is given to you, you can’t be picky.
I’ve passed this building many times and always wondered who owned it. It seemed like it should be torn down. One of the old timers in town told me it was built to store farm equipment back in the day. The place never used to have windows, but Gina had four added to the front. It makes the place look a little better but not much. It still reminds me of an old prison, like the kind you’d see in a western movie.
As I walk through the parking lot, which is full of cars and trucks, many of which I recognize, I notice the building’s old rusty door has been replaced with a wood door painted in black to match the black trim on the windows. Now that I’m getting a better look at the place, with the new windows and door, I guess it’s not that bad. But my place is a million times better.
Kanfield Brewery is on Main Street in the heart of downtown. It’s in a historic building that almost burned down a few years ago. After I bought it, I hired my cousins, who own Wheeler Construction, to completely restore it. They came up to Haydon Falls from Chicago and spent months making it into a bar that’s a mix of country and modern, with metal fixtures and reclaimed wood tables and stools. It’s the kind of place where you can kick back and relax with friends. It feels comfortable, not like a concrete prison.
Walking in G’s, I’m surprised how different it looks from the outside. I kind of like it, probably because it has a similar look to my place, with rustic wood tables and stools. I kept the wood natural, but Gina painted the tables black. The wood floor is a light brown. Mine is dark. The light fixtures are black cords hanging from the ceiling that meet up with circular pendant shades in a black and red patterned fabric. It almost looks like she painted the pattern on there herself. Gina never struck me as someone who’s artistic. Maybe she hired someone to do it.
‘Have a seat,’ a woman says, coming up beside me. She’s young, probably early twenties, with strawberry blonde hair that hangs in a long braid over one shoulder.
‘I’m not staying long. I just—’
