Page 101 of Small Town Firsts
I wove my way through the chairs and tables and back to the bar. Lennon was in Los Angeles for an event. She would be back Monday and we’d hammer out the last of the details for the drinks menu. The taproom would showcase apples for the opening–from martinis to daiquiris and everything in between.
The cider would continue to be the star, of course. Once our resident mad scientist gave us something to work with, we’d be able to wrap up the final details.
I shut off the lights in the case, and locked down the alcohol. There were no concerts this weekend, but there was no need to advertise the high end booze stockpiled at the moment. The lockup process soothed me with its reliability. Everything had its place, and the quiet, the order of it, let my spinning brain even out. The music shut off and Kain checked on me before disappearing out the door with a wave.
He didn’t like to leave me alone to close up, which I appreciated. We were very remote and I always felt safe, but that would probably change after we opened. We’d have safety protocols in place for closing time. Another thing to add to my ever present to-do list.
The rev of his motorcycle engine followed by the spit of gravel traveled all the way out to the back as I pulled the large accordion doors closed. I noticed the light was still on in Ronan’s workshop.
The urge to leave him to it was strong.
However, it was my job to check on the status of the cider. I wanted to let him have the space he needed, but time wasn’t exactly on our side. August was here and the days would only fly faster now.
I flipped the locks and sighed before slipping outside to cross the walkway into Ronan’s domain. The pathway was dark, save for a few solar lights for safety and a surprising amount of fireflies flashing thanks to the humid evening.
As usual, music floated out into the darkness. Tonight it was angry rock with bass heavy guitars and pulsing drums. I shook out my fingers and cracked my neck before stepping into the shaft of light from his workshop.
He was at his bench, back to me. Beakers and jars of various sweeteners were spread all over. A gallon jug of what I assumed was his hard cider base sat to his right. The plastic was sweating and two tasting glasses were empty at the end of the bench.
His fingers gripped the edge of the scarred wooden surface before he flipped the beaker in one of the stands across the room. “Fuck.”
Okay. Maybe not the best time to pay him a visit.
Just as I was about to step back into the darkness, he turned so his profile was in view. “What?”
His tone was the exact opposite of the even keeled Ronan who I’d been treated to lately. Anger and frustration hummed in the air, matching the beat. The singer’s voice was a growl of intensity that somehow created a melody in the pulsing rage.
“I was going to ask how it’s going, but I’m afraid to now.”
He turned to face me fully, all feline grace in the lines of muscles and wildness of his hair. No braids and jangling beads today. Instead his untamed curls haloed around his head in a dozen colors of caramel, blond, and cinnamon. His beard was overgrown, adding to the lion effect. He crossed his arms overhis chest. A splattered T-shirt with a Chicago brewery logo on it pulled tight across his biceps and shoulders.
I’d kept myself busy, as well as being pissed at him, which allowed me to mostly ignore how he affected me. I left the room when he was in it, avoided being alone with him, kept myself under control.
Anything to distract me from the fact that I hadn’t touched him in days.
More importantly, he hadn’t touchedmein days.
“I’m assuming Beckett called for an update?”
“What do you think?”
“Since he’s been texting me for the last three days, I’d say yes.”
“Did you answer him?”
He frowned. “Of course I answered him. He’s my boss.”
My eyebrow rose.
“I may have told him to fuck off—without the fuck part.” His jaw flexed. “It’ll be ready when it’s ready.”
“What seems to be the problem?” Before he could open his mouth, I held up a finger. “There has to be one, since you’ve become invaluable to our staff instead of locking yourself in your workshop.”
“Because if I stared at these walls anymore, I’d actually toss the tank of cider base down the hill?”
“Okay, so we don’t want that.”
“Ya think?”’
