Page 15 of Small Town Firsts
I’d attempted to hire a decorator, but after the fifth person gave me a 3D rendering that looked more in line with a city taproom, I’d given up.
It wasn’t right. And I couldn’t seem to convey that to anyone. I had a vision and I had to trust it was spot on.
We weren’t city.
We weren’t exactly country either—at least not really. The more modern slant that Beckett, Hayes, and Justin were trying to infuse into Brothers Three Orchard would reinforce the relevance of Happy Acres.
The family orchard had been the heart of Happy Acres for a damn long time and part of me wanted to keep it just like I remembered. Kids running around, people buying pies and baked goods, huge crates of apples ready to be shopped.
The problem was, the amount of families who took the time to visit the orchard was dwindling. We had to decide to either lean into the family design with playgrounds for kids or swing toward the adults looking for an experience.
Thanks to the familial ties with musicians, the concert series had started gaining momentum and the Manning brothers pivoted to add entertainment to the orchard. Happy Acres was ablend of the visions from two families. The Lodge and the chapel had been the Ronsons’ domain and was thriving due to their year-round wedding season.
There was overlap between the different aspects of the business too. A café and bakery catered to the seasonal fruit grown in the orchard. From berries to vegetables in the summer, the farm to table element had exploded into a major source of revenue.
And still I could tell Beckett was restless with how the Manning half of the orchard still had room to grow. Which was where I came in. If I could get the taproom to take off, it would go a long way in making a name for Brothers Three.
Solidifying the younger and more modern aspect of the business wasn’t just good for the orchard, it created revenue for Turnbull. Which the town desperately needed.
But no pressure.
I unearthed a can of Diet Coke from the cooler I kept stocked for the workers and wandered to the edge of the room and out onto the wraparound porch.
Fire pits, comfortable chairs, and couches were clustered together in groupings across the outdoor space, with a stone path joining them together. It was a good space to listen to the music and visit with friends if people didn’t want to join the crush of the crowd in the actual concert space.
Justin had pushed hard for a more professional stage to draw more acts into the area. We were a perfect fit for the in-between and upcoming musicians who weren’t quite big enough for the large outdoor arenas, or maybe who wanted a more intimate flavor.
His idea had blown up, and now we had a full summer roster of musicians from rock to country to more folk and alternative acts. The stage was on the hill above the orchard and created one helluva backdrop for the concerts.
A caravan of food trucks kept most of the attendees happy, and the old taproom shed was more like a hard cider and moonshine concession stand these days. But it had been enough to fund the renovation to turn this old building into a real taproom.
I turned back to my domain and leaned against the post as I drained my can. The cold jolt of caffeine perked me up a bit and allowed me some perspective.
The taproom didn’t look like much yet, but I could see the potential.
The room was finished save for the final pieces of the bar installation. The actual bar was a deep walnut with a natural edge that had been buffed and sanded smooth. It was a statement piece that I’d commissioned by a local carpenter in Crescent Cove. He’d exceeded my expectations, and I was excited to build around it to put our spirits and ciders on display.
I’d requested the shelves and lights be last, after all the workmen were out and the floors had been finished. Nightmares of shattered mirrors had given me more than one sleepless night. The Brothers Three Taproom did not need that kind of bad luck.
And neither did I.
Being a bartender and a waitress, I knew the need for good flow in a room. While Lucky’s had the perfect bar atmosphere, our venue would create intimacy as the focus.
A place to chat and sit over drinks, not shout over loud music and sports. A good place for a date, or a birthday party, or spending time with friends without being worried you’d be rushed out the door.
Which meant the grid pattern was out. I straightened and went back inside to move around the high top tables.
Again.
“Need some help?”
I grunted as I pulled the table over to the side of the room. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
I knew that voice. I really preferred when he stayed in his workshop and left me to my space. Mostly because he was too big and distracting.
I brushed my dusty hands on the ass of my cutoffs and took a fortifying breath before I turned around.
