Page 107 of Small Town Firsts
I tipped my chin up and stared into his dark eyes, a smile pulling at my lips because it was the first time I’d felt alive in days. “You stopped thinking out of the box and instead just are looking for some magic sauce when all you need is to think of what matches the feel you’re looking for.”
“Have you brewed before?” He elbowed one of the boxes that was slipping back onto the top of the chaos. “You don’t know jack shit.”
My nerves jangled, but I knew it was just anger talking. And the anger was what was needed right now. Not handholding. “No, but it sure sounds like you’re being one of those douchey brew guys like Stanford Lang.”
He stepped back like I slapped him. “How the hell do you know that name?”
I shrugged and lifted the box that continued to slip and set it back on the shelf calmly. I needed a second out of his space or I’d do something stupid like climb on him again. Or hug him. “He was who I wanted when I first took this job.”
“He’s an idiot who cares more about some expensive additive than using real flavors.” He fisted his hands at his sides. “You were going to pick that guy over me?”
I lifted one shoulder. “Seemed good at the time.” This time, I was the one who nudged. Only Ronan acted like Ronan—as I knew he would—and didn’t budge. I pressed my hip against his thigh as I slid the box of syrups in front of me. “I mean that’s what we want right? Get the bodies in the taproom. He’s got the flair like Lennon.”
I pulled out each one to read them. Ronan’s bold handwriting was scrawled across each label in black ink. I almost smiled at how smudged and imperfect they were, much like the man. Cherries, peaches, raspberries, and pomegranate, and finally, I paused on the blackberries. I pulled that one out and set it on the bench.
“He’s all show, no substance. He’s just looking for fame. He doesn’t care about the art of it. You really wanted him over me?”
I glanced at him. “I didn’t know you.”
He was practically vibrating beside me. I had to force myself not to smile. Angry Ronan made the air crackle. The light hairs on my arms lifted and the underlying beat of the song playing on his sound system added to the hum. It had switched out from angry dude rock to something bass heavy.
I never knew what would be on his playlists, that was for sure.
“Did you say you’d tried all the honey?”
“What?” His gaze snapped to the box, a frown digging deep between his brows. “Not all of them. I gave up when they all started tasting the same.”
I checked each one, looking for exactly the one I wanted. “Did you know honey takes on the taste of where the bees are located?”
He folded his arms, but didn’t give me space. The fact that he still wasn’t wearing a shirt made it very hard to concentrate.
He growled. “Vaguely.”
Ronan might not know what the quadrants of the orchard meant, but I sure did. I’d been here for over ten years and knew just what I was looking for. First, for me. I pulled out the honey from where my beloved Honeycrisps were grown. The next was where the pears were grown.
I shifted and twisted until I found it. The jar was much smaller since it didn’t require a full hive of bees to pollinate such a small part of the orchard.
But the beekeepers knew their job.
Knew that it was better for the apples to keep the bees separate so they wouldn’t cross pollinate and create hybrid apple trees. The art of an orchard was far more intricate than theaverage person knew. Even I didn’t know the ins and outs of all the science.
I’d always been better with people. With the running of the orchard. But after ten years, you picked up things whether you specialized in them or not.
I set the smaller jar on his bench. “Try it.”
His eyes narrowed as I nudged the jar closer. My heart fluttered madly in my chest. “What do you have to lose?”
TWENTY-SIX
RONAN
IT’S BEEN HERE ALL THE TIME
She smelledlike sunshine and the moon at the same time. And me. That killed me most of all. Now she pushed at me with that logic and strategic brain of hers after she’d hollowed me out with sex.
My goddamn brain was on fire with frustration. Add in the fact that I already missed touching her, and I was strung so tight I could barely see around it.
Now she wanted me to test my damn cider?
