Page 37 of Boss Witch

“The surprise?”

He nodded. “Does it measure up? I realize there are no goats, but—­”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she cut in. “Thank you for finding this place and making arrangements. I really needed the getaway.”

Gavin laughed. “This is hardly a vacation, love.”

Love?

It wasn’t the first time he’d called her that, but hearing it now, it didn’t feel…casual. A happy thrill rushed through her because she did feel precious, and—­crap, this is bad.

Clem forced that response away and decided to believe it was an English thing. “Let’s do this. If it’s good, we can take some home.”

“Home,” Gavin repeated, a wistful twist to his sexy mouth.

“Figure of speech.”

“It’s been longer than I care to recall since I had somewhere I belonged.”

Oh hell.

That was way more personal than the parameters of their relationship allowed. This was supposed to be a fling, and now he was sharing his feelings. Makinghershare them, setting a fire of curiosity that might well burn her alive, if she fed the flames. Yet she didn’t shut down this conversation like she should, not when she sensed her words had the power to injure him.Fuck, he’s my enemy. I should shoot to kill.

But Clem couldn’t even bring herself to raise the figurative gun.

***

Gavin probably shouldn’t have said that.

He could see in her expression that he’d edged past the line they’d drawn, but Clem only smiled slightly and linked her fingers with his.

“Right now you belong on this brewery tour.”

If it wasn’t the declaration he wanted to hear, at least it wasn’t chastisement or a recommendation to mind his place. They arrived right on time as the brewing company employee was looking for them to take the tour. Gavin had done such things before, so he only paid half attention to the information being provided. Instead, he focused on Clem, watching when her interest sparked. Sometimes she asked pertinent questions, and the man guiding them around seemed to enjoy the exchange.

The whole place was infused with a lovely aroma, if possibly an acquired preference—­yeast and hops and the sour-­mash scent of fermentation. It was all exceptionally clean, properly impressive, and he followed their guide into the private tasting room, which was like a pub in miniature, all gleaming wood with tall glasses set out.

“Which of our craft brews would you like to sample? You can try three,” the guide said.

Gavin privately admitted he’d already forgotten the man’s name. Louis, perhaps, something with an “L” anyway.

“Honey Brown Lager for me,” he said, glancing at Clem. “You can choose the other two. I’ll have a sip of each.”

She stared at the listing for over a minute before finally saying, “Let’s try the Storm Cloud Porter and the Underground Pale Ale.”

Lester or Leroy beamed at her. “Fantastic choices. I’ll pour your drafts. You have the room for half an hour. Enjoy your drinks, and thanks for coming to Bulldog Brewing Company.”

Once the guy left, Gavin settled at the table with his drink. It was a quality brew, just a touch sweet, but not so much as to be cloying. Mostly, it was simple and pure, a sipping lager, not something a college student would shotgun to chants of “chug, chug, chug.” The porter had chocolatey notes, and the ale tasted dry and crisp. Everything they tried, he enjoyed, though the porter was his least favorite. Clem finished it happily enough, and they drank mainly in silence. He could tell she had something on her mind, but hell, so did he.

The order can’t be trusted.

His grandad’s unexpected email popped into his head. Gavin had been trying not to think about it, but it was proving impossible. He got up before Lazlo came to eject them to make room for the next private tour group. Clem preceded him, beelining for the park he’d mentioned.

It was late enough that the sun was setting. Not fully, because the days were long here during the summer. Just starting to drop, so the heat gave way to a softer warmth, and the sky was aglow with pink and orange, shades of gold from the falling sun.

She chose a path that led through an avenue of carefully manicured trees with whitewashed trunks. Gavin had always wondered about the purpose of painting the bark. Did it discourage pests? When they’d walked for a few minutes, she sighed and stretched, raising her arms heavenward.

“You want to tell me?” she asked without looking at him.

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