He’s as curt as his texts. Is he upset, or just rusty at making conversation?
“I added the honey at the end of the boil and switched the hops to a less bitter strain.”
A blink of approval flickers in his brown irises. “Mama enjoyed playing with different ingredients.”
“Her raspberry sour is a classic I won’t tinker with.”
His nod isalmostappreciative. “Doesn’t need to be tampered with.”
“I’ll do iterations, though. I’m trying adding a mango to her raspberry sour for our summer-only menu.”
The distance is back with a sharp inhale. “Hard to get locally grown mango.”
“Hard to get people in the doors if we don’t try new things.”
Sourcing local materials isn’t just about our morals—it’s also one of our sales tactics. However, we need to keep the doors open.
I tap the table next to the beer can. “It was right here, one night after closing, that I finally convinced Ransom to gradually introduce new flavors. Numbers were down, and fewer people were venturing this far out of Williston to have the same old beer we always offer. We’re already limited by only being able to spin off Julia’s creations, so we can’t always worry about our additive zip codes.”
He shifts his gaze to look out the window. It’s dark outside, but the yard light casts shadows over the shop and the chickencoop. “He used to argue with Mama about local supply and prices.”
Shocked he shared a memory of his parents with me, I nod. I argued with Ransom about creating new recipes to save the brewery too. He wouldn’t budge, and there was only so far I could push him before I worried he’d tell me to leave too. The man drove away hissons. I was just a sister-in-law.
“We support local as much as possible. After the wet spring two years ago, I made a small batch of juneberry sour. The year before that, a gooseberry sour. Ransom pays top dollar to local producers, and he’ll even recruit from the school to get kids to help with picking.” Pressure rests on my chest. “Heusedto.”
I catch a glimpse of fleeting grief. Calder’s hurting, and he either won’t show me, or he’s refusing to admit it. I understand my pain, but I also don’t want him to see it. We have that in common.
His inhale is slow. “I trust you have everything recorded for what is produced. The specs and directions? Sales information?”
“For the sale?”
“We’ll get more if we include recipes.”
I can recite a few by heart. “And we’ll find out when?”
“After the funeral.” He spins the empty can with those deft fingers that inspire all sorts of ideas in my body. My mind knows better. “You’ve lived off Cross money for two decades. Are you worried you can’t make it on your own?”
He’s trying to rile me up, the pretentious bastard. It’s working.
“It’s been a mutual arrangement, but you haven’t been around to notice. In slow years, my wage goes down.”
I get a moment of satisfaction from the astonishment in his eyes. I rise, pressing against the top of the table like I did in the office, though I’m cockeyed due to the corner. Too late to back down. He tilts his chin up to consider me.
“I worked seventy-hour weeks cleaning, brewing, and packaging while your dad took two months off to help Holly after she broke her leg.”
His eyes narrow like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
I’m happy to highlight all the ways I’m not a freeloader. “Every time someone calls in, I take their shift. Just like tonight. We’re short two staff members for the summer, and it’s all on me. So go ahead, Calder. If all this is yours, Bowen’s, and Landry’s, sell it. Leave me and Sawyer and Carlos out of a job. Will that vindicate you?”
My heart’s racing, and I’ve leaned over so far, I’m only a foot away from his face.
He closes the distance between us by a few more inches. I can see the black flecks in his mocha eyes.
“That’s a passionate speech, Meredith, but I think you’re scared. You’ll have to find a way to support yourself without my family’s money.”
Rage flushes hot over my chest and my face. “I left Scandal, and I was doingfine. But I trusted the wrong person, and I got used. Your dad helped me get back on my feet, and I’ve more than paid back what I owed.” My voice shakes. “Your dad was a compassionate man, and I would’ve done anything for him. He was tough, but he was the only decent guy I’ve ever known. As for you, I fully expect you to toss me out. It’s what entitled pricks like you do.”
“This entitled prick isn’t swayed by rosy-cheeked women with sob stories.”
