Page 10 of Summer Brew

When I knock on her door, I want to run away. But I’ve never been the kind of guy to run away. I’ll think about it though. I’ve never considered it more strongly than I am right now.

The same fake smile Gemma wore the other day as she ran from my house is plastered on her face when the door swings open. “Hi, Keaton,” her voice is chipper, but that’s nothing new.

Gemma is all sunshine. It’s how she’s been her entire life.

It’s one of the many reasons why I keep needing the only shield I have against her—watching her grow up as Gary’s sister. It was so long ago now. Those memories are sweet, but distant now in a way that feels safer.

“Hey,” I greet her as she steps back and I walk inside.

My eyes dart around her space. The house is small, but cozy and it’s so Gemma. Everything is mismatched, but cohesive at the same time. I don’t quite understand how it all works, but it does.

I want to sink into her sofa and watch movies with her while sharing a bowl of popcorn. As I look at the space that already feels like mine, I try and push the mental image away. It’s not easy because it’s so damn clear, I can almost smell the butter in the air.

There’s an awkward beat between us before Gemma blurts out, “I really appreciate you coming by and looking everything over. Like I said, it’s really the ratio of hops to cannabis where I have the biggest problem. It’s all science and I know that; I’ve basically just been throwing wet spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks and what doesn’t. All I know is the pasta isn’t ready yet.”

While trying not to laugh, I have to press my lips together to not let the sound out. Hopefully, it’s not obvious that I’m barely stopping my shoulders from shaking.

“I’ll be honest, I need to do some more research on your issue, and I think you’re right about the ratio. I can’t answer those questions yet. I think starting at the beginning is always a good idea.”

“That felt very teachery,” she fires back while eyeing me suspiciously.

“Occupational hazard,” I explain with a shrug.

“Yeah, yeah.” She blows a raspberry. “It’s not like I’m going to disagree. I can walk you through it.” Her mouth twists to one side as she glances at me. “Just don’t make fun of me,” before I can say anything, she rushes on, “I know you’ve been doing this a lot longer than me and you understand what is happening.”

“Gemma,” her name comes out softer than I expected and I run my fingers through my hair to stop myself from reaching for her, “I’m not going to make fun of you.” My eyebrows furrow and I lean toward her slightly, needing to ask. “Have I ever made fun of you?”

“No.” She waves her hands in front of her. “It’s not like that. I just understand that you have the education and experience I’m lacking.”

Her words, her fear, sit in my gut and twist.

“If you’ve produced a beer that’s drinkable, you’re not doing poorly as far as I’m concerned.”

I hope my words smooth over the awkwardness hanging in the air. I don’t like the thought of her thinking that I’d make fun of her. Or make her feel like she’s less than me. Do I give off that kind of vibe?

When I glance down at myself, like there’d be some kind of sash around me declaring any such vibe, I realize I’m being ridiculous.

“What do,” she pauses and clears her throat like she’s nervous, which is ridiculous, before starting again, “what do you like about brewing beer? What’s your goal? Is it something you want to grow?”

I can’t help but smile at the way her questions tumble out of her. It’s endearing in a way that doesn’t normally touch me.

“I do find the process interesting. It’s also something that takes time. There’s something both frustrating and relaxing about that. You can’t rush it and you can experiment. I guess,” I shake my head slightly, “it’s my way of giving into being a science nerd at home. In a masculine and respectable way, of course.”

Gemma’s head tips back slightly as she laughs and for a moment everything disappears. She’s not Gary’s sister. The woman in front of me is just that—a woman. One who is beautiful, one I want.

“And your goal?” She pushes, curiosity written all over her face.

“Just to make a good beer,” I tell her honestly.

“That’s it?”

“Of course.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “Were you expecting some sinister plot or that I have designs to build some sort of craft brew empire?”

“Definitely sinister plot,” she nods with a serious look on her face she can’t quite hold. “Or maybe,” there’s a tease in her tone, “the sinister plot is entangled with the craft beer empire. That would make the most sense. Talk about a villain’s origin story. From Storyville to Gotham with hops paving the way.”

“I’ll try and keep my psychopathic tendencies under control,” I promise with a chuckle. “And not go to the dark side.”

“At least not this season,” she deadpans. I can’t help but chuckle and she joins me. Her voice has a certain note of curiosity, “So it’s just as simple as loving beer and science?”