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“Well, I better not argue with an officer.”
“That’s right,” he replied, handing me my cards back.
As the officer headed back to his car, Owen remarked, “Wow Daddy, yous special.”
I laughed. “Just on the ice, kid.”
Of course, following a police car with its lights on past several event parking lots did make me feel like one hell of a VIP. I knew the guys would be jealous. Well, of the escort, not the almost speeding ticket.
Just as he’d promised, we were escorted into a prime parking lot. After waving goodbye and paying the attendant, I parked. Just as I started to send Cal a text, he responded with directions to find him. Apparently, he wasn’t lying about Macy tracking me.
As I started rushing along to catch up, Owen whined at my side. “My feets hurt.”
Pausing, I reached over and swung him into my arms. He shrieked with delight when I put him on my shoulders. “How’s that?”
“Good!”
As I marched down the sidewalk, I absently took in the shops and restaurants while good smells assaulted my nose. Just as I was about to check my phone again about where to go, Macy bounded up. “There you are!” she cried as she threw her arms around me and squeezed me tighter than a boa constrictor.
“Sorry we’re so late,” I wheezed.
With a laugh, she eased back. “It’s okay. I’ve been there, trust me.”
“Doggy, Daddy! Look!” Owen started wriggling to get down, so I eased him onto the ground before turning my attention back to Macy.
“Where’s the pain in my ass?” I teasingly asked as we started down the sidewalk.
Macy laughed before jerking her thumb down the street. “He and the kids dipped into the most amazing smelling bakery. You have to get a whiff.”
“Sounds good.”
As I started to follow her, I reached out to take Owen’s hand. But he wasn’t there. Icy fear pricked along my spine before my gaze bounced frantically around me.
Owen was gone.
CHAPTER THREE: MINA
Sixty seconds.
That’s all it had taken for me to burn my brewing future to the fucking ground. A mere minute.
1.67% of an hour.
Sure, you could argue that it wasn’t my fault. That once again, a drunken male tourist had symbolically pissed in my Cheerios, sending me careening onto a course of disaster.
But it wasn’t exposing myself to Rodney Hanes that had ruined the moment. No, it was my own self-confidence that had lit the match. At first, I’d soldiered on by sliding on a quick sweater from my office. Once my beer-soaked boobs were covered, I returned to Rodney. Thankfully, he had the professionalism to act as if nothing out of the ordinary, like me flashing my tits, had happened.
Things started going even further south, like to hell, when I took Rodney downstairs to show him my current operation along with the blueprints for my future brewery.
Rodney seemed enthralled with my modest set-up. He hung onto every word. It was only when I went to give him a sample of a new lager I was working on that things took a turn for the worse. With my nerves rattled, I made a rookie mistake and forgot to prime the keg. One wrong pump and the sprayer went crazy, blasting Rodney in the face with amber liquid and foam.
Sputtering, he’d staggered back, which unfortunately caused him to stumble over a floor crate, sending him ass over elbows to the ground. Ignoring the exploding keg, I raced over to him to try to help. His shoes must’ve been new because he kept slipping and sliding to try to gain his footing.
When he finally got upright, his glasses were not only cracked but sat wonkily on his face. His hipster costume was a smudged mixture of ale and dirt. After staring down at himself with what I imagined was the same amount of horror I had earlier, he pronounced, “I must get changed.”
“Yes, of course.” Jerking my thumb to the stairs, I said, “I’m sure there’s a lederhosen costume in your size. We can get you cleaned up in no time–”
The look of absolute disgust on Randy’s face took me momentarily off guard. With a half-hearted smile, I finished up by saying, “Then we can finish the interview.”
