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“Did Shiloh drive?” Cameron asks, handing Jackson a beer. “That sweater is fantastic.” He flicks one of Jackson’s nipple bells.
“Yes, Shiloh drove, and yes, this is all Shiloh’s fault,” Jackson says, wrapping his arm around me. I analyze everything—the placement of his hand, how close his arm is to my back, whether he pulls me in or keeps me with enough space between us. My mind races so quickly that it’s over before I’ve clocked it.
“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Emily says. She’s the one to get misty as she smiles, wiping away her tear with a flick of the finger. “I’m just so happy we’re all here together.”
“Emily, do you think it’s time for Shiloh’s surprise?”
My face drops. A surprise? For me?
“What? You didn’t need to get me anything,” I say.
“It’s not for you, per se,” Jackson says, bumping into me. There he is, touching me again. “You inspired something.”
Emily brings a glass bottle, full of a dark brown liquid. I squint in confusion.
“Turn it over,” Jackson says into my ear. I try not to shiver.
I spin it, and I see the Woody Finch logo. Then I read the writing, and my mouth stretches in shock.
Rory’s Root Beer. Non-alcoholic.
Made in Goldheart, CA
“This is just a prototype,” Reid says. “We’re still working on the recipe. Plus, our investor doesn’t necessarily know we’re testing it.”
“I think Dan will say yes, but we need an official taste-tester,” Jackson says. “A lot of sober folks might want to come and hang out with their friends, and now they have an option.”
I can’t help it. Big tears explode from my eyeballs.
He brewed me root beer. He named it after my soul dog. It might as well have been a diamond ring.
Jumping into Jackson’s arms, I’m still crying, hiccuping with the tears.
“I guess she likes it. We’ll wait until she tries it,” Reid says.
“This is the sweetest thing anyone has done for me,” I whisper. He rubs my back, and my legs wrap around his waist, anchoring me there. Mark never did anything like this. This is bigger than all the flowers and love notes I’ve ever received.
This is a gift on my behalf to folks like me who don’t drink. It’s a gift to my mother, who has an option when she comes to visit and wants to see where I work. The present is bigger than me; it does good.
It’s my favorite kind of present.
When I detach myself from Jackson, Reid pries off the top and hands me the bottle. “Now, this is just the rough draft. Let me know what your thoughts are, since you are a connoisseur.”
I wipe my tears away to tip the bottle back, letting the icy drink hit my lips. Once it hits the back of my throat, I cough. Violently.
It is not very good. It needs more flavor. Right now, it’s a root-beer-flavored water.
“I don’t like that face,” Reid says, pointing at me. “Is it that bad?”
“It’s fine, um…”
“Shiloh translation: it sucks, Reid,” Jackson says. I let out a sigh of relief because I won’t be the one to say it.
Reid rubs his beard. “Listen, I brew extremely hoppy beers for a living. I’ve never done this before.”
“You’ll figure it out. I’ll help you. You have a good start. Thank you.” I take Reid in for a hug, and he pats my back rapidly.
Once I pull away from Reid, Cameron slaps him so hard on the back he lurches. “You better get your act together, Reid. You have a smoking hot girlfriend now, and I have a smoking hot pregnant girlfriend who demands a tasty non-alcoholic beverage.”
