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Even knowing that Flynn had left his phone behind, I continued to call and text him updates all morning. Partly it was because I wanted him to have a status update on the Meadery, if he was able to get his phone back, and partly because… well, I’d gotten used to texting him often, just to make him smile.
I wanted him to know I’d been thinking of him when he read those messages in the future. I wanted him to know I’d meant what I said Saturday—I wasn’t giving up. I was ready to fight for him—forus.
Now more than ever.
Me:All the mead is bottled. Swag packed and organized. Just boxing everything up now and I’ll see you in Portland.
Me:My mother is currently in the Tavern, talking to Dan, and trying to convince him to do Yogaerobics because his strong “Scorpio rising” energy needs an outlet. The look on his face, Flynn.
Me:Just talked to my boss. He went over my Brew Fest schedule. Apparently he thinksI don’t need to eat or sleep. Remind me why I ever enjoyed that job?
Me:You know, I used to help out at Pop’s shop a lot—probably more than you knew—and he’d make me sweep while I talked to him. Every damn time.
Me:And I’d get so into whatever I was saying that I wouldn’t pay attention to what my hands were doing, and he’d interrupt me. “I think you missed something, JT.” or “You missed a big thing right there, Frog.” Used to drive me crazy.
Me:But when I was talking to Conrad earlier, I swear I heard Pop’s voice in my head. I’ve been missing the obvious.
Me:I’ve figured out a solution. A plan that will let both of us have what we want. And fuck, I can’t wait to talk to you about this.
Me:I really, REALLY hope you’ll give me that chance, Firecracker.
“Are you sure he doesn’t need one of us in Boston with him?” I asked Alden for the third time while we hauled the last of the Runway Brew into the back of the refrigeration truck.
I was pouring sweat despite the refrigerated air, but it was nothing compared to the nervous stomachache I had worrying about Flynn and PJ.
“I’m sure. PJ’s probably just following his muse or whatever.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Flynn will track him down wherever he’s hiding out, chew him out for going off the grid, then hotfoot it back up here in time for the first Brew Fest events. Hopefully.” He chewed his lip. “Really wish he had a way to update us more often, though.”
When I hopped out of the truck, my phone buzzed. I nearly dropped it in my haste to answer. “Flynn!”
“Noooo,” Alice said suspiciously. “But if you’re expecting a call from the mead maker, should I assume you have good news about the contract?”
I grabbed the bar rag from my pocket and swiped at the sweat on my face. “No. Definitely not.” Flynn had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in Fortress, period, so that was that.
“Bummer. But then maybe Mr. Shaeffer was right. After Brew Fest, you could make a lower offer and convince him that Fortress is where he needs to be—”
“It’s off the table, Alice,” I said firmly. “I don’t do business that way. Conrad called me an hour ago to ream me out over taking yesterday and today off, and I told him the same. Not sure if he actually believed me or not,” I added wryly.
“Daaaamn. I imagine he wasn’t very happy.”
Understatement. Apparently, all the business the “Rainmaker” had acquired for Fortress, the three years of sleepless nights and weeks without weekends, meant nothing to Conrad when I’d needed two days’ personal time. He’d told me in a somewhat threatening voice that this wasn’t “vice presidential” behavior.
I was finding it hard to care.
“I’m not very happy with him either,” I told her. “His expectations are ridiculous.”
“How unhappy?” she wondered. “Like, leaving-Fortress unhappy?”
I looked up from wiping my face to see the usual street scene on a summer weekday in Honeybridge. Families wandering out of Ollie’s Fudge Shoppe with ice cream, delivery drivers unloading produce at Bixby’s Market, kids biking down the sidewalk with tall flags waving off the back of their bikes to make them more visible, and teenagers loitering in front of the General Store in hopes of someone buying them beer or smokes, as if Pop Honeycutt didn’t know the exact birthdate and age of every Honeybridger.
The sun was warm, but the breeze from the lake moved softly through town the way it always did, carrying the laughter of the volunteers who’d come to help us with the final, frantic packing effort and now stood chatting in the parking lot.
Those volunteers hadn’t cared about Team Wellbridge or Team Honeycutt when they heard Flynn needed them. No matter how cutthroat they might be when it came to softball, or the Christmas Light Display, or… heck, even leaf peeping, Honeybridgers would always stand shoulder to shoulder against the world to protect one of their own.
That kind of loyalty was pretty damn rare in the rest of the world, but it was one of many things I loved about Honeybridge.And I’d missed it more than I’d realized.
For years, I’d told myself that I’d outgrown Honeybridge, when what I’d really outgrown was the person I used to be here. Maybe I’d had to leave town to figure that out—to figuremyselfout—and to really appreciate it. Now, I knew that I didn’t want to be without it again.
Flynn had said the Fortress team needed me, but he was wrong.
