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Alice and Flynn got along even better than I’d expected. Apparently, Flynn had “sort of accidentally” learned how to knit one winter when business was slow and the local knitting club had relocated their meetings to the Tavern. He and Alice talked about yarn and patterns in the rare breaks between visitors.
My mother charmed the reporter from theBoston Globefor a solid hour, telling him the backstory of our town and the Wellbridge-Honeycutt rivalry before smoothly segueing into discussion of the many varietals Flynn offered.
“So… you’re a Wellbridge, but you’re working for a Honeycutt? Are you saying this mead was good enough to end a centuries-long feud?” the reporter joked at length.
My mother fixed the man with a glare. “End the feud entirely? Why on earth would we do that?”
I darted a pointed glance at Flynn, who was deep in conversation with someone about the benefits of short meads versus those that aged longer. His blush and eye roll said he’d caught both my mother’s comment and my look, but he didn’t dignify either with a response.
I stifled a grin. He and my mother were more alike than either of them would admit, and I was going to tease Flynn about it mercilessly later. But first, I was planning a very leisurely, very thorough celebration of his success, followed by a long talk about our future.
I was done making assumptions about what Flynn Honeycutt wanted, but there was very little I wasn’t open to considering, as long as it ended with the two of us together. In fact, I really hoped our future looked a lot like this—working alongside my family, friends, and the man I’d loved so long he’d become part of my DNA, teasing and laughing while creating something important.
I took a deep breath and felt the simple beauty of the moment sink into my bones.
The three Ren Faire representatives arrived and greeted Flynn with a barely concealed enthusiasm that told me they’d already heard plenty of good things about Honeybridge Mead, and their contract was Flynn’s to lose. Flynn greeted them with hisgorgeous smile and a smooth, professional confidence that made me want to get on my knees for him right then and there.
But before I’d even had a chance to pour them samples of Flynn’s most popular varietals, a familiar loud voice distracted me so badly I nearly fumbled the bottles.
“Wellbridge?” Conrad Schaeffer demanded loudly, just as I was pouring the samples for Flynn. “Where the hell have you been? I must’ve called you a dozen times. Deb tells me you haven’t even checked in at the Fortress booth yet.”
Conrad’s entire being bristled with anger, and Jeff Namath looming over his shoulder like a loyal, not-very-bright henchman only added to the drama.
The exact sort of drama Flynn didn’t need at that moment.
Flynn shot me a worried look, but I shook my head.This isn’t a problem. I tilted my head toward the Ren Faire people.Get your contract, baby. Don’t be distracted.
“Conrad,” I began politely, gesturing him to one side of the booth so we wouldn’t interrupt Flynn’s conversation. “I wasn’t aware that you were coming to Brew Fest personally—”
Conrad would not be moved. “Well, I had to come, didn’t I? Since my star employee threatened to abandon his post at the last minute.”
I stifled a sigh. “I take it you read my email from earlier this morning, then?”
Conrad grunted. “Not sure what kind of hardball you thought you were playing, Jonathan, but it’s highly unprofessional.”
“Yeah.Highlyunprofessional,” Jeff echoed.
“If this was your way of expressing displeasure about our decision to delay your promotion, you’ve gone about it entirely wrong—”
“Yeah,entirely,” Jeff said smugly.
“But if it’ll get you to cease this tomfoolery about leaving Fortress, then we’re prepared to offer you the vice presidency,” Conrad said grudgingly.
“Yeah, we’re prepared to… wait, what?” Jeff gave Conrad a look of betrayal.
I darted a glance at Flynn, who wasn’t even pretending to talk to the Ren Faire people anymore. All of them had turned their attention to my conversation instead.
Great.
“That email wasn’t a threat,” I said. I turned my head to meet Flynn’s gaze. This was not the way I’d planned to explain things to him, but then… things rarely went according to plan for the two of us, and it had seemed to work out okay eventually, right? “It was my resignation. I’m leaving Fortress, effective immediately.”
Flynn looked horror-struck.
Fuck.
Conrad waved a hand. “Nonsense. Here you are at the Honeycomb Mead booth, still working to sign the deal—”
“It’s HoneybridgeMead,” I said firmly. “And they’re not interested in moving forward with Fortress at all. Neither am I.”
