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Her spine stiffened. “I don’t—”
“You’re my little sister by a whole three minutes and I love you. But you can be a royal pain in the ass sometimes.”
“Said with love, I’m sure,” she grumbled. The truth of the statement stung more than she cared to admit.
“It is.” Miranda reached over and covered Natalie’s hand with her own. “You’re a list maker and a plan maker. It’s who you are. But not everyone is like that and you can’t always control what other people do.”
Sean’s words echoed in her head loud enough that she couldn’t help but repeat them. “Controlled change.”
Miranda cocked her head, her eyes—the same sky–blue shade as Natalie’s own—darkening with confusion. “Huh?”
Natalie shrugged off the almost–epiphany whispering from a dark corner of her mind. “Something that man said.”
“He has a name.”
She withdrew her fingers from her sister’s grasp and crossed her arms over her belly. “He does.”
“Say it.” Damn, the stubborn set of Miranda’s jaw meant trouble.
Normally, Natalie would have placated her or distracted her Type–A sister from the topic at hand. Wasn’t that what every middle child’s role in life was, especially when it came to their siblings? But for some reason, the situation with Sean tangled up her insides like a pair of earbuds languishing in a knotted mess at the bottom of her purse.
“Why should I?”
Miranda arched her perfectly waxed eyebrows and shrugged. “Because you’re going to have to get him on your side if you want to make changes.”
Her chest tightened at her sister’s assertion. “We own the brewery. He’s an employee.”
“And in all the research you’ve done, you’ve discovered that making changes by fiat as opposed to getting your team on board is the most efficient way to do things?”
“Well, no.” Natalie shifted in her seat and tried to quash the uncomfortable feeling of being wrong with the unmovable mountain of her stubbornness. “But I’m right.”
“I’m not the one you need to convince.” Miranda paused, sneaking a side–eyed glance at her sister. “Unless you just want to get rid of Sean.”
“Fire him?” The question came out as a squeak and she ran her fingers across her necklace, counting sixteen pearls one way and then working her way back to her starting point. The old habit didn’t help calm her. She’d made two revolutions in quick succession and her pulse hadn’t slowed from all–hands–on–deck emergency mode.
“We do own the place.” Miranda grabbed the chipped blue–stoneware plate and strode to the sink. “Of course, I never thought you were the kind to back away from showing someone the light. I didn’t think convincing Sean would be that much of a challenge for you.”
She fisted the necklace tight enough that the pearls made circular indentations in her palm. “It’s not.”
Miranda rinsed the plate and popped it in the ancient avocado–colored dishwasher before slamming it shut. “So untwist your pearls and make him a convert. It is the Sweet Salvation Brewery, after all. Aren’t we all supposed to understand things better in Salvation?”
That had been Natalie’s original intention when she’d pulled up stakes and moved back home. If she couldn’t persuade Sean to see the light, what chance did she have of enlightening herself?
Working on about four hours of sleep thanks to the ever–present image of Natalie Sweet burned on the inside of his eyelids, Sean slouched against the wall in the Sweet Salvation Brewery break room in a nearly comatose state, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.
The allure of closing his eyes and catching a few Zs tugged at him, but he knew as soon as he did, all he’d see was Natalie. The pearl necklace circling her throat, drawing attention to her soft, creamy skin. The ever–present cardigans that drove him nuts wondering what was hidden beneath. The tightly pulled–back hair and skeptical demeanor that fueled the resurgence of every librarian–inspired fantasy he’d never known he had.
Even after a night of tossing and turning, he could still feel the slight weight of her across his shoulder and the surprisingly muscular length of her thighs. Her sweet honeysuckle scent had stayed with him long into the night. For as tightly wrapped a package as she was, Natalie Sweet offered more temptation than the Playboy Mansion ever had.
And she was completely off limits.
The Sweet Salvation Brewery had saved him. He’d worked his way up from night cleaning crew to head brewmaster in a few years, and when he perfected the latest stout recipe, he’d solidify his position at the brewery with a blue ribbon win at the
Southeast Brewers Invitational.
Julian Sweet had taken a chance on Sean despite him showing up as a man without a high school diploma, his real Social Security number, or the truth about who he was and where he’d come from. Sean sure as hell wasn’t going to repay Julian by banging the dead man’s niece as if she were a groupie who’d followed him into the bathroom at a movie premiere.
“Yo, Sean.” Billy poked his head into the break room. “Some dude called for you.”
