Without a Brew Page 3

  “Don’t worry. I have a plan. I’m going to do something that will get Kevin to really notice me.” She shot a glare at Liv that made me step back.

  Kevin showed up before she said more. “Ladies, let’s go get wined and dined. You ready, Swagger?”

  His other friend’s name was Swagger? How fitting. Swagger had to be a nickname, because who names their child Swagger without an expectation that they won’t end up the villain in a bad sitcom?

  Swagger wrapped his arm around Mel. “You bet, Kev.”

  Kevin looped his arm through Jenny’s. She looked triumphant.

  I tended to agree with Mel, but I was hardly qualified to share relationship advice. My marriage to Mac had been rife with problems from the start. Not that we hadn’t enjoyed good times, too. We had had our fair share of happy memories, but I knew at my core that I had loved the idea of Mac more than I had loved Mac. One of the reasons I had fallen for him so fast was that he came as a package deal. Mac had given me an instant family, and for that I would be forever grateful.

  I loaded a tray with empty pint glasses and took them to the kitchen. There was a lull in the taproom. That often happened this time of day when our happy hour crowds moved on and the post-work crowd hadn’t snuck out of the office yet. I decided to use the brief reprieve to finalize the breakfast menu. Garrett and I had been intentional in our use of our line of beers in all of the food we served in the pub. From bright citrus cupcakes made with our Pucker Up IPA to individual shepherd’s pies infused with our dark stout, I enjoyed creating food that was sourced with local produce and that showcased our craft. I intended to do the same with the breakfast menu. Since we were deep in the winter season, I wanted our breakfast to reflect the rich flavors of our signature stout and bright notes of our winter ale.

  After perusing a number of cookbooks, I had finally landed on stout French toast stuffed with a blueberry compote and maple ale cream cheese frosting. I could serve it with thick slabs of crispy bacon and fresh fruit. I scoured the industrial kitchen with its stainless steel counters and multiple refrigerators. We had bacon, eggs, cream cheese, and frozen blueberries on hand. I just needed to pick up a couple loaves of brioche from the bakery and swing by the market to grab some fruit. The thought of Liv and Kevin sharing the same breakfast table gave me a moment of pause. I wondered if there was a way I could seat them as far away from each other as possible. We didn’t have assigned seating for breakfast, but maybe I should rethink that.

  Since we would be housing no more than twelve guests at any time, we had decided to serve breakfast at nine every morning. That would allow our guests to have a leisurely cup of coffee, but also give them plenty of time to hit the slopes or venture out into one of the many nearby alpine lakes. I glanced at the clock above the eight-burner stove. It was only a few minutes after five. The bakery and market would be open for another hour, and Garrett and Kat had the bar under control. If I loaded up with the rest of the supplies I needed for breakfast now, I could save myself a trip in the morning.

  I tugged on my black ski jacket, a pair of gloves, and a red and black striped wool hat that Ursula had knitted for me. “I’m going to run to the store. Need anything else for tonight?”

  Garrett shook his head. “We’re good.”

  “I’ll be back shortly.” I braced myself for the cold. Leavenworth winters are notoriously snowy, and today was no exception. A brisk cold hit me as I stepped outside. I sucked in the icy air and paused for a moment. In my humble opinion, there was no place more spectacular than our little slice of Bavaria. The village was nestled in the alp-like mountains of the Northern Cascades. There was something so comforting and peaceful about being surrounded by the gentle giants with their pristine peaks and dense evergreen forests. The mountains took my breath away in every season, but seeing them buried in fresh white snow always brought a smile to my face.

  I was careful to watch my footing on the slick sidewalk. The city kept the roads plowed and the sidewalks cleared, but even so, it was always tricky to navigate the piles of snow and icy walkways. A cold wind brushed my cheeks as I turned onto Front Street. This was another view that I never got tired of.

  Front Street was lined with three- and four-story buildings designed to resemble a German village. The baroque architecture and twinkling lights that were just beginning to turn on brought a smile to my face.

  There was a festive vibe in the air. Skiers trudged on the sidewalks, carrying heavy ski boots, and shoppers stopped to admire window displays of nutcrackers and buy steaming pretzels from outdoor vendors.

  Our town gazebo was illuminated with hundreds of golden lights and hanging paper lanterns. Kids sledded down the small hill in Front Street Park while parents watched them, sipping warm cups of cocoa and hot cider.

  “Sloan! Oh, Sloan, over here!” I heard April Ablin’s familiar nasal voice calling me.

  Great.

  “Wait up, Sloan.”

  I thought about breaking into a sprint but knew that April would track me down anyway. That’s one of the major cons of living in a small town.

  April was breathless when she reached me. Her red hair was drawn into two braids that peeked out from under a knit hat. She wore a traditional red-and-white-checkered barmaid dress with a gray wool shawl around her shoulders.

  “Aren’t you freezing, April?”

  “No, I’m wearing tights.” She twirled. “Obviously you don’t understand the depth of my responsibilities. People expect to see us dressed like this. It’s all part of the mystique of visiting the village. The vast majority of business owners know this, but for some reason, you and Garrett want to be different.” She sounded exasperated.

  April and I had had this same discussion at least a dozen times. I wasn’t about to stand out in the cold and debate the merits of decorating Nitro with German kitsch. “Did you need something?”

  “Ja. Ja.” April laid on a thick fake accent. Of course she pronounced ja with a j sound rather than the German y. “I need to talk to you about IceFest. You haven’t responded to any of my emails. Can I count on Nitro to sponsor ice fishing? The maps are being printed tomorrow, and I need confirmation.” She tapped on a nonexistent watch on her wrist.

  “April, you’ve been by the pub five times this week. Garrett and I have said yes every time.”

  “I know, but I need your official confirmation. Everything must be in writing this year.”

  “Why?” Leavenworth’s resident population had stayed steady at about two thousand people for as long as I could remember. April knew everyone’s name, birthday, and most likely our bank account balances. Having us email her our “confirmation” was simply a way to bolster her importance.

  “There was a major issue last year with the sled pull and the mug relay. My assistant was supposed to invite Valley Bank to sponsor the mug relay and Der Keller to sponsor the sled pull, but she got them mixed up and Der Keller ended up sponsoring the mug relay while the bank sponsored the sled pull. Total disaster.” She threw her fake nails that were painted like icicles to her forehead. “It’s all I’ve heard from both of them for the entire year. We are not making such a disastrous mistake again. I have made it crystal clear to my assistant that if she botches it again, she’s going to be out of a job.”

  I pitied April’s assistant. And I had never heard a word from Mac, Otto, Ursula, Hans, or any of the staff at Der Keller about being upset over the blunder. I was sure it was all in April’s head.

  “Fine. I’ll email you when I get back to the pub.” I started to move away from her.

  She grabbed my arm. “Not so fast, young lady. You haven’t responded to my messages about the new house either. If you don’t make a decision soon, someone is going to swoop in and buy it out from under your feet.”

  Another classic April tactic. Leavenworth, as Kevin and his friends had made clear, wasn’t exactly Wall Street. Most residents owned and operated small businesses centered on the tourist trade, and the real estate market reflected that
.

  “If you don’t make an offer soon, you’re going to miss out on a golden opportunity.” April waved to a group of kids lugging bright red sleds toward the sledding hill. Then she stared at me for a minute. “My goodness, Sloan, is that an authentic German hat? Are you feeling all right?”

  She leaned in to try and feel my forehead. “I never thought I would see the day when our very own Sloan Krause would wear something authentically German. Be still, my beating heart.”

  “It was a gift from Ursula.” I glanced across the street at Der Keller. Its majestic entrance reminded me of a ski chalet. Flags with the Krause family crest, along with a red, yellow, and black German flag, waved in the wind. Giant bundles of white lights shaped into balls hung from the rafters. The outdoor patio was open year-round. Tonight each table was packed with happy beer lovers, staying toasty warm in front of Der Keller’s gas fireplaces. A waiter wearing the traditional uniform of a red-checkered Trachten shirt and black suspenders passed around giant overflowing steins to the revelers.

  I had spent most of my adult life at the brewery. It was still strange not to be involved in day-to-day operations. A familiar feeling of unease washed over me.

  “But of course! The mother-in-law knitted a true German Hut for you.”

  I’d had my fill of April for the day. “You mean hat, right?” I started to move on. I’d been successfully avoiding the Krause family for a while now. I wasn’t about to let April ruin that for me.

  “Sloan, wait. Call me! Let’s get this deal going, okay? Kuss, kuss, kuss!” She blew me three kisses and pranced off toward a group of unsuspecting tourists.

  “Velcome, velcome,” I heard her call to a pack of skiers as I hurried away in the opposite direction.

  It didn’t take long to pick up a few shiny loaves of buttery brioche and apples, bananas, oranges, and melons for tomorrow’s breakfast. I was back at Nitro in less than fifteen minutes. That was certainly one of the pros of living in a small village.

  After I put away the breakfast supplies, I returned to the bar to find Liv still sitting in the same spot.

  “How’s it going?” I asked, taking note of the beer in front of her. How many had she had? I would have to check with Garrett and Kat. At some point (potentially soon), we might have to cut her off.

  Before she could answer, Taylor, a local mechanic, came up to the bar. He ordered a round of pints for his buddies. “Hey, Sloan, how’s tricks? Can I get a round for my guys?”

  “Sure. The usual?” I asked. Taylor was one of our regulars. He and his crew often stopped in for a pint at the end of the workday. His grease-stained coveralls made me think they had come straight from the auto shop.

  “You know us too well.” He handed me a twenty. “Best beer and best service in Leavenworth,” he said to Liv.

  She looked up from her drink.

  Taylor stumbled backward. “Oh, hey.”

  “Hey.” Liv’s tone was cold. Did they know each other?

  “Sorry, you look like someone I used to know.” Taylor took another step backward. “Hey, Sloan, can you bring those drinks to the table when you have a sec?”

  “No problem.” I had already poured the first pint and was about to hand it to Taylor, but he was halfway back to his table.

  “Do you ever feel like nothing in your life is going right?” Liz asked. Her words slurred together as she spoke.

  Yep. My intuition was correct. It was time to encourage her to switch to coffee.

  “I think everyone feels that way sometimes. It’s the human condition.” I poured two more pints.

  “Human condition. Yeah. I wish.” She ran her fingers through her bleached hair as if trying to force away a painful memory. “Can I confess something? I have to tell someone, and you seem trustworthy.”

  “Bartenders are known for our listening ears and our sealed lips.” I pointed to my right ear and then my lips. “What you say at the bar stays at the bar.”

  Nitro was quiet for the night. Taylor and his fellow mechanics sat at one of the larger tables, but otherwise there were only a few couples in the tasting room. The soft glow of Edison bulbs above the bar and the flicker of votive candles placed on each tabletop gave the space a welcoming vibe. The front windows were frosted and dripped with sweat.

  Her shoulders loosened. “It’s bad. It’s really bad. I mean, if I tell you this, you’re probably not going to want me to stay here. You might ask me to leave, and I really need a place to crash tonight.”

  What could be so bad that I would ask her to leave? “No, of course not. The room is already reserved for you. I’m sure whatever you’re struggling with seems worse in your head than it will to me.”

  She looked up from her drink. Her eyes were wide with fear and something else—regret? “No, it’s bad. You see—”

  Before she could continue, Brad and Ali came up to the bar. They wore matching black ski parkas and hats with the words Mr. and Mrs. outlined in yellow thread. Liv and Brad locked eyes with each other. Brad looked as if he might be sick. Liv buried her face in her hands.

  Ali stepped up to the bar, then turned to her husband. “Should we get a tasting flight, hon?”

  Brad met my eyes and shook his head. He tugged off his hat. “Is it just me, or is it warm in here?”

  I stood there not knowing what to do.

  Ali appeared to be oblivious. “I don’t think it’s warm.”

  “You know, on second thought, I’m really hungry. Let’s do dinner first and then come back to taste some beers.” Brad pulled the hat on his head again and put one hand on Ali’s waist.

  “I thought you wanted to do the tasting flight now.” Ali sounded confused.

  Brad laced his other hand through hers. “I do, but suddenly I’m starving. Let’s go see the lights and get dinner.” He pulled her away from the bar.

  Liv kept her face buried in her hands. “Are they gone?”

  I watched as the door shut behind them. “Yeah, they’re gone.”

  She wrapped her hand over her mouth. I could barely hear her as she spoke. “I can’t believe they’re here. This can’t be happening.”

  “You know Brad and Ali?”

  “Huh?” She turned to the door. Then she reached into her purse, handed me two twenties. “Keep the change. I have to go.”

  I wanted to ask her more. Did her confession have something to do with Brad? How weird that she would know two people in town—Brad and Taylor. She squeezed past a couple of full tables and went straight for the door. Was she following them? I was already worried about breakfast with her and Kevin in the same room. Now I was going to have to worry about her with Brad and Ali. Tomorrow might prove to be a complete disaster.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  THE NEXT MORNING I AWOKE to the sound of snowplows. Alex was still crashed in his bedroom when I tiptoed down the hallway. Lazy winter Saturday mornings were made for sleeping in, especially with a teenager in the house. I left him a note along with a box of his favorite cereal on the kitchen counter. Mac was due to pick him up at lunchtime. We had worked out a temporary kid swap. I hated having to share Alex and, more importantly, making him hop back and forth between our places. It triggered painful memories of my foster care years, but Alex appeared to be handling the change with ease. I worried that he was putting on a brave face for us. He had mastered the art of concealing his feelings. He came by it honestly. The only person I had to blame for his closed emotional vault was me.

  I knew I couldn’t force the issue, so instead I had been trying to make space for him to talk. Simple things like our drives to and from school every day and chatting while spending an afternoon cross-country skiing. My singular focus was to make sure that he didn’t suffer.

  I wasn’t sure I was succeeding on that front, but I had to keep nudging my son to be honest about his struggles.

  Snow blanketed the organic farmland and buried the mountains in a deep layer of powdery white as I drove into the village. A handful of early risers
strolled along the sidewalk in search of morning coffee and pastries, but otherwise our little Beervaria sat in a restful slumber. I passed life-sized murals depicting bucolic German village scenes. Many of the white stucco buildings with their wooden roofs and balconies had paintings of overflowing keg barrels and dancers in lederhosen and Trachten shirts. Each mural told a story, and the tradition dated back to the 1960s, when the town transformed from a dying logging and mining community to a thriving tourist destination. A local artist had painted a mural on the town hall building, and it was so well received that murals spread throughout the village. They became legendary. I often saw tourists spending hours taking in all of the murals, snapping pictures, and posing for selfies. Since Leavenworth’s public art displays were so popular, residents enacted a policy where everyone had to vote for a new mural to be approved.

  In a few hours Front Street would be alive with activity—kids making snowmen and sledding in the park, shoppers perusing our boutiques, and the Saturday artist market, and outdoor adventurers fueling up for a day on the slopes.

  I breathed in the pine-scented air, parked the car, and went to unlock Nitro. When Garrett had first moved to Leavenworth from Seattle, he had insisted on locking every room inside the brewery every night. Garrett was especially concerned with making sure our office was locked, even during the workday. He was paranoid about the possibility of having our recipes stolen. It had taken some getting used to. In Leavenworth, we tend to trust our neighbors.

  The taproom was dark. I left it that way and continued on to the kitchen. Garrett and Kat were both late sleepers. It worked well for our routine. I liked to be home on school nights when I had Alex. He would be off to college in a few years, and I was acutely aware that I needed to savor our time together. We would usually make dinner and recap his day before he had to do homework. I loved curling up on the couch with him to watch his favorite shows. Alex liked to tease me about falling asleep halfway into any show. The sad truth was that his teasing was justified. Most nights I found myself drifting off before ten. On the flip side, Garrett claimed he brewed best after midnight. He typically took the late shift at the pub and stayed up after closing to experiment with small batches.