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  Garrett couldn’t get a word in. April paused long enough to take breath and launched back in. “Word has it you’re out to give Mac Krause a run for his money. Opening a new beer hall and stealing his wife. I imagine you’ve ruffled a few feathers.” Her nasal laugh made me want to plug my ears.

  As much as I wanted to stick around and hear how Garrett handled April, I had work to do. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” I said as I backed away. “Nice to see you, April.”

  “Oh”—April put her hand to her heart—“you take care, hon. Everyone, I mean everyone in town is talking about you. I mean, how terrible we feel for you.”

  Swearing April’s name under my breath, I turned and made a beeline for the office.

  It didn’t take long to put everything back in order. I lost track of time as I sorted through files. Garrett’s system of organization appeared to be cramming loose notes into file folders until they exploded. Ransacking the space must have been a fairly easy gig.

  Who would have done this? And why didn’t Garrett want me to call the police?

  I used the opportunity to systematically file Garrett’s notes, recipes, and invoices in the filing cabinet. Once the room looked presentable, I went to work rearranging the pub for the party. Despite the fact that Garrett seemed to be the kind of guy who spent a lot of time in his head, I was impressed by what he’d done with the space.

  Upon entering Nitro’s front doors, customers would be greeted with exposed industrial ceilings and concrete floors. The dated vinyl booths and benches from his aunt’s restaurant had been replaced with dining tables in the front and then a collection of high-top bar tables and stools. A half wall ran the length of the room, dividing the dining area, where minors were allowed, from the bar.

  I strung twinkle lights from the top of the bar to the front windows and placed votive candles on each table. The box of photos that Garrett had left on the bar was a treasure trove. I didn’t take the time to look through all of them, but there were photos of Garrett as a boy with his aunt Tess, black-and-white photos of the inn in its original glory, and tons of pictures of parties and events that had been hosted in the space throughout the years. Positioning framed photos in the bar anchored the room and offered a nod to Nitro’s roots.

  He had installed a ten-foot whiteboard behind the bar that would serve as a menu for our rotating beers. Since we were launching with only three beer options, there was plenty of extra space. I wrote descriptions of each beer and our food menu on the board. Then in a stroke of luck, I discovered a photo of Icicle Creek at the bottom of the box. Icicle Creek originates at Lake Josephine and flows from the Cascade Mountains until it meets the Wenatchee River here in Leavenworth. I mounted the photo on the board with two magnets and wrote a quote that I’d heard Hans repeat many times beneath it: HISTORY FLOWS FORWARD ON A RIVER OF BEER.

  Stepping back, I appraised my work. It felt like a blend of the old with the new. I hoped that Garrett would like the end result.

  With that complete, I focused my attention outside, where a small patio enclosed by a wrought-iron gate sat at the front of the building. I found some patio chairs in the storage area next to the kitchen and dragged them out. After a good wipe-down, they looked like new.

  A man’s voice startled me as I plugged in the lights and stood to survey my work. “Is Garrett around?”

  I turned to see a man wearing dirt-caked boots that came to his knees and overalls covered in dust.

  “He’s in the back. Can I help you with something? I’m Sloan, Garrett’s new brewer and one and only employee.”

  “Van Gieger, hop supplier.” He shifted a box of hops in his arms. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are kind of tied up at the moment.”

  “I see that. You want to set them down?” I pointed to an empty bistro table.

  He set down the box he was carrying. “Sorry, I’m kind of dirty.” He brushed off his shirtsleeve. “I guess these are for you, then. Special delivery.”

  I opened the box. It was filled with fragrant green hops. I caught a whiff of lemon and tangerine under the intense bitterness. “I’m picking up a lot of citrus, but this isn’t a hop I know. Is it a hybrid?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “Der Keller,” I replied. “I learned everything I know about beer from Leavenworth’s orginal brewmaster.”

  He gave his head a half shake. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You don’t know Der Keller?” I was shocked. Everyone in the hop business knew Der Keller.

  “Oh yeah, maybe. Did I work with them in Wenatchee?”

  “Huh?” I frowned. “They’re the biggest brewer here in town. You must be new to Leavenworth.”

  “Oh right, sure, Der Keller. Yeah, I know those guys, but they already have hop suppliers. I’m starting small, like you guys.”

  “That’s great.” I rubbed a hop cone between my fingers and breathed in the lemony scent. “Is your farm nearby?”

  “Yep, and no one else in town has these.” He motioned to the box. “Garrett has a contract for exclusive rights. These are an experimental vine project. Can you give them to him? I’ve got a load of deliveries in the truck.”

  “Sure, but I can go grab him if you need to talk to him. We’re getting ready for the big launch tonight. You should come.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try. Don’t bug Garrett. Tell him I’ll catch him tomorrow with the contract. Good luck tonight if I don’t see you.”

  With a wave, he walked away. I made room for the box of citrus hops in the fridge under the bar. To preserve their freshness and flavors, hops needed to be refrigerated. With that task complete, I returned my focus to the party. I arranged the IPA cupcakes on a long folding table lined with a white tablecloth, covered them with plastic wrap, and then hurried to the kitchen and fired up the grill. The scent of cilantro quickly filled the kitchen. If the citrus skewers tasted as good as they smelled, we’d have happy customers. Once the chicken had been grilled to perfection, I found warming trays amongst the stack of kitchen equipment. Note to self: organize the kitchen next.

  Back in the bar, I set the skewers and salad next to the cupcakes and surveyed the room. Not half bad. The room glittered to life with the lights and smelled like a real pub.

  My watch read quarter to four. I needed to change and put my game face on. Time to meet the masses. “Hey, Garrett,” I said as I knocked on the office door. “Everything’s ready. Want to come check it out?”

  He removed his goggles and rubbed his eyes. “Sure, yeah.”

  I noticed him quickly close his laptop and place it in the bottom desk drawer along with a spiral notebook. He locked the drawer and followed me to the front room.

  “Wow!” He scanned the pub. “Is this the same place?”

  “You bet. If you’re satisfied, I’m going to change before we open the doors in a few.”

  “Satisfied? I had no idea something I owned could ever look like this.”

  “Just a few touches to bring it to life. That’s why you hired me, right?”

  “Right.” Garrett nodded, looking slightly dazed. “I love the pictures. You are a genius. They totally bring everything together. And the beer names and that quote—brilliant!”

  “You like it?” I bit my bottom lip.

  He pursed his lips. “Well, there is one thing missing.”

  “What?”

  His dark eyes gleamed. “Doritos.”

  I laughed. “Right. I’ll get on that, but first I have to change. Meet you back here in five to greet our first customers.”

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  I CHANGED INTO MY RED dress in the bathroom. As a kid, I could fit everything I owned into a suitcase. Some habits die hard. Nowadays, I tended to shop for timeless pieces like the red dress. Despite the fact that I had purchased it years ago, it didn’t look dated. It hugged my narrow waist and hit just above the knee. Appraising my reflection, I sighed as I studied my appearance. The mirror showed lines creeping around
my eyes and finely etched on my forehead. Maybe it was time for a makeover. I ran a coat of red lip gloss over my lips and let my dark curls fall loose on my shoulders. Why did Mac have to cheat on me with a twentysomething? It was such a cliché, but it made the thin lines in my forehead feel like ruts.

  Tonight would be my first time interacting with the entire town since I had discovered Mac cheating. I knew, thanks in part to April Ablin, that while no one would say anything outright, they’d all be acutely aware of the situation.

  Suck it up, I told myself as I stuffed my bag of clothes in the office and headed to the front. The sound of voices greeted me as I entered the tasting room. That was another thing about this town—everyone was always early.

  Happily, the first guests were familiar faces. The Krause family—Otto, Ursula, Hans, and Alex—stood gathered around the bar. My heart leapt with pleasure, and I could feel my cheeks warm. I wasn’t surprised that they had come. Otto and Ursula were steadfast in their support of Leavenworth’s brewing community, and always the first people to welcome new brewers to the scene. But given the situation between me and Mac, having them here meant even more.

  Ursula greeted me with a squeeze. “You look so beautiful. You are practically glowing, my dear.” She was dressed for the shifting weather in an ankle-length black skirt and cable knit sweater. Due to Leavenworth’s proximity to the Cascade Mountains, evenings tended to cool rapidly once the sun sunk on the horizon, especially with fall approaching. “And it smells so wonderful in here. I think you must be cooking today.”

  Otto patted me on the shoulder. “She is right. Ze beer it must be good for you.” The age spots on his cheeks scrunched together when he smiled. “We are very happy for you to try something new, but you return to ze pub soon, ja?”

  Hans caught my eye. I wondered how much he’d told them.

  “Of course.” I hugged them both. “Thanks for being here. You’re going to love Garrett’s beer. It’s very different from Bavarian beers.”

  Ursula walked to get a better look at the wall of photos. “Sloan, did you do zis? It is so wonderful.”

  “Aren’t they great? I bet you’ll recognize many faces up there. They are all old photos from Tess’s collection.”

  She smiled, but as she continued to examine the photos, a look of nostalgia washed over her. Was she upset that I had left Der Keller, or just reflecting on her past? She placed the reading glasses that hung from a chain around her neck on the tip of her nose and stepped closer. One photo had caught her eye. She ran her finger around its frame and then turned to me. For a moment, I thought she might cry, but instead she removed her reading glasses and moved on to the next photo.

  Alex punched me gently in the shoulder. “Yeah, Mom, you look good, for someone soooo old.” His eyes twinkled with impish delight and matched his pale blue shirt. He had dressed for the occasion. “Nice place. Not German, that’s for sure. You going to show us around?”

  “You know it, kid.” I reached to ruffle his hair. He ducked away as I led them toward the fermenting tanks. Hans matched my stride and leaned close. I could smell the faint hint of wood polish on his skin, even though he had showered and changed into jeans, rafting shoes, and a khaki shirt. “Nice move, Sloan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  One side of his lip curled into a smile. “You look amazing. If my brother could see you now, he’d really be kicking himself.”

  “He’s not coming, is he?” I could hear the shrill tone in my voice. “You promised you would keep him away.”

  “Chill.” Hans squeezed my shoulder and brushed a loose strand of hair from my face. “He’s not coming. I meant that you look great, and what better way to show everyone in town that you’re fine?”

  “Right.” I sighed. “I guess I’m slightly on edge.”

  “I know,” he replied with an understanding smile. “Here’s a tip. If you start to think about Mac and Hayley, remember the old saying: beauty is in the eye of the beer holder.” Winking, he continued. “You, Sloan, exude real beauty inside and out.”

  “You’re the best,” I bantered back with a laugh, but caught a glimpse of a wistful look in his eyes.

  When I returned from giving the Krause family the tour, Garrett looked at me with wild eyes from behind the bar. I weaved between masses of locals lining up for pints. The place was hopping, and Garrett’s deer-in-the-headlights gaze made me chuckle.

  “Need a hand?” I scooted behind the bar to help him pour.

  “Why is everyone so early?” he whispered.

  I shrugged and grabbed a pint glass. “It’s our thing.” With a population of right around two thousand residents, whenever something—or someone—new arrived on the scene, the entire town showed up.

  Garrett scowled and then seemed to notice me for the first time. “You look amazing, Sloan.” His voice cracked slightly.

  “Thanks.” I could feel my cheeks start to warm. “You look nice, too.” He had changed as well. He wore a crisp white dress shirt, which brought out his dark hair and dusty brown eyes. Pointing to the overflowing pint Garrett was holding, I said, “I think that’s good.”

  Removing his gaze from me, Garrett yanked the tap handle back and shook foam from his hands while I waited on the next person in line. “What can I get you?” I asked the customer. “We’re pouring three tonight: Pucker Up, a fresh IPA infused with citrus fruits and big hops, Cherry Cordial, a black cherry stout that’s dense and sweet, and Bottle Blonde, a light summer ale.”

  “Which one is your favorite?”

  I recommended Pucker Up, but all of Garrett’s beers were award-worthy. An impressive feat for a new brewer.

  The secret to pouring a perfect pint was how you held the glass: I angled the pint glass to avoid too much foam and positioned it underneath the tap. Beer should also be poured slowly. I poured it halfway, then let it settle for a minute before topping it with a creamy head.

  As I handed the customer her pint, the front door swung open and in barged Eddie Deluga, brewmaster at Bruin’s Brewing, one of Leavenworth’s original beer halls located on the outskirts of town.

  Eddie elbowed his way to the front of the bar and slapped a scrawny tattooed arm on the counter. “Gimme one of each.”

  I turned to Garrett. “Have you met Eddie yet?”

  Garrett shook his head. He rolled his sleeves and extended his hand. “Garrett Strong.”

  “I heard.” Eddie ignored Garrett’s outstretched arm. “Whatcha waiting for, Sloan? I want to taste a cold one.”

  “Knock it off, Eddie,” a jovial voice called out. A burly, graying man with a teddy-bear-like beer belly came up behind Eddie and rubbed his shoulders. He wore a forest green felt hat with a German flag tucked on the side.

  Eddie snarled. I handed him a pint of Pucker Up.

  He stuck his nose in the glass.

  “Sloan, so nice to see you! You look great!” Bruin, the teddy bear and Eddie’s boss, grabbed my hand and crushed it so hard my fingertips blanched. He turned to Garrett. “You must be the whiz kid I keep hearing about. Bruin Masterson, of Bruin’s Brewing—nice to meet you.”

  He shook Garrett’s hand with gusto. Garrett looked at me, dumbfounded.

  I poured Bruin a pint of Pucker Up and filled Garrett in. “Bruin owns Bruin’s Brewing on the other side of town, and Eddie is his head brewmaster. They’ve been a fixture around here for years.”

  “We’ve had a friendly little rivalry for a while now, haven’t we, Sloan?” Bruin chugged his Pucker Up.

  Eddie examined his. He held the pint up to the Edison-style lightbulbs hanging on individual wires above the bar and swirled the sunglow ale in the air. They were quite the pair—Bruin with his portly body and rosy red cheeks and Eddie with his skeletal rock star body and tattoos.

  “Now, that’s a nice hoppy finish you’ve got going here,” Bruin said to Garrett, then he turned to me. “Bet Mac’s pretty pissed you’re working with the competition, huh?” Bruin laughed and gulped the rest of his pi
nt with a giant swig that caused his hat to fall off.

  I didn’t respond, but picked up Bruin’s hat. He tipped it in thanks and repositioned it on his head.

  “So, Eddie, what do you think?” Bruin watched as Eddie finally took a sip.

  Eddie swished the beer around in his mouth. “Not bad,” he said, setting his full pint glass on the bar. “I’ve had better.”

  Bruin snatched his glass. “If you’re not finishing that, I will.” His swollen cheeks glowed crimson.

  “You dry hop that?” Eddie asked, cracking his knuckles. He wore fat rings on all of his fingers. His ribbed white tank top displayed a buxom woman in a Bettie Page dress, and his black skinny jeans had chains hanging from the pockets and belt loops.

  Garrett looked unsure how to respond. I gave him a little nod to let him know that Eddie was harmless.

  “Yeah, a little,” Garrett said, offering Eddie a taster of the cherry stout. “Not on this one, though.”

  While Eddie and Garrett cautiously talked shop, Bruin leaned over the bar. Slightly slurring his words, he patted my hand. “You know, Sloan, if this doesn’t work out, I’ll always have a spot for you my way. You remember that.”

  He must have had a couple before coming to Nitro.

  Regardless, the moment of beer-induced tenderness struck me. “Thanks, Bruin.”

  He downed the last drops of beer in his pint glass and handed it to me. “I’ll take another, Sloan.”

  My jaw tightened. “Sorry, Bruin, I can’t serve you now.” I caught Garrett’s eye. There was no way we could continue to serve Bruin, who was obviously already inebriated. Garrett frowned. I gave him a look to let him know that I had the situation under control. Years of working the front at Der Keller had trained my eyes to spot someone who had had one too many. There was no room for error when it came to overserving, and I had no problem cutting Bruin off.

  Bruin waved his empty pint glass at me. “Come on, Sloan. I’m fine. Just one more pint.”

  I was about to offer Bruin a cup of coffee, but at that moment, Van, the hop guy, squeezed his way to the bar. His overalls were still dusty from harvesting hops.