Written in the Stars Page 12

  “Let me help,” Jimmy said, wondering if anyone in the bar was curious as to what was going on in the hallway. When she gave him a look that said that she wasn’t sure that she wanted his assistance, he leaned in next to her ear and said, “Becca, please allow me to help you out.”

  “You know my name, do you?” she asked in that sexy British voice of hers.

  “I think everyone in here knows your name,” Jimmy replied in a tone that made her tilt her head to the side.

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Um, you happen to be famous.”

  “In this small town? Because of a silly poster from a million years ago? I do believe that you are more famous than I am, Jimmy Topmiller, world-­class bass pro angler.”

  Jimmy felt a jolt of surprise and was rather pleased. “Do you even know what that means?” Jimmy asked and could tell by her blank look that she wasn’t quite sure. He could also tell that she wanted to take a step back and put some distance between them, but her back was up against the wall. And damn if he didn’t want to place his hands on either side of her and lean in for a smokin’-­hot kiss. And it pissed him off that he wanted her with an intensity that he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Well?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Catching, you know...fish.”

  “Right, that’s what I do.”

  “Isn’t it, though?”

  Technically, she was right, but it irritated Jimmy that people thought that competitive tournaments were all about luck. In reality, bass fishing took tons of research and endless hours of practice. You had to be an expert boater, racing like a NASCAR driver over the water to spots nearly impossible to navigate. “Right,” he answered with a sigh, and looked away. He needed to get back to his barstool.

  “Just why do you have a stick up your arse where I’m concerned? What did I ever do to you?” she asked in a low tone. “You don’t even know me.”

  Her candor surprised Jimmy. “I know your type, sugar.” He knew he was being rude, but her comment about his fishing got under his skin.

  “Excuse me?” She was trying hard to give him a dressing-down, but the accent took away some of the heat. Every­thing she said sounded so proper. Then she leaned over and slipped her shoes off, giving Jimmy a sweet glance of her cleavage. He should have looked away, but he didn’t. And since when did fancy pearls seem so very sexy? When she stood in her bare feet, she was only a few inches shorter than his six foot four. Ah...those long-­ass legs. “Would you kindly step aside?”

  “Gladly,” he said, but he wasn’t glad at all. When she started to walk away, he wanted to haul her back and...Stop it!

  “Thank you.” With her head held high, she padded on bare feet back over to the bar, slipped onto her stool, and proceeded to take a sip of her fresh martini.

  Jimmy went back to his seat and plopped down, ignoring curious stares from those who knew him well. Pete gave him a what-­the-­hell-­just-­happened look, but Jimmy merely shrugged and then rolled his eyes. He ordered some hot wings, even though he knew he’d pay with heartburn later. He didn’t care. That was the kind of mood he was in...all because of Fancy Pants over there.

  Becca, who was quiet earlier, suddenly became animated and had a captive audience. Maybe it was the alcohol kicking in, or it could be that she was one of those women who could adapt to any situation. Perhaps it was the accent that had everyone hanging on her every word. For whatever reason, she seemed be settling in at Sully’s. At one point she even got up and danced with the group of women who had given her nasty looks earlier. She had them laughing. Jimmy wondered if it had anything to do with the martinis, but a look her way indicated that she was nursing her second one. She ate a giant salad with grilled chicken and let Pete know that she appreciated that he had some healthy options on the menu. Everyone was soon charmed.

  Ha, but not him.

  Becca didn’t even glance Jimmy’s way again. He told himself that he didn’t care, but when some young guy, most likely fueled by alcohol and dares, approached her for a dance, Jimmy wanted to step in and tell the kid to get lost. It was stupid. Why the hell did he even care?

  The fact that Jimmy couldn’t get Becca off his mind made him want to do something to piss her off, and so when she went to the bathroom again, he motioned for Pete.

  “I want to cash out and I want to pay Becca’s tab.”

  “Okay.” Pete slapped his towel over his shoulder. “You want her to know?”

  “Yeah, let it slip.” Jimmy somehow knew it would get her goat.

  “You got it.” Pete gave Jimmy a grin. “You sweet on her or somethin’?”

  “Hell no. She lives across the lake from me and gets under my skin.”

  “Right. So you showing her who’s boss by paying her tab? That really makes a lot of sense, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy shrugged, not sure what he was doing. He handed Pete his debit card. “Just do it before she gets back.”

  “Okay.” Pete nodded. “You got it.”

  After leaving Sully’s, Jimmy headed over to his truck, wishing he could see Becca’s face when she found out that he’d paid her bill. He somehow knew she’d be ticked off instead of pleased. Women like her wanted to be in control, and he’d just taken that away from her. So take that, Becca Gordon.

  Just as Jimmy was getting into his truck, he heard his name called out in a British accent. Grinning, he stopped, prepared to get chewed out by Becca Gordon.

  “Jimmy, wait!” He turned around and watched Becca limping his way with her one broken heel.

  “Yeah?” he asked when she finally made it to his truck.

  “I wanted to thank you for paying my tab. How nice of you,” she cooed, and gave him a big smile.

  Jimmy blinked at her. “You’re...welcome.”

  “Pete didn’t want to tell me, but I got it out of him.”

  Jimmy nodded, wondering if she was onto him or not.

  “Well, I’m off. I just wanted to catch you and express my surprise and gratitude. Here, for some reason, I thought that you didn’t really like me. Silly me, right?”

  “R-­right.”

  “I’d like to return the favor by inviting you to dinner.”

  “I...uh...”

  “A week from Thursday good for you?”

  Caught off guard, Jimmy could only nod.

  “All right, then.” She gave him a bright smile, turned on her good heel, and limped away.

  Jimmy watched her progress, trying to figure out what had just happened. By the set of her shoulders, he knew that she’d just gotten the upper hand. Ha, so what was she going to do? Serve him something horrible like a salad or something? Well, he’d get her back and bring some insanely decadent dessert and guilt her into eating it. Yeah, he’d show Miss Swimsuit Model. “Two can play this game,” he mumbled, even though he wasn’t quite sure what game he was playing. But he was damned sure gonna win.

  After he arrived at his cabin, he went out onto the back deck, telling himself that he wanted some fresh air and to do a little stargazing. Heading out there had nothing to do with looking across the lake to Becca’s cabin to see if her lights were on and to be sure that she’d made it home safely. No...he just wanted to enjoy the warm summer evening.

  Jimmy grabbed a bottle of water, sat down on a lounge chair, and gazed up into the inky black sky. Stars glittered like diamonds on velvet. Next to being in a boat on the water, stargazing was his favorite way to relax.

  After a few minutes, music drifted his way, something soft and sultry, and he realized he wasn’t the only one enjoying the beauty of the night sky. For a moment Jimmy allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to be sitting with Becca on her deck, listening to music and getting to know each other. But then he shut that notion down. She wasn’t even close to being his type of woman. And before long, she’d hightail it back to London and do whatever kind of fancy-­pa
nts fashion-­designing thing she did for a living. Going to her cabin for dinner would be completely insane.

  Jimmy shoved his fingers through his hair, thinking he’d have to find a way to get out of it. He had more than a week to come up with an excuse of some sort. But then he thought that she was most likely banking on him being a no-­show. Well, maybe he’d just have to call her fancy-­ass bluff. And except for tossing a salad, she most likely didn’t know a thing about cooking anyway. Yeah, watching her fumble around in the kitchen was bound to be damned humorous and way too good to miss.

  9

  If You Could Read My Mind

  MASON SHOOK HIS HEAD WHEN HIS PHONE PINGED again. He read another text from Gracie and blew out a sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “What now?” Danny looked up from where he was putting the finishing touches on the bar in the taproom.

  Mason swung his leg over a barstool and sat down. “You’re not gonna believe what Gracie just suggested.”

  Danny chuckled. “So she’s Gracie now?”

  Mason shot his brother a look. “It’s...just...”

  “What?”

  “She seems like a Gracie to me, okay? Don’t start jumping to conclusions. She’s just been driving me nuts this past week.” In more ways than one, but Mason wasn’t about to let his brother know that he thought about Gracie day and night...especially night.

  “Did you really expect her to be a silent partner?”

  Mason scrubbed a hand down his face. “No, I knew that she wanted to help on the marketing end of launching the brewery. Marketing is her thing.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, right? We both know that marketing isn’t your thing.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t agree with all of her suggestions. Dammit, Danny, what have I gotten myself into?”

  Danny waved his arm in an arc. “Saving your business, for one thing.”

  “Yeah, but now Gracie has her nose in my business.” Mason jammed a thumb into his chest so hard that it hurt.

  “Are you forgetting that it really is her business now too?”

  “No.” And Mason wasn’t forgetting how thoughts of their hot kiss kept him up at night...and awake too. “And believe me, I’m grateful. And you know that she came along just in the nick of time. Without her investment I might have had to shut things down.” He let out a groan and looked up at the ceiling.

  “So what’s got you so riled up?”

  “She wants to call the operation Broomstick Brewery and have a witch riding on a broomstick as the logo! And...get this, have the ales called goofy witchcraft-­related names. Like Love Potion, Spellbound, Black Magic, and Witches’ Brew. She insists that we need to tap into the female market and that this marketing plan will work.” Mason rolled his eyes and continued in a mock British accent, “We can have several soft openings on weekends leading up to a huge Halloween grand-­opening party.”

  “What did you reply?”

  “The same thing I’ve been saying to all of her crazy-­ass out-­there marketing plans for the past week. No damned way!” Mason sputtered. He wanted for Danny to jump on the outraged bandwagon, but his brother gave him a long, measuring look. “Oh, come on...what? You can’t possibly be buying into any of this bullshit.”

  Danny shrugged. “I mean, she made over a million bucks convincing women to wear weird metallic shades of eye shadow and lipstick. I did some research on Girl Code. You might want to take her suggestions seriously.”

  “This is about my craft beer that I’ve spent years perfecting. I take that seriously.”

  “It’s also about making money, Mason.”

  “Yeah, I get that, but not at the expense of my integrity.”

  “Mason, crazy names for craft ales is all part of the fun, and you know that. You gotta admit that we’ve laughed at a bunch of them. Remember the beer fest in Cincinnati we went to last year?”

  “Uh...” Mason had to grin. “Some of it.”

  “We laughed our asses off at some of the names of breweries and beers. Remember, Hoppy Ending from Palo Alto Brewing Company? The Great Big Kentucky Sausage Fest? Citra Ass Down? Java the Nut? Mason, we even made a list of our favorites.”

  “And your point?”

  “It’s a crowded market and you have to stand out with fun names and a kick-­ass label. I hate to say it, but I think she has a valid point. And deep down you know it.”

  “Okay...okay, I get that, but you’ve got to be shitting me. Broomstick Brewery?” Mason shook his head. “Over my dead body.”

  “Over your dead, broke body.”

  Mason groaned and then sucked in a breath. “No, I can’t do it.”

  “Look at the bright side. Not only did Grace put up some serious cash, but she’s a marketing genius. You should be thanking your lucky stars instead of fighting this angle.”

  “I know, but why can’t the name be something to do with the marina or fishing? Why not just something simple like Mayfield Brewing Company? I mean, I built the brewery out of the boathouse.”

  “Mayfield sounds more like milk than beer.”

  “Boathouse Brewery, then. Not witches! What guy is going to order a beer called Love Potion?”

  “I think that’s Grace’s main point. She’s going after women. Chicks will eat this up with a spoon.”

  “I’ll be a laughingstock, Danny!” Mason raised his hands in the air. “Come on, back me up on this.”

  “Look, I’m just saying that you need to have more of an open mind. And you gotta remember that Cricket Creek draws lots of tourists. You want the brewery to appeal to them too.”

  “Since when did brewing a great craft beer have to appeal to everyone?” Mason grumbled. “This started as a simple concept, and I don’t want to turn it into a three-­ring circus. Broomstick Brewery...what the hell?”

  Danny closed his toolbox and turned to face Mason. “I have to say that I think her idea is pretty damned creative. I mean, guys don’t care what the beer is called—­only that it tastes good. Women need more stimulation than that, kinda like in bed. Not everything is as straightforward as you want it to be, bro.”

  “Since when did you become an expert in every damn thing?”

  “Come on, Mason. Look what Mattie did with the bistro. Before it was Breakfast, Bait and Books. Not a very appealing name if you’re not a dude. Now that Mattie made it all pretty and everything, switched up the menu, and added the patio, the place is packed with regulars and tourists too. And the regulars still come. With the bistro being so close, you and Mattie can feed off each other, but not if this taproom is all about guy shit.” Danny shrugged. “It depends upon what you want, I guess.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Don’t be so stubborn.” Danny walked around the bar and slapped Mason on the back. “Look, I gotta bounce. I promised Dad we’d do some night fishing for crappie. If we catch a mess, I’ll bring you some. We’ll grill out and drink until we solve all the problems of the world. You’ll come up with a solution.”

  “Sounds good,” Mason said. But after Danny left, he leaned over and gripped the edge of the bar. After a moment he blew out a sigh. What Mason didn’t tell Danny was that although he maintained controlling interest, Gracie had insisted upon being head of marketing, something he’d signed off on in their contract. He’d been that desperate. Although Gracie wasn’t exactly his boss, he’d pretty much given her free rein over marketing, so he didn’t have much of a choice. What he could do was give her the cold shoulder until she hated being around him. Then maybe she’d throw in the towel and let him run the business the way he saw fit and not with some gimmicky bullshit that made him want to bang his head against the wall. Yeah, that was a good plan. The silent treatment would drive animated Gracie Gordon insane.

  “Hello, there.”

  Mason swung around and faced the woman who was turning his world
upside down in more ways than one. Why did the mere sight of her make his heart race? Oh yeah, because he was super pissed at her. That was the reason. “Gracie,” he said tightly.

  “Don’t sound so excited to see me. It might go straight to my head like that chocolate porter of yours.”

  Mason’s scowl didn’t seem to faze her. She wore white shorts and a blue tank top that did faze him. Her skin had a golden glow, making him think she must have been sunbathing while conjuring up all of her crazy ideas. He tried not to imagine her in a bikini, but his brain failed to cooperate. Nothing on his body cooperated where Gracie was concerned.

  “The bar is amazing. Danny is a talented carpenter.” She ran her hand slowly over the wood and smiled before looking his way. “Lovely.”

  Mason couldn’t argue with her observation, so he nodded.

  “How’s the Russian imperial stout coming along?”

  “Aging in the secondary.”

  “Excellent.” Gracie nodded, but he had to wonder if she knew what he was talking about. “I think we should name that one Black Magic. What do you think?”

  Mason deepened his scowl as his answer, but she ignored it.

  “All right, then, take a look at this.” Grace pulled her iPad out of a case and placed it on the bar. “I had the artist who designed my cosmetic-­line labels come up with some creative beer labels. They’re really cool.”

  “About that...”

  “We need to get this marketing plan up and running to create interest. I’ll manage the Web site and Facebook page. We should get some hype going, don’t you think?” She angled her head at him and waited.

  “No.”

  “Mason, we need to do a few soft openings until you can build up inventory. But we still need to get some Facebook and Twitter followers. Are you open to doing a blog? Seems to be a popular way to get the word out in this industry. Some of them are really clever and informative.”

  “I’m too busy brewing beer.”

  “Do you think you could speed that process up just a teensy bit?” She put her thumb and index finger an inch apart.