Written in the Stars Read online

  “I’m running at full capacity,” Mason answered in a short tone. “You can’t speed up brewing beer without ruining the outcome. It doesn’t work that way.”

  Grace nodded slowly. “That’s all right. I had a similar issue with Girl Code. When demand outweighs the supply it just creates the need to have it even more, you know? Human nature, I suppose.”

  His silence didn’t stop her from rambling on.

  “I’m also looking into having a gift shop off to the side of the taproom. And of course the witches theme is going to just rock there.”

  Mason gave her a look that said how much he thought it didn’t rock, unless you considered rocking his boat.

  Nonplussed, she rattled on while he pretended not to be interested. “People wearing T-­shirts are free advertising. Oh and baseball caps seem to be huge around here. We might consider giving a shirt or hat away with the first purchase of beer. Or maybe other giveaways when you like our Facebook page. People love free stuff. I’m going to have brochures for Mattie to hand out at Walking on Sunshine Bistro.”

  Mason couldn’t take it any longer. He raised both hands, palms up. “Stop.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not cool with the whole Broomstick Brewery thing, Gracie. Not at all. In fact, I pretty much hate it.”

  Grace lifted one bare, tanned shoulder and gave him a brief smile. “I knew you wouldn’t be thrilled, Mason. But I’ve done tons of research, and reaching out to women is going to grow your popularity way quicker than relying on appealing just to men.”

  “I don’t know that I really buy into that.”

  “Well, like I said, I happen to have done the research to back up my claim,” she said with a little bit of a sharp edge to her tone. Good, he was getting under her skin. “Did you know that in a recent Gallup poll, women in their twenties and thirties now prefer beer to wine?”

  No, he didn’t know that, and he had to admit that it surprised the hell out of him. “You mean like Bud Light. Generic domestic beer. That’s not who I’m after.”

  “I get that, and no. Would you kindly allow me to continue?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Did you know that there’s an international club called Barley’s Angels for women who love craft beer? Clever, right? And did you know that they conduct classes on how to pair beer with food? We could create a local chapter and do some of the same kind of thing here. Mattie said she would enjoy doing some of the classes at the bistro.”

  Mason opened his mouth to interrupt, but Gracie was on a roll.

  “Did you know that there’s an organization called WEB, which stands for Women Enjoying Beer? The CEO, Ginger Johnson, founded the company for the sole purpose of marketing beer toward women. After all, we do make up over half of the population.” She arched an eyebrow. “And American women make nearly eighty-­five percent of the purchasing decisions, especially when it comes to food and drinks.”

  “You’ve got it all figured out.” The edge to his voice didn’t even begin to slow her down.

  “When I get involved with a marketing project, I jump in with both feet. I just get chock-­full of energy, and I can’t slow down.” She put a hand on his forearm. “Look, I know this isn’t what you envisioned for the brewery, but you were only thinking about brewing an amazing craft beer. That won’t change. The only thing we’re doing is reaching out to an eager demographic that’s been pretty much ignored by the craft beer industry. It works, Mason. My mother saw the need for affordable high fashion and carried sizes geared to the average woman, and it went over like gangbusters. Just look at what Mattie did with the bistro. She has the same regulars but now has a much bigger clientele. You told me so yourself. You can still have darts and pool tables and that corn hole whatever-­it-­was game, but you need to add something more for the girls.”

  “Okay, so you’ve done your so-­called research.” Mason pulled away from her. “I know you have an investment, but in the end this is just a project for you, Gracie. Once you’re bored, you’ll move on, and then I’ll be stuck with a brewery named after witches.”

  “You don’t know that I will move on.”

  “I do know that, because you flat out told me.” And it bothered him for more reasons than he cared to admit. “This is just playtime for you, but it’s the rest of my life.”

  Hurt registered on her face, making him want to take the words back. But there was even more at stake than the brand of his brewery. Try as he might, and even though he was pissed at her for swooping in and taking over marketing with such bold moves...he still wanted her. No, not just wanted her. He was drawn to her in a way that scared him. Even though Mason had been going through a tough time with trying to save the marina, he’d still been blindsided by Lauren’s cold breakup with him. He knew he’d been partially to blame with his moods, but in his mind, if you loved someone, you helped them through a difficult time rather than bailing like she did.

  “This isn’t a game to me.”

  Mason knew that this was where he should apologize, but he remained silent. Getting involved with someone likely to leave once she was bored would be plain stupid. Kissing her had been insane, because ever since he’d held her in his arms, it was all he could think about as soon as she walked into the room. He was thinking about it now and it pissed him off even more.

  Gracie gave him a lift of her chin. “I’m not one bit intimated by your crossed arms or your icy glare. Your whole broody thing rolls right off my back. I’ve worked with diva fashion models and bullheaded businessmen who wrote me off as a dumb blonde. My mother dealt with the same thing. Your little pout means nothing. Zero.” She curved her finger to touch her thumb. “Nada.”

  “I don’t pout,” Mason insisted, and then realized that was exactly what it sounded like he was doing. “Look, when we first discussed your investment, I hoped you were going to be more of a silent partner. I thought that this was going to be an investment, something you needed as a tax write-­off or something, and you would go on about your merry way. I shouldn’t have agreed to having you take over marketing. At least not in such a big way. I just didn’t think you would get this involved or do this much research.”

  Grace raised her arms above her head. “Why would you think...,” she began, and then her eyes widened. “Oh...right, the dumb blonde thing raised its ugly head. I guess you thought that I made my money riding on my mother’s coattails. Played around with makeup like I was playing around with Barbie dolls. Or maybe Daddy funded the whole thing for me.” She shook her head really hard. “Well, for your information, I created Girl Code with my own hard-­earned money. My mother made it clear to all of us that we needed to work our tails off and create our own success, just like she did. My father, who loved money more than his family, had a prenup that left her with virtually nothing after she finally left. Of course, it’s hard to leave someone who was never there to begin with.”

  “Gracie...” Damn, he felt like such an ass. He knew it was his plan to piss her off so she would back off, but still, this was too much. He hated seeing Gracie this upset.

  “In fact, Garret had to overcome living in the shadow of Rick Ruleman and finally prove how talented he truly is after all these years. Having famous parents isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Gracie, I—”

  “You have a lot of bloody nerve.”

  “You put words into my mouth.”

  “I could see how you feel about me in your eyes.” When Gracie tilted her head, her hair slipped over her shoulder. Mason remembered how silky it felt when it brushed against his face. She was wrong about one thing. She didn’t have a clue as to how he felt about her.

  “Really?” Mason asked softly. “So you think you can read my mind?”

  “Yes,” she answered just as softly.

  Mason took a step closer. “So what am I thi
nking?”

  “That you want to kiss me again.”

  Mason looked at her mouth and felt desire so damned strong that he could barely keep from pulling her into his arms. She surprised him at every turn. He wanted to deny it, but even if he did, she’d see right through the lie. “And if you’re right?”

  “Then you should do it.”

  Mason swallowed hard and stood as still as a statue. Any movement would be to touch her, to kiss her...and so he shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of all of the reasons I already mentioned. You’ve said that you feel the need to wander, explore. You get bored. Gracie, Cricket Creek, Kentucky, is my home and always will be. Getting involved with you would be...stupid.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you, but you’re already involved or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  Gracie was right, but he wasn’t going to let her know it. “No, I’m preventing a lot of heartache for us both. You should thank me.”

  “All right, then, you’ve made yourself crystal clear. This will remain strictly business.” Grace reached over and picked up her iPad. She stuffed it back into her case and hefted her purse over her shoulder. “I want to make a few things of my own clear, though. I invested in this brewery for a few reasons. Solid reasons. I was looking for a challenge, something different. I also needed an investment.”

  “I know,” he said in a gentle tone.

  Gracie gave him a quiet, rather sad smile that hit him in the gut. “But there is a lot of that kind of thing out there. This wasn’t a whim. I really did dive into the research. I wasn’t going to just toss my money away. But it’s not the main reason I chose to invest in your brewery.”

  When she fell silent, he looked at her. “Are you going to enlighten me?”

  She licked her bottom lip. Her chest rose and fell as if she was holding back emotion. “I wanted to help and...”

  “And what? Are you going to finish?”

  “No. I’m going to leave,” Gracie said, but paused long enough to give him the opportunity to stop her.

  He wanted to. God, he wanted to.

  But he didn’t.

  10

  Born to Run

  BLINDED BY TEARS, GRACE WISHED THAT HER EYEBALLS had windshield wipers so she could see straight. Filled with a whirlwind of emotion, she wobbled as she walked across the endless floating dock, clinging to her purse and iPad for fear of having them fall into the river. Of course, if she fell in, all would be lost. She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d become so undone. That Mason hated her marketing plan was a given, but she was quite certain she was on the right track, and so he could just bugger off on that one. Grace had learned from her mother that success was more than a great product. Her mother’s early designs were magnificent, but the market was small. Filling a need was the way to approach the market. Mason would soon find that out. Grace was used to naysayers, and it only made her want to prove them wrong even more. Part of her tenacity stemmed from her desire to be taken seriously and squash the notion that she was a rich girl playing around in the business world. She’d known she had something special and marketable with Girl Code, and in truth, her struggle with getting her company off the ground taught her more than if the road to success had been a smooth one.

  When a stiff breeze made the dock move up and down, Grace planted her feet firmly and got her bearings before proceeding. No, she knew that her explosion of emotion came from Mason hitting too close to the mark. Avoiding their attraction would end up saving heartache for them both. There was only one problem. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this strong pull of attraction to anyone—­especially this quickly—­and to not explore where it could lead just seemed like such a loss.

  But Mason was right.

  Grace somehow made it to her cabin, tossed her things onto the sofa, and then flopped down in a heap of noisy sniffing, crying, and cursing. She put phrases together that didn’t even make sense, punctuating each sentence with a stomp of her foot. A pillow, innocent of any wrongdoing, went flying across the room, nearly knocking over a lamp. She looked for something else to throw and then remembered that this wasn’t her place...and since when did she throw things anyway?

  But she suddenly wanted to do something crazy to blow off steam. She inhaled a couple of deep breaths, trying to think of something maybe like...like...doing a cannonball into the river! Wait—­were there snakes in the river? Would a turtle bite her in the bum? Would catfish nibble at her toes?

  Was there really a Loch Ness monster?

  “Okay, scratch the cannonball idea,” she mumbled. Maybe she should head to Sully’s and finally get the lemon drop martini that she’d missed out on with her mother. Ask for one the size of her head. Perhaps she should call Sophia and pour her aching heart out to her sister, who was a good listener.

  Or then again, maybe she should just sit right there and feel sorry for herself, which was utterly ridiculous because she had so much going for her, especially at the moment.

  Didn’t she?

  Grace squared her shoulders. After all, at the age of twenty-­eight she’d sold Girl Code for more than a million dollars and she’d been serious when she told Mason that she’d developed and financed the company on her own. Convincing the bank to lend her start-­up money hadn’t been easy, but she’d had her ducks in a row and learned to pitch from her mother. She had a loving and supportive family, and now they had Lily. And for the first time in forever, she was in the same place with them all...not counting her father, who was never around anyway. She did love him and missed him, but in a rather abstract way.

  So why in the world did she feel so lost?

  At lonely, uncertain times like this, Grace wished she had a loyal dog like Rusty, the Irish setter, who belonged to Mason but spent most of his time hanging around the bistro with a little doggie girlfriend named Abigail. They were so cute together, like something out of a Disney movie. Right now Rusty would have his head resting on Grace’s leg, looking up at her with sympathy in his soulful eyes while she patted his head. Abigail would jump onto her lap and lick her hand. Yeah, maybe she needed a dog. “Or a cat or a gerbil...any bloody thing!” she wailed. “Okay, enough!”

  Crying was pretty foreign to Grace because she was such an upbeat person, but the warm tracks of tears streaming down her cheeks felt oddly freeing. Licking her lips, she tasted salt, and she wondered if she would carry on crying or if at some point the tears would simply stop once the well was dry.

  Oh, the mysteries of life...

  Grace inhaled a shaky breath. While she understood Mason’s reluctance to embrace the Broomstick Brewery idea, she had crunched numbers with her accountant in addition to doing marketing analysis. There might not be another craft brewery in Cricket Creek, but there were lots of them in nearby Lexington and Louisville, with the number growing steadily. Craft breweries and related businesses in recent years generated more than $160 million in tax and revenue just in the state of Kentucky. While the popularity continued to grow beyond expectations, Grace also knew that the market was saturated. At some point something had to give, and only the strongest would survive. Plus, the big dogs like Budweiser weren’t happy about craft breweries taking a big chunk out of their profits and were doing everything possible to make distribution difficult, including buying up ingredients necessary for brewing.

  Mason wasn’t going to be able to make much of a profit with just local distribution. Cricket Creek wasn’t big enough, even with the baseball stadium. Having a venue that big certainly helped, but it was seasonal. No, Mason was going to have to expand to a regional level. While he was creative and smart, marketing wasn’t his strong suit, and that’s where he needed someone like her. Why couldn’t he see that? She wasn’t the damned enemy.

  Grace realized that male pride was getting in Mason’s way. He didn’t like her swooping in and taking over�
��­and she got that loud and clear—­but he would soon see that she was a godsend. The quality of his beer would speak for itself. Broomstick Brewery was simply a marketing tool. At least she hoped so.

  Grace also knew Mason was fighting his attraction to her because she’d admitted she would leave at some point. But Grace believed in honesty, and sadly, she knew that day would come and more likely sooner than later. Mason was doing the sensible thing by not kissing her again, getting them both involved in something doomed from the start. Another fat teardrop slid down her cheek and landed with a splash on her hand. If it hurt this much not being with Mason this early in the game, she couldn’t begin to imagine what it would feel like to fall completely in love with him and then have to leave him.

  Unless she stayed.

  That seductive thought slid into her brain and hovered there, circling and floating, making her want to reach up and grab it. God, how she wanted to hang on to the possibility of staying and cling to it.

  “No, no...no.” With a sigh, Grace looked up at the ceiling and then shook her head. “That would never happen,” she said in a broken whisper. She’d gotten the roaming gene from her father, who wasn’t a bad man, just not a family man. Was she just like him? The thought made her shudder.

  Grace thought about how amazing it felt to hold Lily in her arms, and for the first time she suddenly felt a hollow pang. She wondered if this was her biological clock ticking in response to the baby smell and the feel of holding sweet Lily?

  Grace closed her eyes and swallowed. Could she ever put down roots? What did Mason call it? Bloom where you are planted? Or would she have to uproot and carry on?

  Marco Cosmetics was already after her to come up with a Girl Code line of urban nail polish, and although Grace had turned them down, if they sweetened the pot she knew she might cave in and do it. She’d already been thinking about wild shades and jotting down kick-­ass names for the polish. Once an idea wiggled its way into her brain, she was helpless not to see it through, or it drove her to distraction. Grace craved constant change and challenge...It was part of what made her tick and would wage war with her biological clock. People who roamed weren’t meant to get married or to have children.