I told her I’d put it on weeks ago, but I never did. I wasn’t sure she was ready for people to know, and I didn’t want to answer questions I didn’t have the answers to.
Lake watches me from across the brewing floor, his eyebrows raising as I check my phone for the fifth time in twenty minutes.
"Dude. She texted you like two seconds ago saying she's fine," he says, measuring out hops for our experimental batch. "The woman survived running Cascade for four years without you hovering. Pretty sure she can handle herself."
"I'm not hovering," I snap, shoving my phone back in my pocket where my fingers brush against the ring again. "Just checking the time."
"Sure." Lake's smirk is annoying as hell. "And I'm just playing with these Citra hops because I have nothing better to do.”
I flip him off, but there's no heat behind it. He's not wrong. We're prepping the specialty batch I designed for the baby months ahead of schedule. The label's already finalized withthat constellation of freckles from Wren's skin, the pine trees silhouetted against the dawn sky, the simple text at the top.Crafted for the newest James.
"You ever think about how weird this all is?" Lake asks, dumping the hops into the scale. "You and Pink going from mortal enemies to playing house in what, six months?"
"We're not 'playing house,'" I growl, checking the malt composition for the third time. This beer has to be perfect. It's for my son, after all. "And she's not 'Pink' to you."
Lake raises both hands in surrender, but he's still grinning. "Sorry. Didn't realize the nickname was exclusive."
"It is." My tone leaves no room for argument, which only makes Lake's grin widen.
"Remember when you came back from that craft beer panel last year? The one where she called your special edition IPA 'aggressively mediocre' in front of everyone?" He chuckles, clearly enjoying my humiliation. "You were so pissed you redesigned the whole recipe because of her."
Heat creeps up my neck. "Hey, that beer won gold at regionals."
"After you spent three weeks perfecting it because of her comment," Lake points out. "Face it, man. She's been pushing your buttons for years, and you've been loving every minute of it."
“I didn’t love every minute.”
“Fine, but you have to admit that she makes you better.”
"The new recipe was better," I mutter, refusing to acknowledge the larger point.
"It was. Because she challenged you." Lake measures out another addition with practiced precision. "Same way you challenge her. You two are like... beer and pretzels. Shouldn't work, but somehow perfect together."
"That's the worst analogy I've ever heard."
"Didn't say I was a poet." Lake shrugs. "Just calling it like I see it."
Before I can respond, the front door chimes. Banks and Reed walk in, with Noble strapped to Banks's chest in one of those baby carrier things I'll be wearing in a few months. I can’t wait.
"Hey," Banks calls out, his voice carrying across the brewery. "Got time for a break?"
Reed follows behind, carrying a paper bag that probably contains lunch. The guy's always thinking about practical details, like making sure we actually eat with our drinking.
"Thought we'd stop by for lunch," Banks says, already unstrapping Noble. "Someone's been demanding his Uncle Kase all morning."
I set down my clipboard and cross the floor to them, trying not to look too eager as I reach for my nephew. Noble's gotten so big since the last time I saw him, which was only a week ago. His chubby hands immediately grab at the tattoos that crawl up my neck.
"Hey, bud," I say, taking him from Banks. Something in my chest loosens the way it always does when I hold him. "You giving your dad hell?"
"All day, every day," Banks grins, looking more tired and happy than I’ve ever seen him. "Sleep is for the weak."
"Where's Wren?" Reed asks.
"At Cascade," I tell him, bouncing Noble when he starts to fuss. "She’s got a busy afternoon with back-to-back meetings."
"She just hit twenty-four weeks, the viability milestone," Reed says, like it’s normal to talk about this shit over lunch. "Baby's lungs are developing surfactant now."
"Yeah, she said something about him being able to survive now if he came early," I say, shifting Noble to my other hip. "It’s a relief, but it still feels surreal.”
