She reached across and squeezed his hand, grinning from ear to ear and showing off that dimple.
His mother’s head leaned in and knocked into his fathers, but they managed to stay quiet. The effort seemed to be killing them, their eager faces clenched tight with phony smiles.
“Come on,” he nodded for her to hop out. He turned to face his parents, “Since we’re here, I’ll show you what I’m up to.”
Before they could respond, he took advantage of the lull in traffic and climbed out of the truck, meeting Freya at the sidewalk and accepting her extended hand. His chest tightened then released, the building–his building, standing proudly before them. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the thrill of possibility less terrifying than it had been a few short weeks ago.
Shattering his moment, his parents came up from behind. “Well?” his mother asked in her bright tone.
“This is it,” he shrugged. “Black Op Brewing Company.”
His father scowled, his dull green eyes squinting against the bright sun. “Oh. The building has good structure.”
Zane could see it. A welcoming gate and fencing he planned install so they could serve drinks outside. Outdoor tables with built-in fireplaces, plus propane standing heaters in the cooler months, navy blue umbrellas in the summer. Globe string lights overhead. He’d paint the trim the same navy blue and white, but finish the cedar siding to age naturally.
Inside, he could envision the copper tabletops over dark-stained plank floors that would only improve with wear. He could practically smell the oaky hops. As his parents wandered, he asked Freya, “Hey, do you know Scott and Brenda Halseth?”
Hand still linked with his, a sweet smile didn’t leave her lips, her gaze taking in every inch of the place. “Of course. Halseth’s Smokehouse and Pub is one of my favorites. Have you been?”
He nodded. “I grabbed lunch there the other day. Scott heard about my business plan and we chatted for a bit. He wants to carry Black Op beers on tap, and in exchange, I’ll use some of their smoked goods in some of the recipes and maybe even sell some. Apparently, he has started carrying Cascade Bakery’s desserts, she’s using some of their meats and cheeses in her savory quiches and other baked goods, and he’s wondering if I want to join in their system. Promoting each other symbiotically rather than competing.”
“Of course Scott would think of that. Good family. You’d like them. His son plays for the San Francisco Fire.”
“Seriously? Finn Halseth is from Foothills?”
She grinned. “Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get an autograph. Anyway, yes, the Halseths and Perrys are great people. Teaming up with them is a surefire way for this place to hit the ground running.”
Ignoring his parents and their banter as they inspected every beam and pillar in the place, he showed Freya the rest. Like the walls and floors, the stairs were unfinished and the walls nothing more than a shell upstairs.
Releasing his hand, she floated across the area he had envisioned for offices. Spinning in the diffuse light, she spread her arms wide. “The lighting in here is perfect. Some shiplap on that wall, a subdued sky blue on the others, andthese windows.”
Hovering halfway to the ceiling, she looked like a fairy in her element. Fucking contagious. He crossed the distance between them and slipped his arm around her waist.
Leaning in, he rode her thrill, her fairy dust coating them together as their lips met fluidly. Familiar, irresistible, he felt the zing prickle over his skin, his pulse kick up in a steady rhythm to match hers. His hand splayed over her low back as hers laced around the back of his neck, fingers teasing in his short hair.
Footsteps behind him shattered what was a pretty epic moment, each footfall crushing the words he wished he’d said when he had the chance.
Pulling away, he let go and walked to the window. Overlooking the park, he watched a trio of kids playing tag, young lovers gazing into each other’s eyes on their picnic blanket, elderly sisters strolling arm-in-arm down the gravel path, and the old man feeding the birds.
“This building is lovely,” his mom began hopefully. He couldn’t turn his back, knowing exactly the expression she wore. It wasn’t flattering to either of them. He should have kept on driving instead of sharing this with them.
His father added, “I’ll look forward to seeing your mockups for the final designs.”
No fucking way.
And his mom’s turn. “This room is nice, but impractical for what you need. You should knock out these walls and create a formal meeting space for rent.”
And his dad. “I suppose you’ll be brewing onsite. No one will want to see those ugly tanks, so I can help with a façade to hide them.”
He muttered under his breath, “No thanks.” He’d envisioned letting folks see the industrial look of it, feeling like they were part of the process.
“Zane, honey. This is a lovely project for you. We just want to help.”
Turning, he glared, “Why?”
His father’s cheek raised with shock, “Why? We’re your parents. We love you.”
Whatever pang, whatever new rhythm his pulse had been settling into, was masked by searing hot blood boiling under his skin. “Sure.” He gritted his teeth, refusing to say more.
