Flashing her a wink, he laced his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Sliding his hand into her hair, he cradled her against him as he softly pressed his lips to hers. Fluidly, without pause, she kissed him back. When they ended the kiss, she nuzzled against his neck and inhaled. Arms wrapped around her, he buried his face in her wild hair, breathing her in.
On the drive back, winding down the narrow fishhook turns, Zane counted the hours until his parents left. Three nights hadn’t sounded so bad, but his head might explode if he had to attempt polite conversation with them much longer.
The bustling on Main Street was particularly peppy today. Zane plotted how he might avoid talking for the rest of the visit. Maybe they could watch a movie or something that didn’t require speaking.
Freya could chill when the situation called for it, like no other. But she also seethed like no one else he’d met. Bottling up whatever she held on the tip of her tongue seemed to be festering into the air. She nodded to an empty stretch ahead, “Let’s hop out.”
Without argument, he parallel parked, then turned to see what the hell had prompted the impromptu stop. He tilted his head in subtle question.
She quietly cleared her throat, “When do you get the keys?”
“Seriously? No,” he winced.
“Trust me?”
He exhaled slowly, hating where this was going. “I got them yesterday morning.”
She scowled, whispering, “Seriously? I didn’t think the loan had been finalized yet.”
His father leaned in, visibly eavesdropping where there was no need in the cramped space. This was a conversation he’d planned to have with her after they’d left. His stomach lurched as he accepted how much he was about to share with his parents. And their inevitable “constructive criticism.”
“I didn’t end up needing such a big loan.” He’d been miserable, not being able to talk to Freya sooner about all this. To not drag her over to show her the building, his plans. But that was more serious than handholding, than quickies in the laundry room… than consummating. Fuck, that pang clenched and screamed and told him to stop being a fucking idiot. But Freya didn’t need another selfish asshole in her life, determined to force her to live his dream, when hers was so big and beautiful and fragile.
“What? How?”
“Grady.”
“He did?” Her smile grew wide, her eyes downright sparkly blue like the fricking Mediterranean on an August afternoon.
“Yeah,” he chuckled as he accepted the strange turns his life was taking. “In part to piss off his mother, and, apparently, because he hates his job. And I hate the damn schmoozing end of things, the nuances of running a business, so he’s no longer my attorney. We’re full partners.”
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
