Page 22 of Love Is Ale You Need

“Why not? I can do what I want, when I want. I don’t need to ask anyone for permission. I’m wild and free.”

“But what happens if you find the woman that sweeps you off your feet?”

“If that happens, she’d better buckle up.”

I roll my eyes. Buckle her straight jacket? That’s the only thing I could imagine she’d want to buckle. Coming into view from around the corner, our eyes meet and it's as if he knew I was there all along. As I approach, I slow down and come to a stop right in front of him. “I feel like I should be surprised to see you here, but,” I shrug, “I’m not.”

He rests his elbows on the bar. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“You seem to be in the neighborhood often.”

“I kind of like it here. Maybe I’ll buy a house.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “This isn’t exactly a white picket fence neighborhood.”

“Good thing I don’t require a fence.”

My gaze roams over his body, eyebrows pinched. “It’s Saturday afternoon. Why the suit? Or is that all that’s in your closet? Hanger after hanger of suits.”

“I’ve come prepared for our date.” He winks.

“You’ll be waiting for a while.” I shake my head. “What can I get for you?”

“You. On a date with me.”

“Unless that comes out of one of these,” I point to the row of taps, “it’s not going to happen.”

“You drive a hard bargain. I guess I’ll take an IPA. How about lunch then?”

“I already have a date with leftovers from my favorite Indian restaurant.” I grab a frosted pint glass from the cooler and tilt it at an angle as I pull the lever of the tap.

“It’s hard to compete with that.”

Once it’s full, I push it toward Trey. For several seconds, his gaze never leaves mine. It’s almost like he can read my thoughts and knows whatever I tell him is the complete opposite of what my body wants.

Slowly, his gaze falls to the beer. Then he lifts the glass so it’s eye level. “Wow. That’s a perfect pour.”

Without saying a word, I point behind me at an oversized chalkboard with some text flanked by some swirly lines and various beer, hops, and wheat icons. Everything is lightly shaded with yellows, blues, and greens courtesy of Lach.

He lifts his head, following my finger. “No Head at Porter’s.” He pauses. “Is it odd that I’m both excited and saddened by those words?”

“Words to live by.”

He swallows a gulp of his beer. “You know what would be a great word to live by? Yes. As in saying yes to dinner with me.”

I pause, trying to piece together his words. My fingers curl around the edge of the bar as I lean in. “That makes no sense.”

He shrugs as a half smirk covers his lips.

“Didn’t we go over this?” I push off until I’m standing to my full height and hold up one finger. “Dinner sounds like a date.” I add a second finger. “Dates lead to relationships.”

“It’s dinner. It’s not like I’m asking for your hand in marriage. Unless that will help my chances. I’ll get on one knee right now.”

“Guess what I think about that?”

“What?”

With my other two fingers still in the air, I add a third. Then I curl my pointer and ring finger to my palm leaving only my middle finger.

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