Page 30 of Love Is Brewing

She looked around his foyer. The floors were a dark wood, the walls a light tan. The trim was white.

Not white and gray like so many people did in their homes now.

This had more of a warm feel than cold and sterile.

And since she knew people thought she was on the cold and sterile side, she did try to be warm outside of work.

“It’s nice in here,” she said. “More modern than I was expecting.”

“I had the place redone. I moved more than I cared to growing up. I always said when I found a place of my own I was going to make sure that I could have it exactly the way I wanted.”

“Until your tastes change,” she said, smiling.

“Then I’ll change it. But you need to have the bones for it or the space. I’ve got both. If I don’t like this house, then at some point, I’ll build somewhere else on the land and start from scratch. But since my brewery isn’t going anywhere, I’m not leaving the land.”

“Good thinking,” she said. “I suppose it worked out I didn’t own a home before moving here.”

“And you might only be here a year,” he said.

“We’ll see how it goes,” she said, noncommittal. “I’m not locking myself into anything. That is how you get stressed or put pressure where it doesn’t need to be.”

“Good point,” he said.

They moved to the back of the house and into a nice gigantic kitchen. Browns and tans, white mixed in with some green.

They’d passed a formal dining room and another living area that she was betting never got used.

“This is pretty,” she said.

There was a massive island that looked like it would seat six on one side alone. High-end appliances with the cream-colored granite and dark cabinets. It looked out into a big family room with a floor to ceiling stone fireplace.

“Thanks,” he said. “My mother helped me pick a few things so the house didn’t appear as if a single guy lived in it.”

Phoebe laughed. “Sorry, she failed.”

His face looked horrified. “Don’t say that to her.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she said. The smile still filled her face. “I like your home, but it doesn’t look like a woman has put much of a touch on it. And it shouldn’t. It’s your place, it should feel likeyou.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“And this is a chef’s kitchen so I’m expecting some damn fine food.”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up. This is one of those looks that are deceiving things. I’m popping hamburger patties into the oven the way my mother used to cook them because she didn’t want all the burners going at once to cook enough to be done for everyone to sit at the table together.”

“That’s right,” she said. “You’re the fifth of eight.”

“I am,” he said. “Can I get you a drink? I have beer.”

She rolled her eyes. “I expected you did. It’d be rude if I didn’t try it. I like fruity things.”

“I’ve got something for you,” he said, going to his fridge.

“I have to know. Do you have a home brewery here? Ben turned part of his garage into one. He plays with recipes at home and at the brewery.”

“I do,” he said. “Want to see it?”

“Sure,” she said. “I won’t understand a lot about it, but I wouldn’t mind seeing it.”

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