“I see.” Her fingers gently glide through my hair. “Is the fishing boat for boys only?”
“Nah, all are welcome. Why, you want to go fishing?”
“Miles, I want to experience everything that makes you tick.”
And I’m done.
For the love of all that is holy, as if I hadn’t already fallen so hard there is no way in hell I’m ever getting back up—wouldn’t want to—she says something like that.
“Gorgeous, not sure if you’ve noticed, butyoumake me tick. Everything about you. You are absolutely astoundingly gorgeous, and that’s not even the most interesting thing about you.”
“Miles…”
“It’s true. I know we’ve been on the Miles Montgomery tour for the past week or two, but it’s because I’d do anything to spend more time with you. Every day, hell, every minute I discover something new about you that makes me want you that much more.”
“What are you talking about?” she all but whispers.
“Where do I even begin? I love to hear you talk about your writing and how passionate you are about not only your process but the entire industry. I love that you don’t care what other people think, and you just do your own thing. I swear you know more about beer, wine, and tequila than anyone I know, and I know people, Mason.” She giggles from across the cab. “Don’t even get me started on how smart you are. So much smarter than I could ever hope to be. We can talk about anything and everything. You’re business savvy. You have strong opinions that are allyour own and that make you who you are. I love that you love the overstuffed chair in the back corner of Brass Tacks, and when there’s someone else in your spot, your lower lip pops out like a little kid. And you have awesome statement clothes that crack me up. Not to mention, you love my dog, and he loves you right back.”
Taking a peek at her out of the corner of my eye, she appears dumbfounded.
I do believe I’ve rendered her speechless.
Good.
She needs to realize what’s happening here is the real deal. I’ve heard enough about her leaving and this being a temporary thing.
Minutes later, we’ve arrived.
This is it.
“Yes! I can’t believe I haven’t been here yet,” she says, gazing up at the Eastlyn Brewing Company sign above the large brick building. “You had me so busy with all the old-school parts of Eastlyn that I forgot all about the big tourist hot spot! Are you trying to butter me up before you show me whatever it is you still need to show me?”
“Nope, no buttering you up. Shall we?”
I walk around the truck, but she looks at me with concern wrinkling her forehead and looking adorable as she scans the nearly empty parking lot. “Miles, I don’t think they’re open yet. It’s 10:30 on a Sunday morning.”
“Come on.”
Taking my hand, she slides out of the truck and follows my lead. When we reach the big black doors with a ten-foot version of the EBC logo on them, I take out my keys and open the doors.
“Uh, Miles…”
“Welcome to Eastlyn Brewing Company.”
“What?”
“Come on. The team should be preparing for the lunch rushthat will start in another hour or so, and I’d like you to show you around.”
“What in the world is happening right now?”
Ignoring her question, I walk us through the front doors and then lock them behind us.
Things are pretty quiet, but I can hear activity in the tasting room, and the lights are on back in the pub.
“Miles, is that your dad? Wait, is that you?”
She’s spied the pictures on the wall. I stand and wait for her to connect the dots on her own.