Page 54 of Her Hometown Man
Ellen shook her head, pressing the napkin Evie had slipped into her hand against her mouth. Gwen and Evie both shook their heads, too, even though she hadn’t asked them.
“I’m not going to say a lot about each one,” Lane said. “I’m just going to tell you what was underlined and circled and highlighted in his journal. The rest of the notes, his daughters can read privately.”
Then he picked up one of the smaller glasses he’d insisted they get for flights, even though they’d argued it didn’t make sense to have flights when they only had a lager. He poured the first, a very dark, almost black beer that made several people in the crowd make noises of appreciation.
“Gwen.” He glanced at her and gave her a smile before looking down at the journal. “American Imperial Stout. Strong. Might be too much for some people, but is perfect for the right people.”
She didn’t even try to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. Her dad had been one of those right people because he’d never made her feel anything less than unconditionally loved, just the way she was.
The next pour was a rich golden color. “American wheat beer for Mallory. Light. Pairs well with anything. Can bring things together, like my Mal. And finally...”
He paused before the final pour, which was also golden, but much lighter than the second. Gwen, whose hands were being squeezed by Evie and her mother watched his jaw clench, and she knew he was trying not to look emotional while sharing his former father-in-law’s snapshot of Evie.
“Evie,” he said, and he locked gazes with her for a few seconds before clearing his throat. “Bright and citrusy and refreshing. Mood lifting.”
He paused as applause swelled in the room and the Sutton women went through a stack of bar napkins trying to stop the tears. Even Lane looked emotional, and Gwen’s heart ached for him. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he hadn’t just been her dad’s business partner, but his codreamer for many years. And like Ellen, Lane was having to cherish this dream without the man he’d shared it with.
“You might have noticed the beers don’t have names,” Lane said finally, his voice raised to be heard again. “I’m not creative that way and David hadn’t named them yet. His notes as he worked on the brewing process for these were only cataloged under the women’s names and...well, there’s one final note I’ll read to you. ‘I can’t call them by the girls’ names because if some guy comes in and says he’s in the mood for some Mallory tonight, I’ll have to knock him out, and that’s bad for business.’”
The laughter that rippled through the crowd was the perfect note to end on, so Lane closed the journal and brought it to Ellen. “Thank you for lending this to me. I know it’s special, but I wanted the beers to be perfect for him. And for them, too, so I needed his notes.”
Gwen watched her mother stroke the worn leather cover, another tear sliding over her cheek, and she wasn’t surprised when Ellen pressed it back into his hands. “You keep this, Lane. You shared this with him in a way we never could and I want you to have it.”
There was a moment when Gwen wanted to go and snatch it out of Lane’s hands. It was filled with her father’s handwriting—with years of his dreams—but she fought the urge. They were dreams he’d shared with Lane, and Lane was the primary reason they’d made it happen. She knew that book meant as much to him as it did to her and her sisters.
He kissed her cheek and then blew out a deep breath. “Thank you, but it doesn’t belong to me.”
Ellen smiled. “It belongs to all of us—to this place.”
“We’ll keep it with his other treasures, then,” Lane said, nodding toward the display behind the glass doors, and then he smiled back at her. “Now, let’s pour some beer.”
In a blind taste test, Case probably would have picked the pale ale, but Gwen had her eye on him. And when he’d chosen the stout, she’d given him one of those smiles that lit up her face, so as far as he was concerned, it was his new favorite drink.
Luckily, the tears had passed, and everybody was in high spirits again. He sat with Daphne for a while, listening to her tell a story about an Oktoberfest in the ’80s he would rather not have heard.
He saw a lot of people eating, and it looked like the partnership with S-HoP was going well. But he’d make a point to tell Ellen they didn’t want to run the kid doing the deliveries too much. Maybe a one order per group rule. One table had wanted wings, but then they wanted a pizza, too, and then they called in to see if desserts were available.
Smiling to himself, he realized he was going to be more of a part of this than he’d originally intended. Even though he was here strictly as a customer, he couldn’t stop watching for things they’d done really right or things they could improve on.
Then he heard Ellen’s voice, saying words that destroyed the evening instantly.
“She’s leaving tomorrow, probably late morning, so she’ll be back in Vermont before we reopen tomorrow. I know now that we can do this without her, but I’ll miss having her around.”
Case realized he’d stopped walking and was just standing near a table in the taproom, so he forced himself to keep walking. There was no reason he couldn’t leave, but he’d gone in the direction of the bar on autopilot. He leaned on it, setting down the almost empty glass of porter.
“Want another?”
Of course it had to be Gwen. When he looked up, shaking his head, Lane was nowhere in sight. Great time to take a break, he thought. “No, I’m good.”
After looking at him for a few seconds, her brow furrowed. “You don’t look like you’re good. What’s wrong? And please don’t say food poisoning.”
Her attempt at a joke fell flat between them. He was too numb to fake it. “I just overheard Ellen telling her friends you’re leaving tomorrow and how much she’s going to miss having you around.”
“I know she’ll miss me. She keeps telling me that.”
“Tomorrow, Gwen?” He couldn’t keep the hurt out of his voice. There was too much of it.
She paused, giving him her full attention. “You were there when I said I was leaving after the grand opening.”
