Love in a Nutshell (13 page)

“The scenery’s a good prize for making it back this far,” she said. “It’s gorgeous.”

The woods had thinned, and a meadow lay ahead. At the far end sat an unassuming double-wide home. To the right of that by a hundred yards was the most amazing barn Kate had ever seen. It might have been painted a traditional red, but the structure’s hexagonal shape and the white cupola topping it were showstoppers. Someone had also added expanses of windows and a pergola-shaded terrace that angled off one of the back sides.

Kate blew out a whistle. “Definitely not issue number three.”

“Except for the location, it’s perfect.” He parked next to a silver car that Kate had seen almost every day in Depot Brewing’s lot. “Ready to go in?”

Kate climbed out of the truck. “First, let me play tourist.”

She dug her phone from her purse and backed up until she found the perfect spot to take a picture of the barn. She liked that Matt was in the shot, too.

“Smile,” she said. And even though he was laughing, she kept the picture. “This is turning into a pretty nice day.”

“Hold that thought.”

They walked up a stepping stone path to the microbrewery’s entrance.

Inside, a taproom of sorts had been partitioned from the work area by low walls made of silvery barn wood. Above the dividers, Kate spotted a couple of tall stainless-steel tanks back in a corner, much like the ones she’d seen at Depot Brewing. The beer-making end of the business remained a mystery to Kate. Bart Fenner, Depot’s brewmaster, was notoriously protective of his portion of the domain. For all that Kate knew, fairies and elves made the beer.

Matt scanned the room. “Travis? You guys back there?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

Travis emerged, and Horned Owl’s issue number three was obvious. Kate doubted that Travis meant to be scary, but the nose and eyebrow piercings and a squinty-eyed stare did the job. The full-sleeve tattoo on his right arm actually served as a happy distraction. He appeared to be younger than Matt, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t old enough to have done some hard time.

“Travis, this is Kate, my newest employee. Kate, this is Travis Holby, owner of Horned Owl Brewing.”

Travis fixed his stare on Kate. “What’s Culhane got on you that you ended up working for him?”

Kate laughed. “It’s more what I have on him.”

Travis smiled, and the tough guy aura disappeared. Kate noticed for the first time that once you looked past the piercings, he had a true baby face, complete with pudgy cheeks.

“This is a beautiful place you have here,” she said.

“Thanks. I’ve busted my a—, uh, back, putting it together. Why don’t you have a seat?” Travis gestured to one of the three rustic-looking tables with low stools that served as seating in the taproom. “Hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?”

Kate took the offered seat, but turned down food and drink.

“Hey, Bart,” Matt called. “Why don’t you come out here for a minute, too?”

Bart entered the taproom, and Kate thought there was no way she’d ever seen him at Depot Brewing. He wasn’t the sort of guy a woman forgot. In fact, he nearly gave Culhane a run for the money in the looks department. But where Culhane was a rugged kind of hot, Bart had the exotic thing going. Looking at him was like taking a sexy trip to the South Pacific. He was tall and seriously muscled, with dark skin, soulful brown eyes, and black hair.

“I heard you sing last night,” Bart said. “You’re really good.”

“Thanks,” she said. “It had been a long time since I sang in public like that.”

Matt smiled at her and her heart skipped a beat. The smile was intimate, as though they were the only ones in the room. She couldn’t help fantasizing just a little about what she might do to enhance the moment if it wasn’t for Bart and Travis’s presence.

Bart sat down next to Travis but turned his body toward Kate. “I hear you have some issues with beer.”

“It’s more like beer has issues with me.”

“When was the last time you tried it?”

“When I was in college.”

Bart smiled, showing even white teeth. “So it’s safe to say that it’s been a couple of years?”

“Absolutely.”

“What kind of beer?”

Kate shrugged. “I don’t know. What kind do they typically serve in fraternity basements out of red plastic cups?”
Why was this beginning to feel like she was being set up?
“I try not to think of that night. But even though the details are fuzzy, the lasting impression is that it wasn’t good.”

Travis shook his head. “You know, you seem like the open-minded type. You put up with Culhane, you’ve stopped staring at my piercings, and yet you’re judging all beer based on one bad, unfortunate game of beer pong.”

“Believe me, I’d do the same with a rattlesnake, too.”

Bart laughed. “It can’t have been that bad.”

“Okay, no, because I’m still alive.” Kate glanced at each of them. “This is some sort of non-beer-drinker intervention, isn’t it?”

Nobody answered, but the light of hope continued to shine in their eyes.

“Come on, Kate, what you drank was goat pi—, uh, urine, compared to what we make,” Travis said. “This is craft beer, the nectar of the gods.”

“Nectar?”

“Try my peach beer,” he said.

The hair on her arms rose. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“No peach, then, but at least try something while you’re here.”

She was, to some degree, a captive audience. And not wholly unwilling, either. It
had
been a lot of years, and there remained the remote possibility that the whole beer incident had grown in her mind. Maybe it hadn’t been that truly awful.

“And consider this,” Matt said. “I can’t move you to the front of the house until you’ve learned to speak beer. So unless you and Hobart really do want to establish an exclusive relationship, you should give this a shot.”

Kate had come to see the downside to dishwashing. Running Hobart meant standing at Hobart. To be a good secret spy, she needed more mobility.

“Okay. Let’s do this thing.” She looked across the table at Matt’s co-conspirators. “I’m assuming you already have this arranged.”

“It’s going to be an experience to be savored,” Bart said as Travis left the table.

Kate looked doubtful. “On my planet, that would be lounging in a Jacuzzzi with a glass of wine and a good book.” She could feel Culhane go still next to her, and she thought she should probably stop mentioning anything even remotely involving nakedness. Her imagination had already tossed the book and substituted her boss stripping down and making the tub blissfully crowded.

Matt gently touched Kate’s hand. “All beer is made of four basic ingredients.”

She drew on her last memory of beer. “Is skunk spray one of them, because that would explain the smell.”

“Not even close. We’re talking water, barley, hops, and yeast.”

Travis returned to the table with a cooler bearing the Depot Brewing steam locomotive logo and a plastic cup. He set the cup in front of Kate and then got busy in the cooler.

“Those are hops,” Bart said.

She squinted into the cup. “It looks like rabbit food.”

“Check out the scent.”

Kate took a whiff and immediately regretted it. The hops smelled like a mix of cheap perfume, soggy dog, and grass blades. She wanted to sneeze, and possibly gag, but could do neither with any measure of diplomacy. Instead, she rubbed the tip of her nose and tried to blink back the extra moisture in her eyes.

Matt fought back a grin. “I get the feeling you’re not fond of hops.”

Travis lined up three smaller cups. Each was filled with the same grain, but of varying shades. “This is all barley,” he said.

“Barley is good. My grandmother made soup from barley.”

Matt smiled at her, and she began to relax again.

“Note the lighter and darker colors,” Bart said. “Different degrees of roasting will add varying aspects to the beer. When we boil up the wort—”

“The what?” she asked.

“The wort.”

“That sounds a little creepy,” Kate said. “Like something on a witch’s nose.”

Culhane laughed. “That’s what the boiled mix of barley, hops, and water is called. Brewers make wort. After that’s done, the yeast will make the beer.”

That, too, brought images to Kate’s mind she would have been happy to skip. “Before I get too much scary input, how about if we move along to the tasting?”

Bart reached into the cooler, brought out a bottle of beer, and set a small glass in front of Kate. It was taller and bigger than a shot glass, but not by much. If this was all she had to drink, she just might survive.

Bart handed her the bottle. “This is Dog Day Afternoon. It was one of Matt’s first beers and is still one of the brewery’s most popular.”

Kate smiled at the label’s black pen-and-ink drawing of a goofy hound who was trying to look fierce. “That’s the same dog in the mosaic out front of the brewery.”

“Chuck’s our mascot, even though Matt doesn’t bring him around much. He’s also Matt’s longest lasting relationship … so far.”

Both Bart and Travis were giving Kate suggestive grins as Travis took the bottle from her and poured for her. Kate focused on the tabletop.

“This is a summer brew,” Matt said. “Technically, it’s a Kölsch style beer, which you’ll need to know when you’re on the floor. But really, just think about a beach day when you’re ready for some shade and a cool drink.”

Kate lifted the glass and tentatively sniffed its contents. She steeled herself. One sip from a Barbie-sized glass couldn’t do all that much damage, could it?

“Come on, you can do it,” Travis said.

She took a sip, expecting to hate it, but she didn’t. In fact, she went for a slightly bolder sip.

“Not half bad,” she said. “It’s bubbly like soda but not icky sweet.”

Matt grinned, obviously proud but trying to keep it under wraps. “It’s a good starting point. Low in hops and lower in alcohol than some of the others you’ll be trying. Ready to move on?”

“Almost.” Kate drained the sample glass. “An unpretentious beer, lightly floral, and of earthy peasant stock.”

“You joke, but beer tastings are a big part of how our business has grown,” Matt said. “A little less attitude than some wine events, but we have food pairings and tasting notes, too.”

“Really?”

“It makes sense if you think about it,” Matt said. “What was your first impulse when Travis poured you that sample?”

“To smell it.”

“Exactly,” Bart said. “Let’s try an IPA on her for bouquet.”

“IPA?” Kate echoed.

Bart handed her another bottle. This one’s label was nearly psychedelic and read Goa for the Gusto.

“India Pale Ale,” Bart said. “So called because when the British Empire was at its peak, British ale had to travel a long way to get to Britons. Lots of hops were added to each barrel as a preservative, and the product ended up way different than it started out. It became part of beer history.”

Kate handed the bottle back to Travis, who poured her a sample. She lifted her mini-glass and smelled the ale.

“Wow! It smells almost like a sauvignon blanc … all citrus.” She drew in deeper. “Like grapefruit, and maybe a little lemon?”

Matt nodded his approval. “Exactly. Like all IPAs.”

Emboldened by the so-not-beer aroma, Kate downed half the sample in one swallow, then had to fight not to gag it back up.

“Issues?” Travis asked.

Kate took several deep breaths. “Totally not my style. It tastes nothing like it smells.”

She really could have used a food pairing. Something smothered in hot sauce to wipe out the flavors lingering in her mouth would have been dandy.

“For a lot of people, an IPA is an acquired taste,” Matt said.

Travis rose and grabbed an empty pitcher from behind his pouring counter.

“Dump,” he said.

Kate tipped out the last bit of beer in her glass. “Thank you.”

“Technically, hops add both dryness and bitterness,” Matt said.

“The bitterness I got. How about a little Dog Day to cleanse my palate?”

Travis gave her a refill. She downed it, then shuddered as the last memory of the Goa left her body.

Matt grabbed another sampling glass and set another bottle on the table. “Dragonfly Amber Ale. Time to move one step darker in the ales.”

“So long as you leave the Chuck beer in easy reaching distance, I’m game,” Kate said.

“Dragonfly Amber is the first of my beers to place in judging at the Great American Beerfest,” Matt said.

“What’s Beerfest?” Kate asked.

Travis’s face was heavy with awe. “It’s like the Olympics,” he said.

Matt poured Kate a sample. “Caramel malted barley, smooth finish, and dry hopped to eliminate bitterness while keeping the dryness in place.”

Kate tried a sip and found she had no problem at all with the Dragonfly. “Okay, now
this is
the nectar of the gods,” she said.

Travis pumped his fist. “Another beer hater bites the dust.”

They moved on to stouts and porters, and Kate loved them all. Clearly, she had misremembered her earlier beer encounter.

Once the guys had finished up with the tasting, they started discussing Travis’s recipes. Kate tried to follow the conversation, except she didn’t have the background to know whether his autumn pumpkin ale was “cutting edge,” as Travis claimed, or “too out there to turn a profit,” as Matt contended.

“Is it getting warm in here?” Kate asked.

The men paused in their conversation.

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Matt said.

“Okay. Carry on.”

Kate wandered over to the small tasting bar and began leafing through Travis’s beer notes and advertising materials. The editor in her quickly returned.

“Does anyone have a pen?” she asked.

All she received in response were blank stares. They had moved on to addressing the level of nutmeg in Travis’s brew. No big deal. Her purse, which always held a fistful of pens, was in the truck.

When she returned, she asked the guys, “Mind if I grab another Dog Day?”

“Go for it,” Matt said. “We shouldn’t be that much longer, though.”

She pulled a beer from the cooler and went back to flyspecking Travis’s notes. She’d finished her first mini-glass and was pouring her second when Matt joined her at the bar.