Paradise Hops (16 page)

“Shit, shit, shit,” coffee splashed onto her wrist, hot and irritating. Lori shifted her carry-on bag to the other arm about the same time she realized she had forgotten her sunglasses and her head phones and her book. She sighed and sank into a hard airport seat. Her head pounded with residual tears from last night’s chat with her father. He’d brow beaten her, guilted the shit out of her over Garrett, then hugged her close when she started crying. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dad. Be mad at me. It’s like old times. It helps me feel normal again.” She’d sniffled and watched the complex play of emotion on her father’s face. “I love you, Daddy.” She’d hugged her stepmother on the way out. “I’ll call you when I land.”

And, now, here she was, sans anything that made sense for a damn seven hour overseas flight, her wrist burning from overpriced airport Starbucks. Guilt and uncertainty roiled in her gut so she dumped the damn stuff in the nearest garbage bin. Rustling around in her carry-on she prayed she’d managed to pack something that made sense beyond underwear and her passport. Nope. Nothing. She sat back and contemplated a walk down the terminal where she could hand over triple the cost of the latest romance novel or beauty mag and probably a decent pair of new headphones, but her frugal upbringing wouldn’t allow her to budge.

Resting her elbows on knees, she tried to calm her pounding heart. This was insane. She didn’t need to do it. She had nothing to prove. But, she wanted it. She’d fallen so deeply in love with brewing, with the art of it all, she wanted to know more—wanted to learn from the best.

 It wasn’t rebellion or some kind of rejection of safety or whatever her father kept throwing at her. She just wanted this more than anything — more than she wanted Garrett or Eli or…. She started when she saw a pair of familiar brown box toed shoes stop next to her feet.

Glancing up, she nearly came apart at the seams with relief. Garrett. He was here to bring her back and convince her to marry him. She had an out. She stood, smiling. He cradled her face in his hands, pressed firm lips to hers, making her knees wobble in that way he always had.

“Hey.” He said simply, letting her go.

She frowned as he stepped back. “Hey yourself. What are you doing here? How did you …. Garrett, you had to buy a ticket to get in here!”

He grinned and put a hand in his suit pocket. A large shopping bag was in his other. “So sue me. I wanted to see you. You know, before you left.” Lori’s heart dropped, her breathing shortened. She stared at him.

“Oh, um, okay. ”
Well done. Now the one guy who did love you wants you to go too. Nice work.
She dropped back onto the molded plastic seat with a groan.

“Hey, no heavy sighs.” He sat beside her, stretching his long legs out. Her inner child clamored at him, wishing he’d just take her away, make the choice for her. She straightened.
No, Lori, you told him not to do that remember? Damn. Get a fucking grip
. He handed her a leather bag, one that could pass for a purse or a second carry on. “This will cheer you up.”

She stared at it, then took it from him, pulled out a water bottle, then a set of headphones. She smiled, her face flushed as she found three magazines and the very book she’d left behind on her nightstand. Finally, she removed a brand new pair of Ray Bans from the bottom of the bag. She closed her eyes, and then opened them and looked up at him. His handsome face was neutral, but his gaze dark and intense. She gulped, realizing that the ache in her chest was the missing him already one she’d dreaded.

“Thanks, Garrett.” She didn’t really trust her voice. He wiped away the single tear that slipped from her eye. “I’m sorry.” The same fingertip tilted her face up. “I am really sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll take some of the blame. I went too fast. Rushed you.” She shook her head, still willing him to take over, to talk her out of this craziness, drag her home, and never let her go. She touched the headphones, took a breath and memorized his smell—leather, cotton and starch, coffee, and everything that was just…Garrett.

Panic clogged her throat. Her heart pounded and nausea rose in her gut. She couldn’t go. Couldn’t do this. He put a hand over hers. “Go, Lori. Do this thing. It will be good for you. I know it will. It’s what you need right now. Not me. Not…him. Not the brewery. Just you, on your own away from it all. As much as I really, um….” He ran his hand across his slightly scruffy jaw.

Unable to resist, she reached out, threaded her fingers through his hair, committing its slightly rough texture to memory. “You need a haircut.” He looked down, then back up at her. At that moment she registered the redness in his eyes, the newly formed lines in his forehead, the rough stubble on his chin. She touched her finger tip to its sandpapery rasp. “I’ll stay if you want me to.” She stood, pulling him up with her. “I love—”

He held up a hand and interrupted her. “No.” He grimaced, as if angry with himself then continued. “I mean I do want you to stay. But I think you should go. Go, and figure out what
you
want — once and for all. Then come back and we’ll…keep figuring it out. Together, maybe?” He looked down, “Or maybe not.” He put his hands back in his pockets. Lori berated herself. What had she been thinking? What horrific selfish person had she become? This man was ideal. He smiled then, his face transforming, becoming younger. And just like that, her heart shattered into a million pieces, leaving her speechless. He glanced at his watch.

“You’d better get over there.” He helped her collect her stuff, including the new leather bag.

“Thanks. For everything. I mean, you know what I mean. Shit.” She looked down. “I feel like such a….” He stayed quiet.

“You don’t want me to finish that for you.” She shook her head at his soft response, repressing a quick surge of frustration, but he kept going. “You are just you, Lorelei Brockton, and you shouldn’t change. Not for me, or anyone.” She bit her lip. “I won’t give you the satisfaction of being an ass about this either, so I’m here. Call anytime. Let me know you arrived at least. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice broke then. For the rest of her life, Lori would remember that moment and those words. The noise and bustle of the Detroit airport ceased. There were only the two of them. She dropped the bag, let go of her carry-on, let it all clatter to the terminal floor at her feet.

“Garrett.” She whispered and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her lips to his. He didn’t respond at first, but then she felt it. Sensed something give as he held her close, kissed her so hard she almost fainted with relief. Then just as suddenly, he stopped, pulled her arms off him, handed her all her things.

“I love you, Lori. I always will.” His voice stayed low and calm, cool and collected. He cupped her chin, closed his eyes and brushed her lips with his once, again, making her light-headed with regret. “Always.” He whispered, and then turned and walked away.

She watched as his dark suited shoulders disappeared into the crowd. Later, she’d recall that moment over and over again retrieving it from her raw, bruised memory banks, wishing for a different option, cursing herself for not saying something more when she had him in her arms. Shoving down a tremor of selfish anger that he could just show up and then walk away from her, not try and talk her out of it, she took a breath and turned to the line of people headed to the jet way.

Part II

“Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell.”    

~  Emily Dickinson

Chapter One

The human and traffic noises of a busy Haidhausen street floated through the open window. Lori stared at the cracked plaster ceiling of the small and horrifically expensive apartment she shared with Alicia, the Aussie woman who was in her second year at the institute. Munich was vibrant, quirky, historical and modern all at the same time. She’d loved it, for about a week. After that, she’d been buried under classwork that dredged up how much she hated chemistry and math. Then “Munich” merely represented aggravation. The low grade headache that simply would not go away, no matter how much sleep she got or water she drank only added to the fun.

She pulled the thick quilt over her eyes, ignored the pile of homework beckoning from a nearby desk until her body ordered her up and into the bathroom. She splashed water on her face and stared at herself. She hadn’t bothered with make up in weeks, and her face had a pale, unhealthy pallor. She frowned, noting the deepening lines between her eyes—the place Garrett used to touch, as if fascinated by it. If only her damn head would stop hurting. The combination of classes all in German and the heavy load of technical homework didn’t help.

And nothing she ate tasted good, not even the French pastries she’d grab on occasion. She might as well be eating American white bread for all she got out of it.

“Do I ever get to actually brew beer?” She called into the kitchen, where the delicious odors of rich coffee emanated. Coffee. That would help. Alicia smiled over her shoulder.

“Sure, in about year.” Lori groaned and dropped into a tall, uncomfortable chair. The flat had been presented as containing “luxury furnishings,” but the few sticks of furniture they had were one step from the Goodwill as best she could tell. “You need to come out with me tonight, my Yank friend.” The whip thin brunette plunked a plate of toast on the table. “I’m afraid you are becoming a hermit, and this town is way too fun for that kind of nonsense.” Lori shook her head at the sudden rush of saliva into her mouth, rose, and barely made it to the bathroom before losing the contents of stomach.

“Jesus, Lori,” Alicia came up behind her with a wet cloth. Lori sat on the cold tile floor and willed the room to stop spinning. “That Indian food last night?” Her dark eyes filled with concern.

“Guess so. Gah.” Lori wiped her mouth. Alicia helped her to her feet. She turned on the wimpy trickle of water that passed for shower as Lori stripped down and climbed over the edge of the ancient tub. She attempted to still the shaking in her legs that quickly transferred to her whole body. After a few minutes under a watering can strength stream of hot water, she blinked, counted backward, and clutched her throat as the nausea rose again. She must have made a noise.

“What is it,” Alicia bounded back into the bathroom. “Need a bucket? Please, don’t lose your cookies in the bathtub. I just cleaned it.”

“No. No, I’m just….”
Pregnant
?

Shit. Garrett, that weekend at the cottage, when they’d forgone condoms for the first time and spent an amazing weekend mostly in each other pants—when they weren’t arguing that is. The weekend before she’d rejected his perfectly spontaneous proposal and then turned to Eli, and had a three day swirl of protection-free sex.

Double shit.

 “Tired. Um, sorry.” She called out, bracing herself against the wall. Not possible. More than one doctor had told her she’d likely never have a baby not after what Thad did to her. She’d put the whole concept out of her head not even having any real tests to verify their speculations. She was not moony about babies or kids so it had always seemed unimportant. Her scalp prickled. She put a protective hand on her stomach.
Now what, Brockton? Nice timing, as usual.

“Hurry up. We have to meet the group in less than an hour.” Alicia’s voice floated through the steam.

“Oh, yeah. Okay.” They were to tour one of Munich’s oldest and most storied breweries today. German breweries didn’t offer public tours like the ones in America. They guarded their processes and facilities closely, something Lori was starting to appreciate. But as students in the brewing institute, they got a peek behind the scenes.

She had been looking forward to it—anything to get somewhere near a brewing floor again and the hell out of the hot, boring classroom. She rinsed her mouth with the cooling water, did a quick wash off, and climbed out.

Her head kept pounded whether from actual pain or the sudden truth she wasn’t sure. She found clean blue jeans and a turtle neck, but had to sit on the edge of her bed a minute to catch her breath.
What the holy hell am I going to do now?
She looked up when Alicia propped herself against the door jamb of her small bedroom. “You okay to go to this? You look like shit, actually.”