Page 2 of Intoxicating Pursuit

The ceiling soared high above us in the former warehouse, and sunshine streamed through several stories of windows along the back wall, washing golden light over the twenty-five-foot-long, live-edge bar; rows of gleaming taps, and antique wood tables scattered throughout the seating area.

Midnight blue walls, towering steel fermentation tanks, and concrete floors provided a cool contrast to the deep honey-colored wood and patches of old, exposed brick that lent a coziness and sense of history to the space.

“Did I say today was going all wrong?” He eddied about as he gaped, holding tight to my shoulder. “Maybe I’m confused. Maybe I’ve died and landed in some kind of heaven. This is gorgeous .”

I flushed with pride. “Thanks.”

We staggered a few feet further in, trailing a wide swath of mud in our wake.

The dining room opened in ninety minutes.

Marco was going to kill me when he saw this mess.

He had always been a neat freak, but he’d been a groomzilla since his engagement.

Lately, he’d been jumping down my throat over minor transgressions and chewing out team members when they made mistakes.

But being nasty certainly didn’t make him right.

On this occasion, he was going to have to cope.

All the same, I did have an idea.

“I think I know where we should go.” I tottered us to the bar and hit a button to raise the back wall. Engines cranked to life overhead, and a wide panel of windows rolled up on tracks toward the ceiling, revealing a path to the outdoors.

A befuddled face peeked out of the kitchen. “Sammy, is that you?” My chef, Erin, rounded the corner, butcher knife in hand. She took in the scene. “ Oh my gosh. Do you need help?” She laid the knife on the bar and hurried our way.

“It’s mostly under control. I’m gonna take him outside,” I said. “But could you bring out a bag of ice and the first aid kit. Maybe something to eat?”

“Right away.”

Erin disappeared, and we hobbled out to the patio. I found some cushioned seats at a table nestled between tall grasses and sheltered in the shade of a graceful birch tree. I settled my patient and got his ankle elevated.

“I’ll be right back.” I ran inside and grabbed clean washrags, warm soapy water, some ibuprofen, and ice water.

Then on second thought, I poured a few samples of beer into flight glasses.

I carried the whole mess back outside. Erin followed me out with a plate of cheesesteak sliders, a bag of ice, and the first aid kit.

“Thanks, Erin. I know you’re busy with prep. ”

“I feel like I should help.” She looked torn. “But honestly, Ben didn’t show up this morning, and I’m super behind.”

“Run, run, run. I’ve got this.” I shooed her away and she hustled off gratefully, leaving us to the first restful moment of the last hour.

***

A few minutes later, his ankle was on ice, the meds were down, and I’d washed the worst of the blood from his leg. He borrowed my cell phone, made a call for his ride, and we sat back to refuel a bit. I peeled off my helmet, set it on a cedar ledge behind us, and offered to take his.

He stiffened. “Can we not touch it?”

“Your head? Does it hurt?”

“Everything hurts.” He had the good nature to laugh, but he was obviously struggling. “Hard to tell where the pain’s coming from at this point.”

“Uh-oh.” I handed him a sample glass. “Here. World’s oldest painkiller.”

“Thanks. Hope it’s stupid strong.”

“Actually, it is.” Being wounded sucked, but he seemed to seek levity, so I played along. “Cheers to not being a predator?” I raised my drink.

“ Oh. Nice. All right.” He grinned and raised his own glass. “Cheers to not beating a defenseless man with a tree limb.”

We chuckled, clinked glasses, and sipped.

He let out a low whistle.

“Holy crow, this is good.” He lifted up the small glass to get a better look at the dark liquid inside. “What is this?”

“That’s our flagship brew. A porter aged in cognac barrels. Damn good, isn’t it?”

“Damn good is right."

He drank appreciatively, put down a few sliders, and looked around the gardens with a patient and curious eye.

The patio sprawled over a quarter-acre with a view downhill to the treetops of the Wissahickon Valley.

Enormous, evergreen magnolias anchored the remaining sides of the property, blocking views of anything other than sky.

Their dark green leaves offset the lighter river birches and Japanese maples that offered shade and beauty through most seasons.

Branching ferns and wispy grasses surrounded winding paths of flagstone.

Fountains trickled the soothing sound of water, while oak leaf hydrangeas and colorful day lilies bloomed in the early July sun.

Tables hid in little nooks, while Adirondack chairs clustered around fire pits and bocce courts.

Large picnic tables awaited the biggest groups.

“This is truly very beautiful,” he mused.

Color was already returning to his cheeks, a sense of calm settling in. Amazing what a little blood sugar and pain medicine could do.

He studied the gardens pensively. “You know, one of my businesses has an outdoor patio, too. We worked hard on it, but this puts it to shame. Really, just extraordinary.”

“Thanks.” I remembered the dirt and sweat that had covered my hands and brows as I’d worked to lay everything in. It brought me gratification to see it every day, but having someone else appreciate it was always special. “We worked hard on it.”

“Wait, you did this?”

“Well, not by myself of course. It started as a parking lot years ago. We stripped it back to gravel. Built it out in stages. It was a long journey and a lot of sweat. Really, the whole business has been a labor of love. It’s wonderful to be on this side of it now. See it flourish.”

A smile of recognition crossed his face. “I know that feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’d enjoy hearing about it,” I said. “Do you mean your business? Or something else?”

“Oh, lots of things, I guess. I’ve racked up plenty of mistakes, but it’s nice to see the good stuff come to fruition.”

“Agree.” He was a bit cagey, but I had a teenage daughter. Prying information out of the tight-lipped was my specialty. “You know, is your place a restaurant? Is it here in Philly? I’d love to see it. Maybe get some inspiration."

“No, it’s kind of far away. Down near the Smokies.”

So much for that. “Well, do you have pictures?” I asked.

He chortled. “On my phone. In the car. Back at the Valley Green.”

“Of course.”

A drop of dark blood fell into his lap.

I winced. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

I scooted around the table to examine him more closely. A thin crimson trail trickled behind his ear.

“What is it?”

“You’re bleeding. From your temple, I think. I didn’t see it before. We’ve gotta get that helmet off you.”

He stalled for a moment, then he reached up, clicked the latch, and pried the helmet gingerly away from his sweaty, light brown hair. “Can you see it now?” he asked.

I held his face lightly and turned it side to side.

“Ugh. No. It’s under the hairline. I think it’s where your sunglasses meet your scalp. They must have dug in you when you fell. Can you take them off?”

He hesitated. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

“ Pff . This is a lot less blood than was on your leg. No freak out here.”

The ice bag slipped from his ankle, and I reached down to wrestle it back into place while he peeled off the sunglasses. Partially melted, the lopsided bag flopped like a jellyfish, refusing to balance. “I think we need to refresh this.”

I glanced back up at him. . . and found eyes I already knew.

Golden.

From up close, it was the only imaginable reaction.

His lightly bronzed skin framed eyes as warm and rich as honey, reflecting all the shades of amber and earth—along with a hint of trepidation.

I noticed the tiny, pale scar above his left eye I’d always wondered about.

The barely-there crook in his nose. How did I miss it?

His features were more rugged than classically handsome, but they had nevertheless been my daydream for years—an image to accompany the awe-inspiring melodies, and soulful lyrics that had been the soundtrack of my life.

Even with streaks of mud on his cheeks, even under a sheen of sweat, there was no mistaking him.

Gabriel Walker, in the flesh and blood, sat right across from me.

Everything went very still. I realized my knee was touching his under the table, and I pulled back. I let go of his ankle. I’m violating his space . Like, right now.

His eyebrows furrowed, and he spoke in his deep gravelly voice. “Sammy? . . . That’s your name, right?”

What do I say? If I only have a few minutes, how can I express it all? Words failed me. Everything failed me.

“Sammy. . . hey, it’s okay.” He squeezed my forearms gently and leaned closer. “Come on. Same guy you’ve been with for the last hour. Same idiot who scared you in the woods.”

“It’s just. I just.” I shook my head. What am I doing? Get your crap together, Sammy! “Sorry. You’re hurt.”

I centered myself and turned to face him squarely.

I picked up the washrag and dipped it in the cooling soapy water.

Then I braced the side of his face with one hand and gently dabbed his bloodied temple and matted hair with the other, hoping it didn’t sting.

Clear water came next, and I rinsed the spot with care.

I peeled one last butterfly from the first aid kit and cinched the cut closed.

My hands fell away from his jaw, his close-shorn beard tickling my fingertips. I held his slightly concerned gaze. “I. . . just want to say thank you . Your music’s an absolute wonder to listen to. It’s been a gift to me. Never thought I’d get to say that.”