Page 4 of Reluctantly Ever After (The Oops Baby Club #2)

Four weeks later…

I swear I see fucking pink hair everywhere.

It's been a month since Vegas, and I still can't get the image of Wren Callan sprawled across those hotel sheets out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, there she is with all her curves and attitude and that goddamn hair fanned out against the white pillowcase.

The divorce paperwork sits half done on my desk at home. I've filled out my portion, but I keep finding reasons not to file it. Either I’m too busy or I need to double-check something. Maybe the courthouse closes early on Fridays. They’re bullshit excuses, and I know it.

Ask me if I care.

"The wort's about to boil over," Lake's voice drags me back to reality. "You planning to add those hops sometime today, or should we just brew a different beer altogether?"

I blink, suddenly aware of the weight of the measured hops in my hand and the rolling boil of the wort in front of me. The rich, malty aroma fills the brewery and I inhale. This, at least, makes sense.

"Shit. Sorry." I dump the hops into the kettle, watching the green cones disappear into the bubbling liquid.

"That's the third time you've zoned out this morning." Lake leans against the brewing tank, arms crossed over his chest. His blonde hair is messy and his septum ring catches the light as he tilts his head. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing." The word comes out too fast.

"Bullshit." Lake's eyebrow quirks up. "This about Cascade again?"

My jaw tightens at the mention. "What about them?"

"Oh, I don't know." Lake checks the temperature gauge, making a note on his clipboard. "Maybe the fact that you've been obsessed with beating ‘Princess Pink’—" he makes air quotes with his fingers,"—ever since she swiped the airport contract from under us."

"Don’t remind me." I grab the long paddle and stir the wort more aggressively than necessary. "She undercut us, knowing we couldn't match her price without taking a loss."

"And that's bad business... how, exactly?" Lake reaches over to adjust the heat. "Careful, you're going to scorch it."

I ease up on the stirring, focusing on the repetitive motion to calm the irritation bubbling up inside me.

It’s the same feeling I get every time I think about Wren and her vicious business tactics.

Or her mouth. Or how she looked in that black dress in Vegas before it ended up hanging from a lampshade in my hotel room.

"It was a dick move," I mutter.

"Says the guy who's been trying to convince every new brewery in Portland to bypass distributors altogether." Lake snorts. "Face it, man. You're just pissed because she's good at what she does."

I shoot him a glare. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side of not watching you being a moody bastard over the same woman for the last year." He checks his watch. "Timer's up. Whirlpool hops go in now."

I flip him off, then reach for the next addition, carefully measuring the hops that will give our new seasonal its signature finish. My hands work automatically while my brain keeps circling back to Vegas. To waking up with a wedding ring on my finger and Wren Callan naked in my bed.

The brewery door swings open and the chime pulls me back to reality. Because I got lost in memories of her. Again.

Lake glances over my shoulder and grins. "Speaking of women who terrify you—hey, Clover!"

I turn to see my sister making her way through the brewery, baby carrier in one hand, diaper bag slung across her body. Her black hair is piled in a messy bun, dark circles under her eyes, but she's smiling. My nephew, Noble, is in the carrier, out cold.

"I'd flip you off, Lake, but there are innocent eyes present," Clover says cheerfully.

"He's asleep," Lake points out.

"Yeah, well, I'm too sleep-deprived to argue." Clover sets the carrier down on a clean section of countertop. "Less than two hours of sleep at a time for the last week has left me barely functional."

I wipe my hands on a towel and cross to her, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "You look like hell."

"Thanks, big brother. And you look like you slept in those clothes." She pinches my t-shirt and wrinkles her nose. "How's the new seasonal coming?"

"If your brother can stay focused long enough to finish it, we might actually get it into fermenters today," Lake says.

I ignore him, looking into the carrier at my nephew. Noble's tiny features are relaxed in sleep, one small fist curled near his cheek. Something in my chest constricts at the sight.

"The baby's still breathing, right?" I ask, only half-joking. He’s so still.

Clover rolls her eyes. "Yes, Kasen. He's fine. Just tired from screaming his head off all morning." She rubs her eyes. "Banks is on a twenty-four-hour shift at the station, and I needed to get out of the house before I lost my mind."

"You want coffee?" I gesture toward the coffee machine behind the bar.

"God, yes. And an hour of adult conversation that doesn't revolve around breast pumps or baby poop."

"I don’t know about the second part," Lake calls over his shoulder, "but the coffee's fresh. Made it an hour ago."

I reach for the baby carrier before Clover can pick it up. "I got it," I say, grabbing the diaper bag too. But that’s my sister for you. Trying to carry everything herself even when she's dead on her feet.

Clover follows me to the office, settling into the worn leather couch that's seen us through countless late nights and early mornings.

I set down my nephew and the carrier before pouring Clover her coffee, strong with just the right amount of cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon, the way she's always taken it.

"So," she says, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "What's got you so distracted that even Lake's noticed?"

I busy myself with adding cream to my own coffee. "Nothing. Just work stuff. You know how it is this time of year."

"Uh-huh." Clover takes a sip, eyeing me over the rim of her mug. "It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain pink-haired menace, would it?"

I nearly choke on my coffee. "What? No. Why would you?—"

"Because Navy saw you two having some kind of intense conversation at that brewery convention in Vegas last month." She smiles her evilest little sister smile at me. "She said she could actually see the sparks flying between you."

Fuck. Actual sparks would have been less dangerous than what really happened.

"Why was Navy there?” I shake my head. “No, you know what? Navy needs to mind her own business," I grumble, taking a seat behind my desk. "And so do you."

"Oh, please . Like trying to dodge the question doesn't just prove my point." She leans forward. "What happened in Vegas? And don't say 'nothing' because you've been acting weird ever since you got back."

I'm saved from the interrogation by a small whimper from the baby carrier. Noble's face scrunches, his tiny body stretching as he starts to wake up. Clover sighs.

"And we were just getting to the good part." She reaches for him, but I'm already on my feet.

"I've got him." I carefully lift my nephew from the carrier, supporting his head the way Clover taught me. He feels impossibly small in my hands, fragile but solid at the same time. "Hey, little man."

Noble blinks up at me, his big blue eyes focusing briefly before his face crumples again.

"Shh, it's okay." I tuck him against my chest, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other supporting his body. Holding him like this makes me happy in a way I can't explain. And he smells weirdly good. "I’ve got you."

To my surprise, Noble quiets, his tiny hand grabbing onto my flannel shirt. I glance up to find Clover watching us.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing." She shakes her head, smiling. "Just... you're good with him."

I shrug, careful not to disturb my nephew. "He's easy. Barely even cries with me."

"That's because you radiate this weird calm energy when you hold him." Clover sips her coffee. "It's the only time you don't look like you're about to punch a wall or brood yourself to death."

"I don't brood."

"You're the king of brooding. I'm surprised you don't wear a crown instead of your beanie."

I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. Noble makes a soft, contented sound against my chest, and I find myself rocking from side to side, a natural movement I didn't even realize I was doing.

"So," Clover says, clearly not letting me off the hook, "are you going to tell me what's got you all up in your head, or am I going to have to pry it out of Lake?"

"Lake doesn’t know," I say, and then I want to kick my own ass. Why the hell would I admit there’s anything to know? Fuck.

Clover's eyes light up like it's Christmas morning. "Ah-ha! So there is something to know."

I backpedal. "That's not what I meant?—"

"Oh please," she cuts me off, leaning forward. "Navy told me you and Wren were about to kill each other or fu?—”

“Don’t.” I focus on Noble, avoiding my sister's penetrating stare drilling into the side of my face. I won’t be thinking about Wren naked while holding my nephew and talking to my sister. Not happening. "Cascade's been poaching accounts we were negotiating with, that's it."

It's not exactly a lie. Cascade has been more aggressive than usual lately, swooping in on bars and restaurants we've been courting. A couple of weeks ago, they landed MacIntyre Brewing, and I’d been working on them for months.

I was trying to convince them to follow our direct-to-bar model, but Wren must have made them an offer they couldn't refuse.

It’s like she’s trying to piss me off. Or get my attention.

"Is it?" Clover narrows her eyes. "Because the way Navy described it, there was definitely something going on between you two."

"Navy needs to get her eyes checked."