Page 5 of Reluctantly Ever After (The Oops Baby Club #2)

The brewery door chimes again, and a minute later, my best friend appears in the office doorway, dressed in his station uniform - navy department t-shirt and utility pants.

He must have stepped out during his twenty-four-hour shift, like Clover mentioned.

His face lights up when he sees Clover, and something in my chest twists—half envy, half happiness for my sister and best friend.

Banks’s grin widens as he crosses the room. "Hey, Freckles,” he says, pulling Clover in for a solid kiss before turning to me and Noble. I try not to gag. "How's my boy doing, Uncle Kase?"

"Just keeping him warm for you," I say with a half-smile, handing Noble over to Banks.

"And he’s perfect," I add, just as Clover says, "He’s a tiny terror."

Banks chuckles, settling Noble against his chest. "That's my boy." He looks between us with a knowing smile. "So, what were you guys talking about? When I walked in, it looked intense."

"Nothing worth repeating."

"Kasen's thing with Wren Callan," Clover says at the same time.

Banks's eyebrows shoot up as he bounces slightly to keep Noble content. "Your arch nemesis? Still holding that grudge over the airport deal?"

"It's not a grudge," I mutter, feeling defensive.

"Come on." Banks shifts Noble to his shoulder, giving me that knowing look he's perfected over fifteen years of friendship. "You've been obsessed with that woman since she first showed up on the scene. Maybe you should just sleep with her and get it over with already."

My whole body goes rigid, and I can feel heat crawling up my neck. Noble makes a small squawk, like he can sense the sudden tension.

"That's not—we're not—" I can't even form a coherent sentence.

Banks exchanges a look with Clover. "Did I hit a nerve?"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," I manage, my voice tight.

Banks's eyebrows shoot up. "I was just giving you shit, dude." He studies my face, his expression shifting from teasing to something else. "Wait a second..."

"Don't." I glare at him, but it's too late.

"Holy shit." Banks's eyes widen. "Something happened, didn't it?"

Clover's head whips around, her gaze pinning me in place. "Kasen Jessie James, you better start talking."

"Nothing happened," I snap, but the lie feels like gravel in my throat.

Well, if by "nothing" you mean waking up married to the woman I've been feuding with for years after fucking her, then sure. Nothing happened.

And fuck her for middle naming me.

"You're such a bad liar," Clover says, with a big-ass shit-eating grin on her face. "You totally banged Wren Callan." Then the smile drops and she gags the way only little sisters can when they’re confronted with their brother’s sex life.

"I didn't sleep with her," I say, which is technically… well, not true either. Although there wasn't much sleeping involved.

"Vegas?" Banks asks, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice.

"Drop it," I warn, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Both of you. Now."

The office goes quiet, except for Noble's soft gurgles. Finally, Clover stands, taking the baby from Banks.

"Fine. Consider it dropped." She studies my face. "But Kasen... whatever's going on, you know you can talk to us, right?"

I nod stiffly, unable to meet her eyes. How the hell am I supposed to tell my sister that I drunkenly married the woman I've been complaining about for months?

That I've filled out divorce papers but can't seem to file them?

That I wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for someone who isn't there?

Who I’m not even sure I want there?

"We should get going," Banks says, breaking the tension. "Reed's stopping by the house later to check in on Clover and the baby, and I’ve gotta get back to the station."

"Everything okay?"

"Just a follow-up," Clover assures me. "Noble had a little jaundice after birth, remember? Reed just wants to make sure everything's good."

I nod, relieved. "Tell him I said hey and that he should stop by after for a beer."

"Will do." Banks starts gathering Noble's things. "We still on for the Blazers game next week? Reed's coming too."

"Yeah, I’ll be there." I help them pack up, grateful for the distraction, for something normal to focus on.

As they're leaving, Clover hugs me tight. "Love you, big brother," she murmurs. "Even when you're being a stubborn ass."

I squeeze her back. "Love you too, brat."

Banks gives me a look over her shoulder that says this conversation isn't finished, but he doesn't push it. They leave with a final wave and I blow out a breath now that they’re gone.

I stand there for a second, reveling in the quiet. Then I hear Lake call from the brewing area, "Ten bucks says you slept with her!"

"Fuck off, Lake!" I shout back, but there's no heat in it.

I return to the brewery floor, where Lake is checking readings on the fermentation tanks, a knowing smirk on his face.

"Not a word," I warn.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it." He pauses. "Though it would explain a lot."

I grab a clipboard, focusing on the numbers, on the safety of data and measurements. On things I can control, unlike the mess I've made of my personal life.

"Don't you have something better to do?"

"Than watch you squirm? Not really." Lake checks his watch. "But I do need to go check on that delivery at the loading dock. The new glasses for the tasting room should be here."

He heads toward the back exit, pausing at the door. "For what it's worth... I get it. She's hot, smart, and drives you crazy."

"We're not discussing this." And I bristle at Lake calling Wren hot. When the fuck has he looked at her?

"Whatever you say, boss." He disappears through the door, leaving me alone with the steady hum of the brewing equipment and my unreasonably jealous thoughts.

I force myself to focus, and before I know it, two hours have passed.

I'm feeling almost normal again. The wort is cooling, ready to be transferred to the fermenter. I put Lake in the tasting room to help with the afternoon rush because I didn’t want to deal with his shit, and I’ve been hiding out in the brewing area.

It’s quiet back here and the repetitive work has cleared my head.

It’s had the added bonus of pushing any and all thoughts of Wren to the background where they belong.

Until I glance out the front window and see a familiar van parked across the street, the Cascade Craft Distribution logo big and bright on its side.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I mutter.

I watch as one of Wren's delivery guys unloads kegs at The Hop Yard, a bar that opened just last month. A bar I've been trying to get Timber into since before they even opened their doors. A bar whose owner assured me last week they were still "considering their options."

My jaw clenches as it feels like snakes coil in my stomach. Before I can think better of it, I'm pulling off my brewing gloves and heading for the door.

The spring air is cool against my skin after the warmth of my brewery. I cross the street without bothering to check for traffic, my focus locked on the Cascade van and the guy lifting kegs onto a dolly.

"Hey," I call out, my voice sharper than I mean for it to be.

The delivery guy looks up, confusion crossing his face when he sees me. "Can I help you?"

"When did The Hop Yard sign with Cascade?" I demand.

"Uh..." He glances at his clipboard. "Last week, I think? Today’s the first delivery."

Last week. While I was still waiting for Tom Hayes to 'consider his options,' Wren had already locked down the account.

The familiar frustration rises, made worse by the knowledge that we've been avoiding each other for weeks.

After that text exchange when I first got back to Portland—setting up a coffee meeting I never showed up for—neither of us has reached out again.

Things are too awkward and I don’t want to face her as much as I imagine she doesn’t want to face me.

She’s good at pissing me off from afar, though. Always has been.

Now when I need to confront her about business, I can't even do that without dragging up Vegas and inevitably her questions about when we’re going to file the divorce papers I can’t bring myself to fill out.

"Everything okay, man?" The delivery guy is eyeing me warily now.

I force myself to take a breath. "Yeah. Fine." I turn and head back to the brewery, hands clenched at my sides.

Seeing her company logo, knowing she's expanding her reach right in my own backyard, sets something off inside me. It's like she's deliberately trying to get under my skin.

Back in the safety of Timber, I lean against the wall, taking deep breaths. This is why I need to file those divorce papers. I need to move the fuck on. Forget I ever saw what Wren Callan looks like first thing in the morning, soft and rumpled and more beautiful than she has any right to be.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull out my phone and scroll to the contact I'd saved and had to stop myself from texting every single fucking day. The one labeled simply "Pink." My thumb hovers for a second before I type:

The Hop Yard? Really?

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it. Almost immediately, three dots appear. She's typing back.

Yes, really. Why? Did you lick them and they’re yours?

I can practically hear her voice, sarcastic and bitchy and why the fuck is my dick chubbing up? My thumb hovers over the screen for a long moment before I reply. I consider bringing up what else I licked that’s now mine but think better of it. Instead, I type:

We need to talk about Vegas.

Her response comes almost immediately:

Wren: Four weeks of silence and now you want to talk? No thanks.

I stare at the screen, frustration and something else—relief?—warring inside me. She's shutting me down, which is exactly what I should want. I should just send the paperwork to her office and be done with this shit.

I don’t need gray eyes flashing with anger or lips curving into that smirk that drives me crazy.

But if she doesn't want to meet, why am I so disappointed?

I pocket my phone without responding. Let her think I don't care. Let her think anything but the truth—that I can't stop thinking about her.

"Fuck," I mutter.

Lake pokes his head in from the tasting room. "Everything good? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost," I say, pushing off the wall and heading back to the fermenter. "Just shitty choices coming back to haunt me."