Page 10 of The Havenport Collection

“Not at all. I get it. I have been there as well. Just surviving and not thriving.” Oh my God, I can’t believe I said that out loud. My brothers would kick my ass. My mom said new age shit like that all the time, and I couldn’t believe it slipped out of my mouth.

She cracked a genuine smile, and I felt like I was eight feet tall.

“Thanks for trying to make me feel better.” Reaching for her glass, her fingers grazed my hand and our eyes connected.

She looked so pretty and vulnerable and sad, and I never knew this was a turn-on for me.

But I had the sneaking suspicion that everything about Cecelia would be a turn-on for me.

If I was capable of having a relationship right now I would be in trouble.

Someday when the brewery was thriving and I’d opened a second location, I would find the time to meet a nice girl and settle down.

Good thing I was too busy working myself to the bone because looking at Cece all pretty and freckled and vulnerable was giving me all sorts of ideas.

I sat down across from her and tried to lighten things up. “So you mentioned your relationship. Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband?” I was blatantly fishing, but the exhaustion, good beer, and pretty smile had made me dumb.

“Ex-boyfriend. We broke up right after I got laid off. We lived together and I couldn’t afford the rent on my own, so another reason it seemed like such a good idea to head to Havenport.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I tried to suppress a smile. Don’t look happy, dumbass. Be sympathetic.

She looked away and fiddled with her glass.

“Yeah. Don’t be too sorry. Now that I’m looking back at the last two years, it was a pretty crappy relationship.

I’m just glad I randomly stumbled on his penchant for texting dick pics so I had an excuse to get out before I settled for a shitty lukewarm marriage. ”

I almost spit out my beer. “Sorry. Dick pics?”

She gave me a brief version of the story, and I’m sure she could see the horror on my face. “I’m just glad I woke up and got out.”

I clink her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

She looked relieved. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Even though I live with my mother and just took a job that involves mopping floors.”

“Hey. This job involves a lot more than just mopping, kid. We also have to drain grain mash and blah, blah, blah.”

She laughed and her eyes twinkled.

“At the risk of sounding like even more of a pathetic loser, thank you for hiring me. This is fun and challenging and random. And the weirdest day at work I’ve had in years.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment.”

“It was.”

When I headed back to the bar to pour another round, she took out her bun and shook out her hair.

I have never really considered hair to be a turn-on, but the wild waves and curls were so beautiful.

Her hair was a sort of medium brown color with streaks of gold and copper, like a full-bodied imperial amber ale. It was mesmerizing.

I jumped back when I realized I over poured and spilled beer all over the bar. Jesus, Quinn, get it together. She just shook out her hair—she didn’t strip down naked and give you a lap dance.

Of course my brain immediately went to that possibility, and suddenly my jeans were feeling tight. Thank God I was standing behind the bar.

It hadn’t been that long since I’d been with a woman, had it? I felt like a teenager again, desperately trying to hide an inconvenient boner. I needed to get myself under control and act like a professional. I had to set appropriate boundaries and stick to them.

After recovering and sitting down, I thought it best to be straightforward. "Listen, Cece, I’m really glad this worked out. I look forward to working with you.”

She smiled. God, she had such a beautiful smile.

“But I just want to be clear that our relationship has to remain strictly professional.”

Her smile quickly morphed into a grimace. “Sorry. What?”

“I just want to set appropriate expectations.”

She stood up, clearly pissed. “Thanks, Liam, but just so we’re clear, I am here for a job. I am not here for a date or for your pity.”

I was flailing. This was clearly not going the way I had planned. “No, sorry. I misunderstood. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She stood there, arms crossed, looking angry and very hot.

“My mom may have mentioned you were nursing a broken heart.”

“What? You have got to be kidding me.” She started pacing around, and I shrank into my seat.

“I am hardly heartbroken. Embarrassed and pissed, yes. But not heartbroken. And let’s get something straight, okay?

I am not looking for a boyfriend. I want a job, a new challenge, something to keep me busy for a few months. That’s all.”

“Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to offend you.” I was officially drowning in my own awkwardness. I wanted to crawl under this table and pretend this conversation had never happened. What was I thinking? That I am so goddamn irresistible that she was going to jump me at the first opportunity?

“Liam, you offered me a job, and I accepted. End of story. If we’re done with my training, I’ll head home.”

I was officially the world’s biggest jackass.

“No, please. Sit and enjoy your beer. This is my fault. I got the wrong idea from my mom, and instead of thinking it through like an adult, I just spoke without thinking. Of course you’re not interested in me.

And I’m glad to have you here in a professional capacity. ”

She was still standing, giving me a death glare, so I continued.

“You know my mom. My brothers convinced me she sent you here as a matchmaking scheme. I am so sorry I fell for it. I am really fucking things up right now. Please sit and we can talk about the job.” I knew I had to get this conversation back on track.

The thought of her walking out of here embarrassed and hating me was unbearable. I had to change tracks.

“I am a bit of a mess right now. Things are going poorly, and I need to inject some fresh ideas into this place. I feel like I’ve been so careful not to overextend myself and build this business slowly and carefully, but it’s just not where it’s supposed to be yet.”

She sat back down and gestured for me to continue.

“I’ve spent years convinced I could do it all on my own—but I can’t. I am not good at PR or marketing or social media. I am not a hospitality manager, and I don’t know shit about graphics. I can brew decent beer and I’m fucking great at drinking it, but other than that I need help badly.”

She grabbed her pen and started jotting down some notes. I sat silently and drank my beer, praying she wasn’t going to quit and walk out the door.

“Okay,” she said, looking up from her notebook, brown eyes blazing. “I forgive you for thinking I was here to try and date you. Let’s talk marketing strategy.”

It was a good thing I was too focused on trying to save my business because in another life, Cecelia Leary could be very distracting.