Page 19 of The Havenport Collection

Liam

I t had been another long but productive day at the brewery.

Things had really picked up in the last couple of weeks with the expanded weekend hours, which left me behind on a lot of maintenance projects.

We had cleaned and sanitized all the lines in the keg room, and I was inspecting everything when I heard a scraping sound in the taproom.

I peered around the corner and saw Cece sitting at the bar with her laptop, looking super focused.

She looked at home at my bar, at peace. She was clearly engrossed in what she was doing, but she also seemed serene and less jumpy than when she had first started.

It was late, after seven, and I couldn’t help but notice how the low light made her look like an angel.

Her curly hair was wild in a halo around her face, and I could see her long, dark lashes casting shadows on her freckled cheeks.

She really was beautiful, and I was hoping that one of these days I would stop noticing. I could not afford to be distracted.

“Whatcha working on?”

She looked flustered. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m always here. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Just finishing up some things. I’m editing some of the photos I took on my laptop and I didn’t feel like driving home yet. I can get going.”

That was the last thing I wanted. The pull to keep her here with me was so strong. “No, stay. It’s nice to have company. I’m just cleaning and dealing with some paperwork.”

I walked around to where she was sitting. “Show me what you’re working on.”

She blushed and broke eye contact. “Just some shots I took last week.”

I stepped behind her and leaned over her shoulder, placing both my hands on the bar around her. From this angle, I was hit with the lavender smell of her hair and the warmth of her body heat.

I instantly fell silent when I saw what she was editing.

It was a photo of me, standing on a platform next to one of the large fermentation tanks, taking a test batch.

My ever-present hat was on backwards, and I was wearing my standard uniform of old T-shirt and jeans under my brewer’s apron.

But the photo was really something else.

I was in profile, my face a mask of concentration, and my body was bathed in the diffused light coming through the large warehouse windows and then reflecting off the copper tanks.

It was a really good photo. And also kind of embarrassing.

“You took this? With your old camera?”

“Yeah.”

I took a big step back, instantly missing her heat and floral smell, but it seemed appropriate to put some space between us. “It’s really good. You are talented.” Not to be vain about it, but it was a good photo of me. I looked capable and strong. Was this how she saw me?

“Thanks,” she replied sheepishly. “I was just editing this shot to post to our social media. I’ve found posts that talk about the art and science of brewing get a lot of engagement from our followers.”

I admired how hard she was working. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I don’t think people want to see me testing a batch.”

She rolled her eyes at me, and suddenly, sassy Cece was back. “Oh, bless your big dumb heart.” She patted my hand like I was a child. “Um, yes, they do. Photos of you get more likes than any others I post.”

This made my head spin. Me? Who wanted to see photos of me? “How many people see these photos?”

“Well, it depends. When I started here, your Instagram account had six hundred forty-three followers. Since then I have grown the account to over four thousand.”

“What, you grew it that much in the last month?”

“Yes. Beer and brewing are really popular on social media. I connected with some others in the space, started churning out content, and found some great hashtags.”

While I had no idea what she was talking about, I was really impressed. She seemed engaged and passionate about what she was doing.

Since arriving here, Cece was becoming more and more comfortable.

She was outspoken with the guys and engaged in our meetings.

Her ideas were great, and it was like she was finally realizing that she had a lot to offer.

Gone was the timid woman I interviewed. In her place was a self-confident marketing whiz.

She had learned a lot about brewing and beer and seemed to be really enjoying herself.

“So wait. Does that mean four thousand people will see that photo?” Why on earth would that many people want to see my ugly mug?

“Well, actually more,” she replied, typing away on her laptop. “If I use the right hashtags, hopefully a lot more will see and be interested in our content and potentially follow us.”

“I have no idea what kind of magic you are working, but wow. So…do likes translate into selling more beer?”

She stopped typing and looked at me like I was an idiot, which I absolutely was.

“Yes. Both directly and indirectly. My goal is to raise the profile of the brewery and highlight the work we are doing here as well as the incredible events.” She stopped talking to save something and then continued.

“We want visitors, and we want people to go seek out the product at their local stores. We also want to be influential in this space online so we can potentially develop and sell merchandise or form partnerships with relevant brands.”

I’ve been brewing beer for a long time and I wasn’t bad at it. But this? Social media marketing and engagement? I had been maintaining the brewery accounts for years, and clearly I had no idea what I was doing. “Okay, that all sounds awesome. How do we get more likes?”

She laughed. “The only way I could get more likes was if you were shirtless in this photo.”

That caught me off guard. “What?” I sputtered. “That would be unsanitary!”

I moved behind the bar to get myself a beer. I needed something to get me through this conversation which had started out professional but had veered hard into awkward territory.

“Of course it would. But I don’t think the Internet cares about the sanitation standards of this brewery—they just like hot, bearded dudes.” She gave me one of her saucy smiles, and I almost dropped the glass I was holding.

Now I was the one blushing. I put my head down as I poured from the tap. “You think I’m hot, Leary?” I raised my eyes to meet her gaze and threw her a wink.

Her face instantly flushed, and I could tell I wasn’t the only person feeling embarrassed.

“You know what I mean.”

I was feeling bold. Cece challenged me and excited me, and it was hard to deny the feelings she was creating inside me. “I don’t know what you mean, actually.” I walked back around and leaned on the side of the bar next to her. She tilted her head up to look at me, and her eyes were blazing.

I could see she was breathing heavily. It felt good to see that she was just as worked up as I was. It wasn’t in my head—this connection between us was real, and she could feel it too.

I smirked and caged her in with my arms. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Leary. Lots of women are powerless to my charms.”

My bluster broke the spell because she pushed me hard. “Get over yourself,” she said as she stood up from her barstool.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her back toward me. She hit my chest hard, and I snaked my arm around her waist. “Maybe you can help me with that?”

Our faces were hovering inches away from one another.

My entire body tingled with anticipation.

I wanted to kiss her more than I have ever wanted to kiss a woman in my life.

Her plump pink lips were there, just waiting for me.

Her body was warm and soft, and I wanted to throw her over my shoulder like a caveman and have my way with her.

Just as I was working up the courage to kiss her, the door opened and in walked my brothers.

Declan whistled. The spell was broken, and we both scrambled to opposite sides of the bar. What was I thinking? I needed to get my hormones in check if I was going to make this work. I was a professional, not a hormonal teenager.

“What are you idiots doing here?” I shouted, trying to hide my irritation.

“It’s Tuesday,” Declan grunted.

“We always come by on Tuesdays to check on you,” said Callum.

Callum and Declan stared at us for a minute before walking over and making themselves at home in the taproom.

“By all means, help yourselves, assholes,” I replied with a sweeping gesture.

“Shut up, little brother. Your beer is the only thing about you that we like,” said Declan, giving me a hard shove.

I rubbed my arm. “Awww, thanks Declan. I love it when you get mushy.”

Cece was standing there looking shell-shocked.

Perhaps I was not the only one pissed about the interruption.

I looked down to see Ginger standing behind Declan.

The dog, who was not on a leash, sauntered over to Cecelia and looked down her nose at her as if to say “who is this bitch?” and then slowly walked to the corner of the bar, where Callum was pulling out a plush dog bed from the storage closet.

She settled down on her bed, watching and judging everyone.

“Cecelia,” Callum asked, breaking the silence, “can I get you a drink? My brothers were obviously raised by wolves and have no manners.”

She shook her head and smiled.

“You guys on a date or something?” growled Declan.

“No, dumbass. She works here, remember? Mom forced Liam to hire her, I think.” Callum shoved Declan hard and Declan punched him in the arm in retaliation.

“Not quite,” she replied, finally finding her voice. “And I was just packing up for the night.” She grabbed her laptop and shoved it into her bag.

“Aww, Dec,” Callum mused, “you scared her off. It’s probably because you smell like a goat.”

Declan shot Callum a side-eye and growled at him. “Billy called in sick and I had to make deliveries today.”