“You probably scared him off with your charts and graphs and pearls,” Olivia countered. “You’re still wearing the pearls, aren’t you, June Cleaver?”
“Oh shut up, Olivia,” Natalie said. “However, he did confirm that we’re all set for brewing. Now we just need buyers.”
“I have a handful lined up, but we really need to get the Boot Scoot Boogie to start carrying our beer.”
The biggest honky-tonk in three counties, the Boot Scoot Boogie was a draw for country musicians from up and comers to headliners. The place was packed from Wednesday’s Ladies Night to Sunday’s last call and had plenty of bar traffic during the rest of the week. Getting them to carry Sweet Salvation Brewery beer could make or break the brewery.
“Sounds like you two are on it. Carry on, ladies. I’ll be there as soon as I can get some time off.”
“When are you going to be able to make it home?” Miranda asked.
“When did Salvation become home, Manda?” Olivia laughed. “Don’t start drinking the crazy Kool-Aid now. We’re flipping this brewery to DeBoer Financial so you get that big corner office, not getting sucked back into the loony world of Salvation.”
Had she called it home? She had. What the hell was that about? “Slip of the tongue, but we could use some of your PR genius, Olivia.”
“I have a couple of weeks’ worth of vacation stored up. Let me see what I can work out.”
“Let us know. It’s been too long.” Eight months to be exact. Sure, they were on the phone with each other a million times a week, but there was nothing as good as being together. Nothing.
“Damn straight. Look, I have to get into a meeting before the boss notices I’m late.”
“Talk to you soon.” Miranda and Natalie chimed in together.
“Will do. Oh, and Manda? Go have some dirty, nasty smexy times with Salvation’s version of Prince Charming.” Olivia hung up before Miranda had a chance to respond. That was happening a lot to her lately.
Grocery shopping equated to the seventh circle of hell for Logan, especially after he’d caught two old biddies in the produce aisle whispering about what had happened between him and Miranda in the vault. Damn his promise to Miranda to keep his mouth shut, and damn the people in Salvation who couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“You gonna crush that box of Crunchy Yum Yums or put’em in your buggy?” Ruby Sue leaned against her shopping cart.
Logan tossed the mangled box in with the mound of frozen foods in his cart.
“Probably the healthiest thing in there, and that’s a sad fact.” She jerked her chin toward the top shelf. “Now grab the store-brand granola off the top shelf for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” On autopilot, he swiped the blue-and-white box and handed it to her.
At that moment, the squeaky wheels of another cart pulled his attention away from Ruby Sue. Miranda halted at the opposite end of the aisle, a flush creeping up from her low-neck green T-shirt. She’d pulled back her hair, wore skin-skimming yoga pants, and had a startled look on her face. His heart sped up and for a few precious seconds, the world slowed down, and a kind of hope l
ightened his shoulders, but then she spun the cart around and quick-stepped it out of the aisle.
The stark reality of the situation weighed his shoulders down like an anvil. Even if the brewery didn’t exist, she was still the woman he couldn’t have no matter how much he wanted her. And he had to admit, even if just to himself, that he wanted her—always had wanted her. Sometimes being a Martin sucked giant hairy balls.
“Look.” Ruby Sue poked him in the arm with a surprisingly strong jab. “If an old lady knows anything, it’s that fate loves to spit in the eye of idiots who think they have everything figured out.”
Still staring at the empty spot where Miranda had been, he shook his head and turned his attention back to Ruby Sue. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Course you don’t.” She winked a rheumy eye at him. “Why would you? Idiot men.”
The old woman shuffled down the aisle, leaving him to wonder what in the hell was going on with his life.
Logan bit into a grilled cheese sandwich stuffed with bacon and jalapeños and leaned back against The Kitchen Sink’s vinyl booth to enjoy the punch of spice mixed with smoky bacon and gooey cheese. Getting lost in a bottle had never been much of a draw for Logan, but the bliss produced by an artery-clogging shot of comfort food got him every time.
“That stuff is going to kill you.” Hud sliced into a baked chicken breast surrounded by steamed broccoli.
“At least I’ll die happy. That shit…” Logan nodded at his friend’s plate, “is just depressing.”
Hud shrugged his wide shoulders. It had been more than a decade since they’d played ball together, but the burly mechanic looked like he’d just stepped off the field. “I like eating healthy.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why you eat lunch here every day?” Logan took another oversized bite of his sandwich. “Has nothing to do with a certain waitress?”