After all, he felt sick. He hadn’t gotten one damn hour of sleep the night before.
He’d known better than to lie, but he’d still done it, and look what he’d done to Beth. And to his newly forged relationship with Jamie.
In the spirit of punishing himself, Eric had dragged himself from bed and hauled his ass into work. Jamie had been there to greet Eric with a glare as soon as he’d walked in. Luckily, they’d spent the first half hour in separate areas of the brewery, so Jamie’s anger hadn’t yet burned a hole in Eric’s skull.
But once Eric had the mechanic settled in, he had no excuse to lurk in the bottling room and oversee the work. When he stepped back into the tank room, Wallace grabbed his elbow in one meaty paw.
“The new stout,” he said, as if that explained his tight grip on Eric’s arm.
“Yeah?”
“It’s ready.”
Oh, that was why Wallace’s eyes glinted with worry. The last batch hadn’t worked out, and Wallace had been frustrated, to say the least. Eric had thought he’d been thinking about Faron again, but maybe he was already fully recovered.
“Come on,” Wallace growled. “You and Jamie can taste it at the same time.”
Eric opened his mouth to say no, but even he couldn’t justify that kind of immature answer. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes, either, so he just waited for Wallace to grab the glass of stout, and followed him into the kitchen.
Jamie was already there, an uncharacteristic frown on his face when he glanced up from examining the pizza oven. He jerked his chin up. “Hey, Wallace.”
“It’s time,” Wallace said ominously.
“Time for what?” Jamie asked.
“The chocolate stout.”
Jamie stood and wiped his hands on the rag he’d thrown over his shoulder. “The Devil’s Cock?”
Eric shook his head. “We haven’t decided on that name yet.”
Jamie ignored him completely and nodded toward the glass in Wallace’s hand. “Let’s do it.”
Wallace gathered up three small sample glasses and poured. The dark brown brew looked solid and crisp, the head a nice cream color.
“This is the new cocoa, right? The Mexican?”
Wallace grunted as they each took a glass. “Yeah. And the chipotle peppers.” There was a reason they were considering the name Devil’s Cock. This stout was the darkest of dark, accented with chocolate and a kick of heat. It smelled black and wicked.
“Sláinte,” Eric said, and they all tipped the glasses to their lips. Richness filled his mouth, flowing with the bitter hint of dark chocolate, sweetened by the malt. At the very end, smoky pepper touched his tongue.
“Christ, that’s smooth,” Jamie said.
Wallace didn’t smile. “Yeah?”
Eric nodded. “This is it. A one-hundred-percent improvement over the last batch. It’s gorgeous.”
Wallace’s eyes tilted a bit, as if he’d finally dared a small smile. Eric couldn’t be sure past the beard.
The brewmaster took another drink and wiped the foam off his facial hair. “I was thinking end of November,” he said.
“It’ll be perfect for winter,” Jamie agreed.
Eric nodded, but he wasn’t sure. “Any chance we could do a limited rollout by mid-October? It could be a nice Halloween beer.”
“No,” Jamie said before Wallace could answer. “We’ve got the Harvest Ale, not to mention the work on rolling out the restaurant. And we haven’t even decided on a name for this one, much less started a logo. It’d never get approved by the liquor board in time.”
Wallace’s eyes darted from Jamie to Eric as if he were waiting for an argument. His anticipation wasn’t unfounded. Eric felt his neck tighten to rock. Jamie’s words sounded like thrown fists, they were so hard.
Eric wanted to throw a few hard words back. He was the one who made these decisions, not Jamie. But Jamie was shouldering his way into the decision-making process now. A good thing, Eric assured himself. “Fine. Late November.”
“And the name?” Jamie pressed.
“We’ll talk about it.”
His brother scowled. “It’s a good name. Wallace, you like it, right? It was your idea.”
Wallace shrugged one massive shoulder. “You two work it out.”
“Good work, Wallace,” Eric said as Wallace turned to retreat back to his tank room. It was his personal cave, and even though it belonged to the Donovans he growled like an ogre at anyone who entered without his permission.
Just as Wallace disappeared, the back door opened and their sister, Tessa, walked in on a shaft of morning sunlight. She was like a Disney character, bringing happiness and smiles with her. Eric used to joke about seeing bluebirds darting around her head. But after the past few months, he no longer looked for bluebirds. Little Tessa was all grown up now, and she had a man living in her house to prove it.
“What’s going on?” she asked, strolling over.
“It’s the new chocolate stout.” He dipped his head toward the glass.
Tessa poured herself a sample and tried it. “Oh, so much better! It’s perfect. I love the kick at the end.”
“We’re going to roll it out in November. I’ll need you to start the logo process. I’ll deal with the liquor board.”
“Did we decide on the name?”
Jamie smirked. “Everyone still loves Devil’s Cock, but Eric’s scared.”
“I’m not scared. I just don’t want to offend anyone.”
Tessa tilted her head. “I think it’s fine. You know, names and logos are getting more and more edgy. And the logo will be a rooster, right? With devil horns?”
Eric crossed his arms and shifted.
“Jesus Christ,” Jamie barked. “You were on board with it a few months ago.”
“I only said I’d consider it.”
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Jamie said, leaning toward him as if he meant to share a secret. “Why don’t you try manning up?”
Eric dropped his hands, balling them into fists. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
They were right back where they’d been for years, and Eric stepped into the old groove with ease, his decade of anger at Jamie snapping quickly back into place. “Look, little brother. I know your idea of planning
