Love, Chocolate, and Beer (Cactus Creek #1)(82)

“You’ve never tried a fruit lambic,” added Jim, silently challenging her to explain why.

She gave him a narrow look. “Not our style,” she bit out. If memory served, the lambic was the only beer her mother had ever said anything good about. Figured it wasn’t one they brewed.

“Okay, how about fruit ales then?” he tossed back at her, his voice nearing exasperation.

Her lips quirked. He had her there. The hearty complexities of ales with their warm top fermenting process—the opposite of lagers—was theoretically a better match for fruits. But, for some reason, her dad had been determined to create a fruit beer with the clean, smooth crispness of a pale lager. She never remembered why though; he’d been an ale drinker like she was.

Huh, maybe she had inherited her dad’s mysterious fruit lager mission without realizing it...

“Hey wait,” she recalled triumphantly, “we tried an ale with prickly pear cactus once.”

“You did okay by that one, I guess.” Jim lifted a non-committal shoulder. “But it was barely an ale, and more citrus than fruit. Plus, don’t be forgettin’ that beer came after the prickly pear cactus lager batch y’all near-poisoned us with,” he pointed out, grinning smugly when her cheeks flushed in remembrance. He waved his hand at the brew vessels all around, mostly filled with ales, bocks, and stouts. “Face it, you just ain’t the light and fruity lager brewer. Not in your genes, honey. The Dobsons brew beer you have to have balls to appreciate, to stick with.”

Mike nodded in agreement. “He’s right. We all love the funky flavor combinations you try out, and all the different beer styles you make are interesting and all, but you know that your deeper brews are where you shine. The darker ones with lots of mellow layers, hidden strong flavors that come at you later. That’s more you. Not all our customers go for it but the ones who do sure are happy they did. It might not hit the spot on a hot day in an obvious way like a light beer, but it’s more complex, more satisfying.” He thumped Jim in the chest. “Hey, what was it that contest judge said once? A night of deep lovin’ versus a quick sexy nooner?”

Jim arched an eyebrow tellingly. “If there’s a Dobson curse, that’s it. Yours just ain’t the people-pleasin’ style of beer that folks will grab to tailgate with. To love your beers, a man’s gotta have faith, gotta know what he sees ain’t what he’s gonna get. Then he’s gotta get past all that intensity at the get-go and really let it sink in. Once he does though”—Jim whistled—“ain’t no other beer that’ll ever do.” He nodded over at the small brew tank in the far corner. “I reckon you have the right idea with that secret chocolate batch you’ve been workin’ so dang hard on.”

Dani followed his gaze over to the still-fermenting beer she’d been quietly trying to perfect—the unique chocolate ale that her very un-Dobson Hail Mary plan to help Luke’s business through the lease-increase hinged on. Figured Jim was the one to find her out—the man had the nose of a bloodhound.

Jim winked and chucked her under the chin. “Don’t try to change, baby girl.”

Dani just stood there blinking while the two men went off on their merry ways.

Leave it to brewers to give her life and love lessons using beer metaphors.



*



DEAN HENESSEY shot a nervous glance around Ocotillos and then tried to make his glare penetrate the menu across the table, behind which, his wife Claire was sitting carefree as can be. “Luke is going to kill us when he finds out we’re spying on his girlfriend! I can’t believe you talked me into this,” he grumbled, shoving a hand through his salt and pepper hair worriedly.

Claire sniffed. “It’s not spying. We’re just eating a late lunch next to my son’s chocolate shop in Cactus Creek. It would’ve happened eventually on one of our visits. Besides, she’ll never know we’re Luke’s parents since he kept his father’s name.”

“Well, I doubt she’ll ever learn our names but yeah, I guess you have a point.”

“Why that’s silly. If we can, we should definitely introduce ourselves. Oh, that reminds me.” Claire reached in her bag and pulled out one of their pick-your-own-crops postcard invitations. “I’m going to leave an invitation to the farm here for her as well.”

“What?” he hissed.

“Shhh!” she quieted him as a waitress came over. Polite as can be, Claire asked about the beer selections she wasn’t familiar with before ordering a glass of IPA with the vegetarian paella.

Dean put in his order of the pistachio-crusted salmon over swiss chards and leeks with a glass of porter, and then tried to gently shoo the waitress away quickly after. But Claire, being Claire, began charming the young lady with the gentle grandmother way that worked equally well on lulling their crops as it did on people. Soon, the waitress was singing like a canary, answering all sorts of questions about Ocotillos—and more importantly, the owner, Dani.

“Darling, why don’t you let this nice young lady get back to work?”

“Oh, of course,” replied Claire. “I’m sure you’re very busy. Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to an old bat like me.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“It’s just not every day I get to hear about a female brewmaster. I’m fascinated is all. Do you think I’ll get a chance to meet her?” she asked the waitress innocently.