Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Understatement. Apparently, all the business the “Rainmaker” had acquired for Fortress, the three years of sleepless nights and weeks without weekends, meant nothing to Conrad when I’d needed two days’ personal time. He’d told me in a somewhat threatening voice that this wasn’t “vice presidential” behavior.
I was finding it hard to care.
“I’m not very happy with him either,” I told her. “His expectations are ridiculous.”
“How unhappy?” she wondered. “Like, leaving-Fortress unhappy?”
I looked up from wiping my face to see the usual street scene on a summer weekday in Honeybridge. Families wandering out of Ollie’s Fudge Shoppe with ice cream, delivery drivers unloading produce at Bixby’s Market, kids biking down the sidewalk with tall flags waving off the back of their bikes to make them more visible, and teenagers loitering in front of the General Store in hopes of someone buying them beer or smokes, as if Pop Honeycutt didn’t know the exact birthdate and age of every Honeybridger.
The sun was warm, but the breeze from the lake moved softly through town the way it always did, carrying the laughter of the volunteers who’d come to help us with the final, frantic packing effort and now stood chatting in the parking lot.
Those volunteers hadn’t cared about Team Wellbridge or Team Honeycutt when they heard Flynn needed them. No matter how cutthroat they might be when it came to softball, or the Christmas Light Display, or… heck, even leaf peeping, Honeybridgers would always stand shoulder to shoulder against the world to protect one of their own.
That kind of loyalty was pretty damn rare in the rest of the world, but it was one of many things I loved about Honeybridge. And I’d missed it more than I’d realized.
For years, I’d told myself that I’d outgrown Honeybridge, when what I’d really outgrown was the person I used to be here. Maybe I’d had to leave town to figure that out—to figure myself out—and to really appreciate it. Now, I knew that I didn’t want to be without it again.
Flynn had said the Fortress team needed me, but he was wrong.
I wanted to be Team Honeybridge now. I wanted to be Team Flynn.
As I’d packed and stacked boxes earlier, I’d realized that I needed to take the advice I’d handed Reagan the other day—to stop worrying about how other people measured success and decide what I wanted… then get it.
Flynn would probably tell me that was the most Wellbridge idea he’d ever heard… and he’d be right. But I was finally ready to embrace my inner Wellbridge.
“I’m not sure exactly what the future is going to look like,” I told Alice finally. “But I’ve got an idea.”
“I’d back your ideas any day of the week, Rainmaker,” Alice said promptly.
I laughed. “It’s really great to hear you say that because I’m going to need your help. How would you feel about hopping a flight to Brew Fest after all so we can discuss some things in person?”
“Hot damn! Will I get to meet your mysterious mead maker?”
“I fucking hope so,” I said fervently. More than that, I really hoped Flynn was still mine.
“Are we planning to pillage the prospective clients at Brew Fest and sign Fortress so much new business that you’ll be Conrad Schaeffer’s new boss?” she demanded eagerly.
“No. Not at all. Here’s what I’m thinking…”
Several hours later, I fell into a booth at the hotel bar. My shoulders and back ached from all the heavy lifting and carrying, but I was proud of the work we’d done getting Honeybridge Mead’s booth set up. It looked amazing.
“I’ll take a glass of Chablis, thanks,” my mother murmured at the server who stopped to take our order. “Oh, and might you offer any kind of… amuse-bouche while we’re perusing the menu? I passed peckish quite a while ago.”
The guy blinked at her before flicking his eyes to me. “We’ve got potato skins. Is that what you mean?”
Mother’s mouth opened, but I cut her off before she could offend anyone else today. “Yes, perfect. Thanks. I’ll take a giant glass of ice water and an Allagash White if you have it. If not, surprise me with another local brew.”
Once he was gone, my mother smoothed her hair down and sighed. “Must you be so… plebeian? Beer? How gauche.”
I shot her a look. “I’m surprised that guy knew what Chablis even was. No one has used that term since the last century. You might try ordering a chardonnay next time.”
She sniffed and pointed her nose at the large, laminated menu. “And risk getting served a California wine? I don’t think so.”
I studied her unruly hair. After blowing it dry herself while I was busy loading the final truck at the Tavern, she’d looked like her usual self. But then the long drive in the convertible, followed by hours of ordering the rest of us around in a stuffy expo hall, had turned her perfect coif into a mess of curls.