Page 20 of Something’s Brewing

“Ah.” Nick glanced toward the building, his jaw tightening. “Let me guess—compliance enforcement?”

Sawyer exchanged a quick look with Nick but stayed quiet.

“Bingo,” she said.

Sawyer let out a quiet sigh. “I should probably mention before you find out on your own . . .” A sheepish smile crossed his face. “Mayor Benson’s my uncle.”

Madison blinked.

“Trust me,” he said. “I don’t get to pick my relatives.”

Despite herself, she laughed.

“Morty’s been getting creative lately,” Nick said, his tone neutral but layered. “You planning to follow up?”

“I am,” she said. “Quietly, for now.”

He nodded slowly. “Well, if you ever need anything, I’m around.”

Madison smiled, surprised by the offer—and how much she appreciated it. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

CHAPTER NINE

The sun was beginning to dip low over Deer Creek Falls, casting the lake in gold and softening everything around it—the water, the trees, even the way Garrett’s gaze skimmed over her.

Madison and Garrett were on their way to the Blue Ox, their obligatory date spot, located inside the Deer Creek Falls Resort, which was owned by Garrett’s family.

The stone path meandered from their condos toward the restaurant area. The landscaping was immaculate—native grasses swayed near the stream that cut through the property, the occasional lantern tucked between purple coneflowers and black-eyed Susans.

Garrett didn’t say much, of course. His expression was tight, jaw working like he was grinding his molars into submission.

“You know,” Madison said lightly, breaking the silence, “you’ve been nicer to me lately.”

He glanced at her. “Lately?”

“Don’t ruin it,” she said, nudging his arm. “I was giving you credit.”

A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. “I’ve always been nice.”

“Mm.” She tilted her head, unconvinced. “Let’s call it . . . selectively nice.”

“That sounds worse.”

“It should.”

He let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh.

Her sandal caught the edge of a crack in the sidewalk, and his hand came to her hip without hesitation, steadying her.

Madison stilled for half a step, her breath catching, but she kept walking. “Thanks.”

Garrett held the door open. They stepped through the side entrance of the Blue Ox, bypassing the resort’s larger conference area. The restaurant smelled like grilled steak, mushrooms and onions, fresh herbs, and something sweet—like a fresh apple pie cooling somewhere nearby. As they approached the bar, Madison turned to hang her light jacket on the back of a chair, and Ruth appeared, polished and perfectly timed, like she’d been waiting for her cue.

“There you are!” Ruth beamed. “Oh, I happened to set up a small table in the side room. Cozy, quiet. You’ll love it.”

Garrett muttered something under his breath that sounded like ambush.

Before either of them could protest, Ruth had swept ahead, menus in hand, leading them down a short hallway to a private room with several small tables. It was intimate without being too romantic—soft lighting, candles flickering, a modest bouquet of wildflowers in a mason jar.