Page 22 of Something’s Brewing

Garrett gave a tight nod. “Just a couple hours a week. They’re scrappy. Remind me of myself in middle school. Minus the drama.”

“That’s . . . surprisingly wholesome. And kind of endearing.”

He gave her a look. “Please don’t say endearing.”

The corner of her mouth curled. “I love hockey. I followed a fun AHL team in North Carolina. I prefer AHL, though I try to catch both Minnesota Wild and Frost games now and then.”

“You don’t follow our AHL team?”

“I knew the league had a team in Minnesota, I followed them in high school, but I didn’t know they were still around, to be honest.”

Garrett took a sip of his beer, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Figures. The Blizzard haven’t exactly been making headlines—or sent anyone to the NHL lately.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, they’re close by?”

“About an hour north of here,” he said, setting down his glass. “A couple of the guys make it down to the Eagle’s Nest during the summer. One of them, Maverick Monroe, is a friend of mine.”

Madison’s eyes widened before she could stop herself. “Wait. The Maverick Monroe?”

Garrett’s smile deepened. “The one and only. He’s back with the team now.”

She nodded, casually reaching for her water. “Huh. That’s cool.” She took a sip, pretending like she hadn’t just had a fan-girl moment.

They finished the last bites of dinner, and their plates were whisked away. Madison finally leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.

“Okay. Ready for the real reason I bid on you?”

Garrett stared at her. Said nothing.

She smirked. “I entered my cider into Brewfest. I’ve developed a dry-hopped apple blend, crisp and clean, and submitted it under the brewery’s name.”

Garrett’s expression didn’t change. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“I know you think cider doesn’t fit the brand.”

“Because it doesn’t.”

“It will when I win.”

“You’re that confident?”

She nodded. “If I place first, second, third, or receive a special mention, I want it on tap. Limited run. Seasonal. Try it. No commitment.” She was open to negotiating and hoped Garrett would take the bait.

He leaned back and tapped his finger on the table.

Gotcha.

“If the cider places first or second,” he said.

Madison lifted her glass. “Deal.”

He frowned. “You agreed too fast.”

“Maybe I’m just that good.”

He didn’t smile. But something in his eyes softened.

“Fine. But you need to do something for me,” he added. “You attend the festival business meetings in my place. If I have to endure cider, you have to endure the strong, bold women of this town.”