He offered me his hand, and I took it.
As I left, I saw Martha roll her eyes and pull another paperback full of scantily-clad men out from under the cushion of the armchair.
#
Hunter had been brewing the beer not in any of the main distilleries, but in an old shed just off the path leading into the woods. Red paint peeled off the wooden walls, and the copper pipes hissed and gurgled as they delivered ingredients into the bourbon casks, each specially chosen for the particularly fine qualities of their years.
It was all so old-timey and Prohibition I half-expected a jug band to start playing while revenuers kicked in the door and a flapper peeled away in a tin Lizzie, all the hooch safely hidden in the getaway car.
“There are a few different kinds,” Hunter said modestly as he led me through the space. “We separate them by the types of grain, obviously, and then by the different recipes.”
“Like…different amounts of hops?” I asked.
“That, of course,” Hunter said. “But beer is so much more than hops. I’ve been fermenting different fruits and herbs here too, distilling their essence to use in flavoring different brews.” He shrugged, scuffing his feet a bit. “I haven’t exactly had many taste-testers besides myself, but I think the aniseed and dandelion are probably the most successful. And the black pepper is surprisingly good too.”
I made some notes on my tablet. “Can I taste some of these?”
Hunter looked delighted. “Of course!”
He hurried over to the back and brought out a crate; the bottles were labeled with Hunter’s scrawl on plain masking tape, which made me jot down another note—obviously that wouldn’t do for the actual packaging, but there was still something there we could use, something in that do-it-yourself aesthetic that would definitely appeal both to the older, proudly self-reliant crowd, and the younger, less self-reliant (and insecure about it) millennials.
Hunter brought the cold glass bottle to my lips, and I closed my eyes to better appreciate the flavor.
“Mmmmm.” Hints of caramel, a touch of cinnamon, and was that…nutmeg? I licked my lips. “Tastes like autumn.”
“Next,” Hunter said softly. There was a clink as he set down the bottle, and another as he picked the second one up. Then that cool glass was against my warm mouth again, and I shivered as I felt his breath ghost against the back of my neck. I could practically feel the heat radiating off his body behind me. A drop of condensation slipped down the neck of the bottle, rolling down the fevered skin of my neck.
Oh, right, the beer. I took a gulp, hoping the cool liquid would calm my disordered thoughts. No such luck—but it was delicious, strongly hoppy this time, notes of lime and orange and vanilla, with a peppery finish. “Damn, that’s good. It’s like spring!”
“I’m glad you like it,” Hunter murmured. His arm encircled my waist—no, he was just reaching for another bottle, no, that was his other hand, this one was definitely resting on my waist, lightly, just above my hipbone.
I didn’t dare open my eyes, for fear I would find I was only dreaming.
“Another?” Hunter invited.
“Yes please.” My voice was a whisper, hoarse with desire I hoped he couldn’t hear.
And there it came, his gentle hands guiding it to my mouth, the smooth glass with its beads of moisture kissing my skin, and that ambrosia sliding slowly down my throat: brown sugar and anise and a hint of…chocolate.
“Ooooooh,” I moaned in appreciation. I licked my lips.
And heard a sharp intake of breath from Hunter. “You like that?” he whispered.
“So much,” I replied, feeling the heat in my body gather itself tight and low.
Even with my eyes closed I was vividly aware of how close he was standing to me; I could smell him, hear each breath he took. His hand on my waist seemed to grip a fraction tighter, wrinkling the fabric of my dress—the hand holding the bottle seemed to tremble slightly, I could feel his breath ruffling my hair as he bent closer, those warm lips only inches from—
My eyes burst open and I almost leapt away from him. We didn’t have time for sexual tension! That was what had gotten us into trouble in the first place. My mind fluttered rapidly over possible topics of redirection.
It was difficult. It mostly wanted to think of Hunter shirtless.
Maybe pantsless too.
Yeah….definitely pantsless.
Focus, Ally!
“Well, I could just sit here sipping these all day, but I’m not really qualified to help choose the official flavors,” I said, trying to sound practical and not at all like my panties were on fire. “How about we set up a tasting event to help pick the best?”