The rumble of a truck ahead drew her gaze up, and Hayes slowed his truck as they passed a construction crew. She covered her nose at the pungent scent of hot pavement and tar in the air. When they cleared the construction, Hayes said, “Those are good, you know.”
“What are?”
He gestured at her doodles. “Your art. That’s your thing. Don’t forget that.”
“You haven’t seen my work in years. How would you know?”
A mischievous glint hit his eyes. “I saw your painting in your car when I came to the brewery the other day.”
“Oh.” She shifted a little in her seat, twisting the white gold wildflower ring on her right ring finger. “So, ah, you liked it?”
He glanced sidelong. “I thought it was beautiful.”
Heat radiated through her chest, spiraling down to places that seemed to be heating a lot more when Hayes was around. She turned her head, hiding her smile, and took it all in. The plane flying overhead, the bright sun and blue sky, even the wooden fences around the cow pastures off in the distance. Maybe this was going to work out after all…
A loud bang had her grasping her seat belt, making sure she wasn’t going anywhere, when Hayes slammed on the brakes. “What’s wrong?” she gasped.
“I suspect we’ve got a flat.” He groaned, pulling over to the side of the road.
Oh no. Things couldn’t be going south already.
Hayes’s warm hand slid onto her thigh. “Maisie.”
Her breath caught, and it wasn’t over the stress that they might be late. The heat of his touched burned right down to her core, making her want that touch to move higher up her thigh.
His soft stare held hers. “It’s just a flat tire, not a bad omen that everything’s going to go wrong.”
“Right.” She plastered on a fake smile and lied through her teeth, pretending she didn’t want to rip his clothes off. “Right. Not a bad omen.”
Hayes rolled the truck into Fort Collins only an hour later than planned. He stopped by a garage and picked up a new tire, instead of driving on the spare. They drove through the old historic neighborhood with houses from the 1800s, and even passed by a vintage trolley, until they reached the university, where buildings turned large and modern.
In the university’s parking lot, Hayes stopped next to the rows of trucks and trailers belonging to the best craft breweries in Colorado. He noted Maisie’s bouncing knee, realizing this had to be scary as shit for her. Brave little thing she was, and he’d always liked how she faced challenges head-on, even knowing that it was very likely she’d fail. He was determined as hell to make sure this time, no matter what, nothing went wrong. “Ready to do this?” he asked her.
She took a calming breath and then smiled brightly at him. “Yup, let’s go make this festival our bitch.”
Three hours later, as far as Hayes was concerned, Maisie had done just that.
People strode around the stadium carrying cups of beer. The noise level was near deafening. Between the loud hum of the crowd, and the rock band in the far corner putting on a show, Hayes could barely hear himself think. The mix of spilled beer, sweaty bodies, and grease lingered in the air.
In their corner of the stadium, the Three Chicks Brewery logo was printed on everything: the banner, the backdrop hanging off the booth, the sleek wooden jockey box cover that kept the beer cold, and Maisie’s tight black tank top that hid nothing and revealed everything. Hayes now wore a matching T-shirt, only his was roomy. The Foxy Diva logo was on the bottle openers, buttons, and other swag that the crowd snatched up quickly. While Hayes was impressed by the set-up, Maisie herself blew him away. She had owned this event, doing what she always did—making every person feel special simply by talking to them. Every customer laughed or at least smiled by the time they turned away with their Foxy Diva in hand. Clara had made the right call by putting Maisie in charge of festivals. She was…captivating.
So much so that she’d gained the attention of four men sitting at a picnic table kitty-corner to the Three Chicks Brewery’s booth. They’d already been up to the booth once to get beers from Maisie. Hayes ground his teeth at the attention coming her way. That tall, lanky guy wasn’t interested in the beer, and Hayes had seen enough creeps working as a cop that his internal alarms were going off. There was only one thing worse than an arrogant prick. A drunk arrogant prick.
His teeth began to hurt when he finished attaching the hoses on the jockey box to the new keg. Until tonight, he hadn’t even heard of a jockey box, but he’d learned from Maisie that it was a mobile draft beer system built into a standard insulated cooler. Once the keg was attached, the beer traveled through coils that cooled the beer leading to a draft faucet for pouring.
When he rose, Maisie said to a customer, “Save water and drink beer, I always say.”
The older gentlemen raised his glass and gave her a wide smile. “Fine words, my dear.”
As the man turned away with his wife, Hayes sidled in next to Maisie. “You’re better at this than you think you are.”
“Yeah?” Maisie asked, her face upturned. “I feel like all I’m doing is just serving beer. I don’t know… Should I be doing more?”
Hayes shook his head. “You’re being yourself, and you’ve got the people eating out of your hands.”
“God, I hope so,” she said in obvious relief. Applause erupted near the band as she grabbed a rag to wipe up the spilled beer on the jockey box cover that had a Foxy Diva bar tap faucet. Once done, she tossed the cloth back into the bucket of sudsy water, wiped her hands on her jeans, and then grabbed her phone from her back pocket.
Hayes attempted not to notice the tightness of her tank top. How a thin line of skin showed when she lifted her phone. He failed miserably. Christ, she was sexy as hell.
“Okay, looks like you might be right. I’m actually not doing terrible,” she said, drawing his attention back to her face. “We’ve got a couple hundred or so more followers on Instagram and Facebook. Looks like that tag-us giveaway seems to be working.”
“The tag-us giveaway?”
“It’s an idea that Amelia came up with. If you looked at the swag”—she nudged her shoulder into him—“then you would have seen the sign that she had made. Anyone who takes a photograph with a glass of Foxy Diva and tags us on social media, is entered to win ten cases of Foxy Diva at the end of the three festivals.”
“Good idea,” he said.
“Yup, brilliant.” She didn’t seem bothered that the idea hadn’t been hers, and was glad to give credit where it was due. She took a couple of steps backward until she stood in front of the backdrop. She took hold of his T-shirt and tugged. “Come on. A picture at every stop to remember the time you totally saved my ass.”
He chuckled, settling in next to her. Her wildflower scent enveloped him, filling every bit of air he had, as he wrapped an arm around her back and leaned down to get to her height. Her warm body pressed into his. She felt strong and somehow soft too. Like she stood on own her two feet and could kick some ass, but that when she needed and wanted, she could give in and let go. He’d never known how much he liked that combination until right now. She angled her head toward his, her beautiful smile filled his vision as she snapped the picture.