Chapter Nineteen
Boyd had no idea what he was doing. He was thirty-seven years old and still had superglue on his hands from fixing Mason’s science fair car. He’d won third in his class and seventh overall. Not bad. He told Boyd he wanted to keep the car, so they’d cleaned off the Big Red and fixed the wheel properly. It was on the top shelf of Mason’s bookcase next to the alien made of bottle caps Boyd bought him at Everything Old is New Again a couple of years ago. The comic books were still in the closet, but now there was something.
Standing in the fogged mirror of his bathroom, he closed his eyes. He didn’t want this date to feel like a mistake. He wanted to plan it all out in his mind, kind of like a new recipe and have it work, but even he knew the perfect brew took time, trial, and error.
This was a trial, he told himself as he opened his eyes and wiped the steam from the mirror. Nothing had been set in stone. He was going to the Art Walk with his son and his… friend. That’s how West had put it opening night at the Tap House, and maybe that’s what it was. Ella and Mason were friends, and there was no reason Boyd couldn’t be her friend too. He lathered up his shaving soap. A couple of wrinkles with that theory, he’d never had a friend he wanted to know more about and kiss in equal measure. A friend who made his pulse charge forward while his heart, suddenly alive and well, started tapping on his rib cage asking to be heard.
She wasn’t his friend. There wasn’t enough beer or denial in the world to stop what was happening between them, and his determination was overwhelmed by want. That was the problem. He’d grown so accustomed to managing his want. He worried that if he satisfied some of it, let himself like Ella or imagine how she could fit into their world, he might let it all out and screw things up royally. He hadn’t had a relationship since Mason was born, and Claire had left six months after that. He knew some headshrinker would have a party with that, try to paint him as some abandoned heartbreak, but the truth was he’d been so busy securing a life for Mason—both financial and fun—that it had been easy to keep his own wants at bay.
Until now, he thought and immediately remembered the first time she’d said those exact words to him in the emergency room. He’d told her he had never cut his hand on the keggle. “Until now,” she said, and given him a glimpse into something that, if he were completely honest, he wasn’t sure he knew how to have. His relationship with Claire had tanked and in the end, he’d made a fool of himself. What had started as “What should we paint the baby’s room?” had quickly spiraled down to him practically begging, “Please don’t do this to him—he needs two parents.”
Claire had left shortly after and Boyd shoved everything that didn’t pertain to Mason or the brewery to the back of his heart. It was the only way he knew how to give his son the childhood he deserved.
There was another problem, he thought, wiping the excess shaving soap off his neck. He knew how to be a dad, knew how to be a son and a brother. He had no clue how to be a partner, a lover, someone Ella could count on.
Boyd pulled on his shirt and buttoned the front. It was a date, one date in the middle of the afternoon. His son would likely be there handling all the conversation. Why was he letting himself get so far ahead?
The answer stared right back at him in the now-clear mirror. He wanted something, someone, and the last time that happened he was turned away and left scared out of his mind. Boyd didn’t have the strength to go through anything like that ever again. But like a fool, there he was holding up a different shirt and wondering which one looked better. He hadn’t second-guessed anything he had worn for years. He sat on the edge of his bed to tie his shoes.
“You ready yet?” Mason called from the living room.
Not even close, kid, Boyd thought, grabbing his keys and wallet off the dresser.
“Did you like high school, Ella?” Mason asked as they shared a hot pretzel and made their way through everything from oil paintings to macramé plant hangers.
She didn’t know what to say. Was there a good, better, best response to help a young man on the edge of high school? She glanced at Boyd and he shrugged, indicating there was no right answer. Huh, so honesty, she thought, that was how this parenting thing worked.
“I did not,” she said, pulling another piece off the pretzel Mason held between them.
They stopped to look at the glass-tile elephants and Mason slurped the last of his soda. He handed the pretzel to Boyd and searched for the last drops of soda, his straw making that groaning sound.
Right as Ella thought answering his question had been easy, Mason said, “Why not?”
“I… it took me a while to figure out who I was and what I wanted. High school can be a confusing place for a girl trying to sort things out.”
“Like what? What were you trying to figure out?”
Boyd snickered and she bumped him.
“Where my parents left off and I began.”
“Huh. Are your parents nice?”
“No.” Ella reached for the last of the pretzel. Mason grabbed it like he was going to beat her to it and then pulled the last piece in half. It was nuts how much she enjoyed this kid.
“Are they jerks or do they drink too much?” He stopped walking. “Do they knock you around?”
Boyd laughed. “Sorry, not funny. Funny delivery, but not funny.”
Ella tried to find the right words. “They’re troubled.”
“You’re not giving me anything good here, Doc.”
“I thought we were talking about high school.” She ran her hands along a handwoven tapestry, thinking it might look good over her couch, but decided against it.
“Right. Were you in any clubs or did you play any sports?”
“I was in the medical careers club and I was on the cycling team.”
“Your school had a cycling team? That’s awesome.”
“What about the medical careers club?”
Mason shook his head. “Not so much.”
The three of them laughed and stepped aside to let a woman pass with a cart on wheels filled with colorful canvases.
“Did you like high school?” she asked Boyd.
Mason smirked.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“Nothing. Go ahead, answer, Dad.”
“I guess you think you know what I’m going to say?” Boyd took Mason’s cup and chewed on the ice.
“Ah, yeah. You played football. Of course you liked high school.”
“Maybe you could let me answer?”
Mason gestured an exaggerated “go ahead” with his hand. Ella liked watching the two of them together. There was an ease and mutual respect that she found fascinating.
“I was good at fitting in during high school. Unlike Ella, I wasn’t thinking about much. It wasn’t until after high school, a while into college, before I realized how screwed up things were in high school.”
Mason appeared genuinely stunned. “I kind of assumed—”
Boyd raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah, yeah, assuming makes an ass out of you and me. Whatever.”
“High school is like this time we all have to serve and survive. It has its awkward moments for all kids. I don’t care what clubs you’re in or sports you play.”
Ella nodded. “Agreed.”
“Wow, guys. I can’t wait to get started.”
Boyd ruffled his hair and pulled him closer as they turned toward the larger painting booths.
It smelled like rain, Ella thought. She hoped the sun would win out for at least another hour. She was having a great time. After being at her parents’ house and the unexpected Marc visit, perhaps everything was heightened, but she didn’t think so. Boyd and Mason were rare under any circumstances. She knew that like she knew she could eat a chocolate croissant every morning for the rest of her life. It was obvious, clear to anyone who was paying attention.
For not the first time, she pondered if all their magic, the perfect cadence of their relationship, came from being a pair. If Mason’s mom had been in the picture more, would they be different? Ella had no way of knowing, but lately she hoped there was room for her, that their life wasn’t like the art they were walking among and she was supposed to keep her distance and not touch.
She’d meant what she said to Boyd, she understood his reluctance. It wasn’t fear or selfishness—he had a good thing. He’d managed to navigate a path of love and sheer joy in raising his son. Maybe he had no idea how he managed it all and kind of like crossing fingers or avoiding a black cat, he simply didn’t want to push his luck.
“Let’s talk about something more important now,” Mason said, tossing their pretzel bag and his empty cup into the trash. “Pop Rocks. Do they kill you if you eat them with soda?”
Ella shook her head and allowed the thunder of their laughter to roll right through her. Yeah, if she were Boyd, she’d try her damnedest to stay right where things were too.
No one was more surprised than he was when Boyd took Ella’s hand as they walked toward the Tap House entrance. Mason ran ahead, no doubt making a beeline for Galaga to see if he still had the high score. Her eyes found his, easy and warm. The whole afternoon had been that way. Normal and so off-the-cuff that Boyd caught himself a couple of times forgetting he was on a date. He’d never seen anything like the way she was with Mason outside of his family. Watching his son with her was enjoyable, and that nagging feeling that he should keep his distance was all but gone. She wasn’t Claire. Ella wanted to be with Mason, be with both of them it seemed.
Before he dealt with the imminent teasing and sarcasm guaranteed from his brothers as soon as they walked into the Tap House, he wanted her all to himself.
“Do you want to see something?”
Ella wiggled her brows. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
He laughed and pulled her toward the brewery.
“Oh, wow, are you taking me to your happy place?”
He nodded and was swept up in the playfulness. He tugged her hand one more time and she jumped on his back as if they were on a playground. Boyd hoisted her high onto his back and his chest expanded. He wondered if she knew what she did to him or how long it had been since he’d felt like a man without a care in the world. He couldn’t know how long this was going to last, but if it ended, he was certain whatever she left him with would be enough to carry him through the rest of his days.
He set her down inside the door of his brewery.
Ella pushed her hair off her face, smiling in that glorious flushed way that seemed to come naturally these days.
“Wow.” She walked around his space, touched the sides of the copper tanks. “This is gorgeous. I had no idea beer making was so…” She turned to face him and Boyd kissed her. Heat twisted between them, and the need once again could have swallowed him whole.
He eased back, rested his forehead against hers.
“Was it something I said?”
He shook his head. “I can’t let go of you.”
She smiled and held him tighter. “No rush. I’m still mastering my connection skills, remember?” She gently kissed him.
“I was going to tell you that I’ve seen real improvement, Doc.”
“Have you?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re an incredibly fast learner.” He kissed her again, held the sides of her face and let his thumbs relish in the thrumming of her pulse. He’d meant what he said—nothing mattered in that moment but staying close to her. The thought scared him, and then as if by default his next thought was—Where is Mason?
As if not ready to return to reality, he shut down his mind and kissed her again. His son was no dummy and they were surrounded by family.
Had he and Mase been surrounded all along? Had there been room for Boyd to have needs of his own and he’d never taken them? Maybe he had the support all this time, but the thing with Claire had made him feel like he was on his own. It was true the two of them weren’t “in love” by the time Mason was born, but they’d loved each other and that seemed enough for Boyd at the time. Mutual respect and a common goal, that’s what he’d argued and lost. Maybe all of that had taken its toll on him, on his ability to let someone else have the controls.
Their mouths eased apart and Ella met his gaze, the expression on her face searching not for answers, but for a place among his thoughts. She must have sensed he was about to drop to the floor, because she grinned in that calm way she had the first time he’d met her and instantly put him at ease.
“So, since we’re here in the happy place, I’d like to see that infamous keggle.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t show you behind the scenes on that level. I mean that would be like you showing me how to do that thing doctors do when someone can’t breathe.” He pointed to his neck.
“A tracheotomy?”
He nodded. “I think you doctors call it a ‘trach.’”
Ella laughed. “We do, but in real life, there’s no soundtrack and no one wants to see a trach unless they have to. Give it up, beer man. Show me the keggle.”
Boyd gave her the tour and wasn’t surprised when she was drawn to the back wall. The brewing process was impressive, but everything human was on that back wall. He had a hunch Ella couldn’t get enough of the human side of things now that she was mastering connection.
After looking through pictures and sharing a few stories, they made their way back to the Tap House, which was filling up. After the success of opening night, they’d decided to host a live band Friday and Saturday nights. He held the door for Ella and two guys carrying in instruments. Boyd checked that Mason was in the back room playing Galaga and then found Ella at the bar talking with Cade.
As he approached, he steeled himself for some smart-ass comment, but his brother greeted him as though it was the most normal thing in the world that he was there with a beautiful doctor.
“How was the Art Walk?”
Boyd leaned on the bar. “The rainbow elephants are still kicking ass.”
Cade laughed and poured him a beer.
“Ella, can I get you a glass of wine?”
She was holding a menu. “I heard from your nephew that you can match beer to any kind of food.”
“I do have that reputation.”
She pursed her lips and Boyd waited for some healthy doctor meal. He’d seen her eat pretzels and monkey bread, so there was no reason to assume all doctors ate leafy greens, but he did.
“I’ll have the pulled pork sandwich.”
Like he told his son, assuming made him an ass.
Cade glanced at him and smiled. “Excellent choice. I’d suggest Naked Neck. It’s a porter and one of your date’s masterpieces.”
Ella glanced at Boyd.
“It’s a good beer.”
“Is there a chicken called naked neck?” She gestured to the board. “These are all chicken names, right?”
Boyd nodded as Mason joined them, reaching behind the bar for a Coke Cade had no doubt agreed to save for him.
“Did you order something?” he asked.
“Buffalo chicken wrap. What are you guys getting?” Mason said.
“Pulled pork and a Naked Neck.” Ella handed her menu back to Cade.
“So good. I mean the sandwich. I’m not allowed to have the beer.”
“What are you having?” Cade asked, returning from helping two couples at the end of the bar.
“Cheeseburger. We’re going sit over there. You all right bringing our food?” Boyd asked, looking around as the place started to fill up.
He scoffed. “I’ll deliver it personally,” he said as Ella and Mason made their way to the table near where the band was setting up.
“Don’t,” Boyd said, leveling a stare he hoped convinced his brother to behave.
“Oh, but I want to.” They’d reached the teasing portion of the evening. “Pulled pork, huh? It’s like she was made for you.”
“Let’s not get crazy.”
“What? That’s your order and your beer. You went nuts over that beer, remember? Like you were da Vinci or something.”
“Da Vinci?”
He finished entering their order into the computer. “Yeah, did you know he went for twenty-four-hour cycles without sleep?”
Boyd shook his head, glancing back at Mason and Ella.
“Or that Virginia Woolf wrote standing up?”
“Is this one of your random late-night internet searches?”
“It started after I watched this thing on PBS about the deepest part of the ocean and shit. Before I knew it, I was on to artists, some weird crap about cubism, and when I put my iPad down, it was two in the morning. I’ve got like chronic curiosity or something.”
Boyd laughed.
“Anyway, back to you. Who would have thought a doctor would order something so—”
“I get it. She’s cool. Mason’s already told me a thousand times. Can I get a glass of water too?”
“She’s more than cool, she’s your match.”
He laughed again to cover up the punch of his brother’s words.
“Laugh all you want. Dozens of people can’t be wrong, I’m a master at the match.” Cade slid a glass of ice water to him.
“With beer and sandwiches maybe.”
“No, with all things. I can spot a match, and she’s yours. Now get over there and don’t screw it up.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I am.” Cade went back to work and Boyd joined Ella and Mason. He’d never thought about having a match. There’d been a time when he thought Claire was the person he’d spend his life with, but even then, he would have never called it a match. For a guy with such jacked-up hair, his brother was full of insight.
If Ella was his match, if it was as simple as pulled pork and a perfect beer, maybe Boyd had all the skills he needed to keep from screwing this up. He doubted it was that easy, but the band was playing, his son was smiling, and an amazing woman seemed to enjoy kissing him. He sure as hell wasn’t going to waste any of that worrying about tomorrow.
“Dad, since Ella’s here, can you show me how to dance with an actual woman? That way I can watch.”
“Can I get some clarification on ‘actual woman’? Who is your dad normally dancing with?” Ella asked, trying to remember when she’d ever laughed so much.
“Once with Uncle Cade and once with me, but since you’re here and you’re a girl, I think it would be better. Dad has moves.”
“Is that so?”
Boyd did a shake-nod combo, took another sip of his beer, and grabbed her hand. It was as if there was no point arguing. Ella guessed Mason had been persuasive from birth. Right as she was about to stand and follow him to the dance floor, he let go of her hand.
“Sorry. I forgot I was giving a lesson.” He stepped back, extended his hand. “Ella, would you like to dance?”
She had no idea if it was the evening air or the sparkle in his eyes, but she felt young. Like a girl at a bonfire hoping the boy she liked would sit next to her. He stood, waiting for her answer as she took in the sight of him. Dark hair—left a little over his collar on purpose. She wondered what he told his hairstylist or barber. Where did he get his hair cut? There she went again with the questions. Suddenly the simplest of appointments struck her as intimate. Ella imagined water and a woman’s hands threading through all that thick hair like hers had only moments ago.
Mason cleared his throat and Boyd dropped his hand to his side. “Mase, maybe Ella is tired and she’s not interested in—”
She stood, grabbed him by the front of his flannel, and pulled him the rest of the way to the dance floor. The band switched to a slow one as if on cue and when his arms wrapped around her waist, that young legs-too-long girl she was in high school returned. Taking in a slow and steady breath, she noticed Mason out of the corner of her eyes. He was sitting backward on a chair as if he were watching an important documentary.
“All right, that’s one way to get a girl, er… woman to the dance floor,” Boyd said, playfulness rumbling through his chest and traveling to the tips of her fingers.
“I got you to the dance floor,” she corrected, already moved by the pounding rhythm of her heart.
“Right. And that’s an important lesson, Mase. The woman can lead, she can make the first move.”
Ella nodded and relished the heat of his body and the sheer size of him as she placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Where do the hands go?” Boyd asked.
“Waist,” Mason said. “I’ll probably pass out right there, so we don’t need to go any further.”
“You’ll be fine,” Ella said. “She’ll be nervous too and won’t notice you’re nervous. The first time dancing, being close”—she caught Boyd’s eyes as they fell to her mouth and then her collarbone—“is special. You want to try to remember it as best you can.”
“Okay, Dad. Show her your moves.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she said, feeling ready for anything.
The song picked up at the chorus and Boyd moved her across the dance floor. It was classic country music. Ella didn’t listen to country, but the singer’s low twang made her think she might need to add some to her playlists. She was grateful she’d learned the two-step in ballroom class. Boyd did have moves. Strong, confident hands that placed her body around his in a series of steps and turns that would put any guy in a tux to shame.
“You with me?” he asked into the back of her neck before spinning her around to face him.
“Does it feel like I’m with you?” She was always good at faking brave until her courage kicked in, but with every turn she felt herself fall for him a little more.
He held her gaze and nodded, right before he spun her under his arm and returned her to the original position. Her hands landed on his chest this time. By way of moving back into position, her hands slowly traced across his chest before resting on his shoulders. Boyd pulled her close and touched the bare skin right at the back edge of her blouse. For a second Ella forgot how to dance. The song changed and she remembered Mason was watching them. Boyd smiled as if confirming he felt everything too and then they were back into the shuffles and steps.
“Does Mason dance like this?” she asked once she caught her breath.
“He’s learning.”
“Well done, you. Young girls all over Petaluma will be grateful. This is fun.”
“Did you hear that, Mase?” he said as they moved to the front again. “Ella said this is fun. That’s the key. You want her to have fun. Don’t worry about being cool.”
Mason nodded, tapping his foot and grinning as his dad twirled her one more time past the band and around to the center of the floor. The music stopped and they stood for a moment, blurry and suspended among the now-crowded dance floor.
“Food’s here,” Cade said.
They turned and even though Ella didn’t have a brother, she had a feeling all sorts of things were passing from the oldest to the almost youngest.