Janet Evanovich - Love in a Nutshell

Matt smiled at his friend, who had as big a heart as he did a skinny body. When Matt had been a kid, he’d always mixed up Harley with the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz.

“I couldn’t do it without you. Any of it.” And Matt meant it. After Matt’s dad had booted him from the hardware store for an admittedly bad attitude, Harley had given him a job. He had also given Matt loans and advice when he’d opened the microbrewery. Matt had been mad at his dad at the time, but now he realized his dad had done it to help him spread his wings.

“Glad to help.” Harley stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled for Junior, who was flirting it up with a pair of pretty hot-looking beer pourers a couple of booths down.

Junior gave Harley a wave.

“Now if you don’ {ou 1em”;t mind, I’m gonna go grab Junior,” Harley said. “We need to check out that spread of fancy finger foods before we’re trapped behind the booth. I think I saw shrimp.”

Matt could have pointed out that the food was intended for the party guests, and not Harley and Junior, but his friend was among the ranks of old dogs who refused to be retrained.

After they’d taken off, Matt headed toward Kate, who was putting her finishing touches on the merchandise table. Just outside of Keene’s Harbor she’d lapsed into silence. He’d understood… or thought he had. She had a lot on her mind, and she was going to process it in whatever way worked best for her. It was nice to feel comfortable and relaxed with a woman, even in a mostly silent four-hour car ride. He’d just turned on the music and moved into his zone.

He looked down at Kate’s table. “How’s it going over here?”

“Almost done.” She was concentrating on adjusting a pile of T-shirts. “I’m using the ‘stack ’em high and watch them fly’ approach.”

“It’s your turf. Arrange it however you want. We should be getting our first takers in about half an hour.” He held out his hand. “Come on, let’s take a look around before the place opens for business.”

Kate surveyed the booths lining one of the two long aisles that had been set up in the cavernous building. “I had no idea there were so many microbrewers.”

“More every day,” Matt said. “But it’s like any other business. Right now, it’s surfing a high, but it will level out again in a couple of years. Only the best will be commercial concerns, and the others will go back to home brewing, if they really have a passion for it, or just move on to the next fad.”

The walk was a slow one. He’d been in the business long enough that he knew most of the exhibitors.

Between booths, Kate asked, “What are you, some kind of cult hero? I don’t think there’s a single person here who doesn’t know you or want to know you.”

“It’s not that big a deal. We don’t land under the same roof all that often, so when we do, we talk.”

Matt stared into the crowd of people in front of him and saw that Chet Orowski was heading his way. Matt already knew through the grapevine that Chet hadn’t been able to find any other investors.

Orowski stopped a couple feet in front of Matt, and Matt extended his hand in greeting, thinking this was as good a time as any to re-establish a cordial relationship. “Chet, it’s good to see you.”

Chet slapped Matt’s hand away and poked him in the chest. “Culhane, you’re a crook and a liar.”

Matt stood his ground, waiting for Chet to finish. “Do you really want to do this here?”

Chet’s {Che=”j face was flushed and his hands were fisted. “You bet I do.” His pupils danced around his eyes like Mexican jumping beans and his voice got louder. “If I’m going to go down, it’s going to be in a friggin’ blaze of glory. I’m gonna stand behind my booth and tell everyone who will listen what a bastard you are.”

Matt glanced out of the corner of his eye at the booths to his left. Yup, spectators were already lining up.

“And this is why you drove all the way from Traverse City and rented a booth in Royal Oak?”

If the guy was going to slander him, he could have done it in a much more cost-effective fashion, Matt thought. Chet really wasn’t much of a businessman.

“Yes. No. I also did it to look for a partner. Someone honest. Someone who follows through.” He glared at Kate. “Someone who doesn’t waste all his time chasing after tail.”

Kate stuffed her hands onto her hips, narrowed her eyes, and leaned into Chet’s personal space. “Excuse me?”

Matt clamped his hand on Chet’s shoulder. To everyone but Chet it would look like a friendly gesture. Only Chet needed to know that this was a subtle warning of what could follow if he didn’t tone it down.

“Now, Chet,” Matt said. “We’re all friends in this place, right?”

Chet went silent.

Matt made his warning marginally less subtle. “Right?”

Chet squirmed but Matt’s grip on him stayed firm.

“Right,” Chet gasped.

“And when we’re among friends, we want everyone to have a good time, don’t you think?”

Chet nodded enthusiastically, though Matt was pretty sure he’d spotted sweat popping out on the guy’s forehead.

“Kate, here, is one of my friends, which would make her one of your friends by extension. You don’t want to talk about a friend the way you just did about Kate, right?”

“Right.”

“So how about you apologize to Kate-and to me, if you feel like it-and then we all get on with what’s going to be a very good beer festival? After all, do good things and they come back to you.”

“I-” Chet cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

The words had been delivered without a helluva lot of sincerity, but Matt had no interest in pushing this scene a second longer than he had to. He released Chet’s shoulder, then held out his right hand again.

This time, Chet did as he should have to begin with. He shook Matt’s hand.

ȁ {sti did aC;No hard feelings,” Matt said. At least not on his side. He wasn’t going to speculate on Chet’s.

Kate had been called a lot of things in her life: stubborn, nosy, and even some less nice stuff by her ex. But never had she been called tail .

She glared over her shoulder at Chet as Matt led her away. In a perfect world, where she was all-powerful and could smite the bad guys at will, she’d still be back there giving Chet a new perspective on life.

Matt took her hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. “Don’t let him tick you off. He’s not worth it. Or if it would make you feel better, how about if later I lure him to the parking lot and you can give him a fat lip?”

Kate smiled in spite of herself. “I just might take you up on that.”

He laughed. “I guess I should consider my audience when I’m joking around.”

“I promise I won’t hold you to your offer,” she said. But she did hold his hand almost all the way back to the Depot booth, where she moved on to finish up her merchandise fluffing. And just in time, too.

Kate could time down to the second when cocktail hour was starting in Royal Oak’s bars by the flood of private tasting guests into Farmers’ Market. She saw plenty of familiar faces in the crowd. Back when she’d been at Detroit Monthly, s he’d always gone out with coworkers for cocktails. Richard had worked late every Friday. Or so he’d claimed.

As people streamed by, she exchanged waves and greetings with casual friends. It felt good to see them, and that scared emptiness she’d been anticipating never materialized. She was no ghost; she was a new and improved version of Kate.

She looked past the guys checking out the Depot baseball caps and locomotive bottle openers and on to Matt, who was giving one awesome beer spiel. He was smart and funny, and his crowd was eating it up. Except one person. The guy was busy playing with his BlackBerry in exactly the same way that had made her insane from the day he’d bought the thing.