Once Upon a Flarey Tale by Kirsten Mortensen

Author:Kirsten Mortensen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kirsten Mortensen
Published: 2020-08-24T00:00:00+00:00

17

Things got really quiet at the brewery after our early-evening rush. And Upton actually left, so he must have been starting to trust me a little, and Josh wasn’t brewing that day, so I was all alone.

So as things wound down I cleaned up and texted Winchell, and then I locked the front door and flipped the sign over so the Closed side would face out, and then left through the back door and walked around and leaned against the base of the big sign in the parking lot, waiting for Winchell, and thinking about how I was going to get my revenge for everyone keeping it a secret from me that Fletcher owned the brewery.

I felt a little nauseous and unbuttoned my jeans to give my belly a little more space, which seemed to help a bit.

How could they not tell me Fletcher owned the brewery?

It was still a little light out, because the sun doesn’t set until 8:30 at night, in the summer, in Tibbs. The road blacktop was still warm enough that I could smell its bitter, oily smell and the air felt heavy and damp after being inside, in the air conditioning, and a mosquito found me and managed to bite the back of my leg before I noticed and swatted her. Which meant, great, another itch to bother me when I was trying to sleep, tonight.

Then finally, after what was a lot longer than it should have taken for Winchell to get from the dome to the brewery, which means he probably didn’t leave right away but farted around for a while, first, I heard his truck and then he pulled up next to me and I opened the passenger door.

“Dad!” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me Fletcher Beal owns the brewery?” And just like that my eyes were suddenly wet.

“Fletcher?” he answered.

Are you kidding me.

I blinked, hard. “Fletcher Beal,” I said. “He took me to... We used to date.”

“Never heard of the guy,” Winchell said. “I thought Upton Munster was the owner. Didn’t you date RB?”

Oh. My. God.

I threw my hands into the air, metaphorically speaking, and climbed into the car. “No, Upton Munster is not the owner,” I said. “He’s the manager. Fletcher Be—oh, never mind!”

Because obviously this was a fruitless conversation. Because not only had Winchell completely mixed up who owned the brewery, he’d completely mixed up Fletcher Beal with Royal Brinley Brown.

I looked out the passenger window the whole drive back and when he asked me something about how my day had gone, I said, “Hmm? Oh fine,” and he got the message, I suppose, because after that he left me alone.

And then we got to the dome, and to my chagrin, Candace’s car wasn’t there.

My revenge was going to have to wait.

I went to the camper and plugged in my phone and changed the water in the bud vase.

The rose had opened a bit more.

And where the heck had Winchell gotten the idea that roses were my favorite flower?

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