“I think you’re right. I’ll let my graphics guy know. Maybe we’ll make you a special bottle.”
“Sorry?” Suddenly, she felt the heat of splotches spreading across her neck. What did Adam have to do with this beer? The whole time she was talking, was she giving opinions on a beer that he’d designed? She mentally scrambled to recall her exact words. What had she said to him? Thank God she hadn’t said it was terrible!
“I own Shockoe Brewery downtown. This is my beer,” he smiled.
He didn’t design the labels. He owned the whole thing! She was putting it together now. That explained all the beer in his garage. She’d seen an ad on a billboard for Shockoe Brewery on her way into Richmond. It had had a picture of the inside of the facility. It was massive, with a stainless steel brew kettle behind glass, and in the center, a fancy-looking restaurant. Getting a beer there would be a very different experience from the grocery store trips she’d made with her dad. As she looked at Adam, even though he was in a sweater and jeans, holding a beer in the dim evening light of his kitchen, she could see experience and intelligence radiating from him. He was different from anyone she’d ever known, but there was something about him that was so intriguing that she had to use all her self-control not to stare at him.
With a pair of potholders, he retrieved a steaming dish of lasagna from the top of a stainless steel double oven and set it down on the counter. “I thought you’d like something for supper, so I made this. Since my soufflé didn’t turn out, I may have some with you, if that’s all right.” He set a serving spoon onto the counter and slid it toward her.
“Sure,” she smiled. She stepped up beside him and picked up the spoon while he put two plates down next to her. The lasagna looked delicious, and having supper now was perfect timing as she could feel the rumble in her stomach from hunger. The steam rose into the air when she scooped out a serving and lumped it onto the first plate. She wondered if he’d cooked the lasagna himself. Carrie loved to cook. She didn’t have a lot of time to do it, but it was one of her most favorite things to do. When she was young, she experimented in her kitchen, and her mother would just shake her head at the mess of bowls and utensils that she’d piled into the sink. But her mom never got upset with Carrie. She’d even bought her cookbooks one year for her birthday. “Do you like to cook?” she asked.
“I do, although I don’t have a lot of time these days,” he said.
“I understand.” She took her plate and followed him over to the kitchen table. It was a long, rectangular table nearly as large as one meant for a dining room, but it was more casual, made of oak with straight lines and minimal details. She wondered if it was ever full of people or if it sat empty most nights. She lowered herself down and scooted her chair under the table. She was glad to sit because the table would hide her jitters.
He poured more beer, tipping her glass at a slant to reduce the amount of froth at the top. She watched the amber liquid slide past the rim and down the side of the glass until it was sparkling and fizzing. “Work has me busy around the clock.”
“Mine too,” she grinned.
There it was again—that little exhale of amusement just before a big, warm smile that sent her nerves into a frenzy. There was something undeniably kind about Adam, and she knew she should feel comfortable around him, but instead, she was a complete mess. Every time she tried to talk, she just said something silly or unimportant, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop being nervous around him. She looked out the substantial kitchen window at the snow falling outside. It drifted to the ground like feathers.
She didn’t have to consult her books to know why she was so nervous. It was because Adam looked only a few years older than her, and he had millions. He owned his own company. He’d married, had kids, and bought a home. Carrie had nothing material to show for her adult years, she’d never been married or even dated long-term. It made her feel like she wasn’t worth as much, like she’d made all the wrong choices in life. Being around someone that successful made Carrie feel as though she couldn’t possibly have the right answers for him or make interesting conversation.
“Tell me about your kids,” she said, trying to find familiar ground to which she could add and fill the silence.
He chewed a bite of his lasagna and swallowed. “What do you want to know?” he asked.
Carrie pushed her fork around her plate, scooping up a bite. “What are they like?”
“Well, David’s quiet, like me,” he smiled again, causing her stomach to knot up. “And Olivia’s the chatty one. She’ll talk to anybody.”