He winked. “Don’t worry, I’d bail you out.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m glad to know you wouldn’t let me rot in jail.”
“Never. You’ve got me. Anytime you need me.”
She smiled.
Hayes looked at his boots on the rocks lining the firepit. Even if Maisie knew he missed being a cop, she couldn’t know why he would never go back. He couldn’t stand the heartbreak that would fill her eyes when she found out Laurel hadn’t died because they’d been robbed. He couldn’t hurt Maisie like that, not after she finally seemed happy again. She smiled all the time like she used to. She laughed just as much. But most of all, Hayes needed her. “How’s that finger?” he asked, changing the subject.
She blinked and looked down at her finger, stuck between the metal brace and tape. “It’s a reminder that I really suck at this whole brewery thing.”
“Accidents happen,” he offered. “Nothin’ you can do about that.”
She lifted her stare to him again and gave a cute smile. “Funny you should mention that, because there is actually something I can do about it. And that something involves you.”
“Me? How?”
“Yup, you,” she said with a nod. “Penelope sort of mentioned that you had some time off. So, I’ve got a mega favor to ask, and please don’t say no.” She pressed her palms together as if she were praying, holding them tightly to her chest. “Clara already tried to fire me, but she’s agreed to give me one more shot. I’ve got three beer festivals to do over the next four days, starting tomorrow.”
“All right,” he said. “But how does this involve me?”
She grinned. “Because I need muscles. Big, strong muscles.”
He couldn’t fight his smile and arched an eyebrow at her. “Are you inflating my ego to get me to agree to go to these festivals with you?”
“Is it working?”
He chuckled, shaking his head at her. Yeah, it kind of was. “What exactly would you need me to do?”
“Oh, good,” she said, bouncing in her seat. “Okay, so you’d help set up the booth and take it down at the end of the night.” She waved her broken finger at him. “Let’s be honest here, I struggled
setting up before. I’m clumsy on a good day. And now with a broken finger, there’s just no way I can pull this off by myself.” She gave him puppy-dog eyes. “So…what do you say?”
He took in those sweet eyes. That desperation on her face. The way both of those things ruined him. “Does anyone ever say no to you?”
She gave a firm nod. “Yes, Clara does all the time.”
He wasn’t sure how. Hayes couldn’t find the strength to refuse her anything. He sighed. “When do we leave?”
She squealed, jumped up from her chair, and threw her arms around him, bringing her soft curves against him like they belonged there. Heat blasted through him, making him fully aware of every spectacular inch of her body. Her coconut-scented shampoo infused the air, and he restrained his groan at the soft press of her breasts against his chest, of how damn good she felt there.
When she backed away, he noted there was heat in her eyes too. “Come to the brewery tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, we’ll leave from there,” she said.
“All right.” He forced his attention onto her face, instead of letting his gaze sweep over her as he so desperately wanted. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“Bye.” She turned, and he could have sworn she put an extra wiggle to her hips.
The groan he’d been fighting slipped free, and he immediately stood, heading for the house to deal with what she did to him.
4
“Sweet home Alabama, where the skies are so blue,” Maisie sang to the music blasting through the speakers the next morning. She sat next to Hayes in his big-ass loud truck, while he drove down the sunbaked road, looking like some hunk out of a country music video. She’d offered to drive the brewery’s truck but got a flat no. He hooked his truck up to the trailer with the THREE CHICKS BREWERY logo written on the side and off they went to their first stop, Fort Collins. He’d rolled down the windows almost immediately, forgoing the air conditioning on the blistering hot day, so she stuck her feet out the window, the sun warming her toes. “Sweet home Alabama. Lord, I’m coming home—hey!” She shot Hayes a glare when he turned the volume down. “I love that song. Turn it back up.”
Hayes put his cowboy hat on the dash. “Sorry to tell you this, but we’re nearly at the festival.” He glanced sidelong at her, arching a brow before turning his attention back onto the road. “It might be useful to stop singing and talk about what’s ahead of us tonight.”
She shuddered, invisible creepy crawlers rushing across her skin. “Ew, you sound like Clara. Take that back right now.”
His loud laugh filled the cab of the truck. “The fault of that lies on your shoulders. You’ve brought me into this. Now I can’t fail, or I’ll have to face your sister’s wrath.”