Hollywood on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 2)

He pulled out a sheaf of papers from the stack he carried. “I hit pay dirt in my office.”

She straightened in her seat. “What did you find?”

“The accident reports for the other incidents over the past two weeks.” A sheepish smile took over his normally taciturn expression. “They were at the bottom of the third pile I looked through.”

“Great.” She took the papers, careful to keep her fingers from brushing his—again. For her own self–preservation, she needed a safety bubble when it came to Sean O’Dell or she’d end up falling for him and that couldn’t happen. “Why don’t I check them out while you add who was around when each accident occurred into the chart.”

He picked up the blue pen and the notepad from the coffee table.

“Not that pen.” She grabbed his wrist and a warm tingling sensation danced across her skin, burning her in the best way. So much for her safety bubble. “Here.” She held out the green pen. “Use this one.” Her voice sounded off to her own ears.

“Why?”

“Because the blue one is for suspects only.” Surely he could see that, the logic was apparent. “Color coding allows you to take in information at only a glance. It’s very efficient.”

He raised an eyebrow and gave her the same look people on the subway gave to the guy wearing an aluminum hat and talking to his Hello Kitty watch.

She was about to launch into a mini–lecture about the many studies that had bee

n done on the subject when he dropped the blue pen and accepted the green one. She mentally did a happy dance. “Thanks.”

He gave her a questioning look. “For what?”

“For not making me feel weird.” About the reports, about her habits, about the beer, about pretty much everything that had most folks giving her the side eye.

“There’s plenty weird about you, but all in a good way.” He turned serious. “Point me in the direction of anyone who ever tells you different and I’ll knock sense into them.”

Unsure what to say when a flock of butterflies had taken flight in her stomach, she picked up the thick stack of accident reports, determined to get lost in the welcoming arms of data.

A half–hour later, she collapsed back against the cool leather of Sean’s couch. He relaxed beside her, his shoulder touching hers, the contact sending delightful shivers across her skin. His touch might—okay, did—distract her, but not enough to pull her completely away from the task at hand. Few things did. It was one of the things that had helped her become one of the top efficiency consultants in the country. She was always about the task at hand.

“Please tell me you’re seeing some overlap of employees in the chart because I have a big fat goose egg after going through the accident reports.”

Sean shook his head. “Some folks keep showing up, but we have a small staff, so it’s bound to happen.”

“Who do you have?” The answer was there, they just weren’t seeing it yet.

“Well, Billy was at the fermentation tank before it started leaking, but he just got ten stitches in the head from the nozzle valve switch.”

Billy was relatively new and still familiarizing himself with the ins and outs of the brewery. To say the goofy kid had a bad case of hero worship when it came to Sean was an understatement. Billy spent most of his time following the brewmaster around like a puppy dog hoping to hear “good boy” from its owner.

“I don’t buy it,” she said. “Who else?”

“Hailey, but she’s been with the brewery long before I ever got there, and your Uncle Julian always seemed to trust her more than anyone else.”

Plus she understood the value of color coding. That was always a mark in favor in Natalie’s world. “It has to be someone.”

‘‘What if it’s someone who used to work at the brewery?” he asked.

“Like Carl?” Just mentioning the former brewmaster’s name pissed her off. “He’s still in the county lockup. His wife can’t make bail.”

Sean snorted. “More like his wife’s family can’t make bail.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a Peterson. Her parents own a big chunk of Salvation County.”

“You don’t think she asked for their help?” Natalie asked.