The Man Behind the Mask

Simon stayed at the fence watching her walk away. Talk about dodging a bullet. He should be flooded with relief right now. Why then, did he have this overwhelming desire to chase after her before she closed the rooftop door?

Unable to come up with an answer, he headed back to the only place that, while not promising answers, at least offered peace—the pool. Clearly, he needed a few more laps as everything hadn’t been left behind in the water.

* * *

“Most of our facilities have switched to brewing our fall varieties, but we’re still brewing summer ales here in Boston. For the tourists.”

Josh flashed them a grin. “Hope it’s not too early for you folks to try some samples.”

“Why not? It’s five o’clock somewhere, isn’t it?” Simon replied.

“Ha.” Josh clapped him on the shoulder. “You just named one of this season’s flavors.”

Delilah watched as Simon stiffened under the younger Bartlett’s touch and told herself she didn’t care. Simon had made his position very clear this morning. Last night was a mistake. Make that an unfortunate mistake. Mustn’t forget the adjective, in case she harbored any delusions their interactions meant anything more. Which she couldn’t, since Simon had also made it clear that he wanted to start fresh. As far as he was concerned, whatever last night was—drunken mistake, surreal dream, pick a term—it never happened.

Fine. She shot her boss a polite smile when he glanced in her direction. If Simon wanted to file yesterday away, never to be mentioned again, let him. She could pretend nothing was wrong with the best of them. After all, she’d been doing so for the last four years, right? Hell, she’d been doing it since she was a teenager.

Pretending would be a lot easier though if she didn’t have to spend the next two days in Simon’s company. This morning had been awful enough, being forced to put on an unaffected face while he stood there, his body wet and shining in the sunlight. Racing bathing suits left little to the imagination, and although they spent the entire conversation inches apart, she’d still been able to feel the moisture wicking off his warm body. He’d smelled of chlorine, the chemical scent making it impossible to chase the image away even after turning to the Boston skyline. Dear Lord, but he had looked beautiful.

How on earth was she supposed to spend another forty-eight hours with the man when a simple mental image made her weak in the knees?

Two words. Unfortunate mistake.

For goodness’ sake, the event shouldn’t be that hard to shake. Wasn’t like time stood still or she felt sparks when he touched her hand or anything like that. Once you got past the pull of those deep blue eyes, and the heart wrenching disquiet he seemed to wear around him like a shroud, it was just another touch.

Back in the present, Josh was telling the history of Bartlett brewing. At one particular point, he touched Simon’s shoulder and she saw her boss stiffen again. If she cared, she’d warn Josh about her boss’s need for personal space. Then again, she never truly understood Simon’s issue with closeness. Especially since he seemed fine with initiating contact himself.

There was a lot she didn’t understand about the man, wasn’t there?

“...gallons,” Josh finished.

Since he was looking straight at her, she assumed he wanted a comment. “That’s a lot of beer,” she replied.

Josh grinned. “Actually, we’re still in the mash stage so we’re still talking grain plus liquid, but either way, we’re still talking a sizeable amount of ale.”

He beamed with such pride, Delilah had to beam back. “This is the smallest of our brewery locations. It’s active mostly for tours and stuff. Hard to believe the original Bartlett used to make his beer in a room at the back of his house.”

“Bet the original Mrs. Bartlett was thrilled.”

“The first in a long line of tolerant beer widows.” Josh grinned again. He did an awful lot of smiling, Delilah noticed, often in her direction. She was beginning to suspect the younger Bartlett found her attractive. After this morning’s rejection, the thought was a stroke to her ego, to be sure. If only his smile made her stomach flip-flop the way Simon’s did.

“From here, we pump the mash into the brew kettle.”

They passed under an archway into another large room with different metal tanks. A bitter aroma clung to the air. “This is where we add the hops.”

He motioned for them to step closer to get a better view. As she bent over to read one of the nearby informational plaques, Delilah felt a hand brush the small of her back. The shiver passing down her spine told her the touch didn’t belong to her guide. Sure enough, Simon had joined her side.

“The mixture stays here for...whoops, hold on.” Josh’s cell phone stopped him midsentence. Delilah took advantage of the reprieve to put some distance between her and Simon by pretending to study the other tanks.

“I didn’t know you had such a keen interest in beer brewing,” Simon said in a low voice.

His breath tickled the back of her neck, the sensation sending goose bumps across her skin. “You’re the one who suggested I find common ground, remember? Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. I appreciate the effort.”

“It’s hardly an effort. Josh is an excellent tour guide.”

“Yes, he definitely seems to be working the charm this morning, doesn’t he?”

“What was that supposed to mean?” she asked, giving in and looking at him.

“Nothing. Only that he’s being very charming.”

What did she expect he’d say? It means I don’t want you interested in anyone but me, Delilah? Nothing was ever going to happen between the two of them. Unfortunate mistake, remember? High time she got over him.

Josh returned, cutting short their conversation. “Sorry to break away,” he said. “That was Dad. He’s waiting for us in the sample room.”

The “sample room” as Josh called it, was a rustically decorated cafeteria filled with long tables and chairs. There was a long wooden bar along the rear wall, behind which was a line of faux wooden kegs with taps. “Most of our guests consider this room the highlight of the tour,” Josh said, ducking behind the bar. “They aren’t nearly as interested in making beer as they are in drinking a glass.”