“You know I’m an open book, Mom,” Jack said, but something in his voice made Tara shoot him a look.

Was he hiding something, too? She tried to catch his eyes, but he wrapped a black apron around his waist and walked out to the bar. After pondering the possibility for a moment, Tara let it drop. She had too much going on in her confused mess of a brain right now to pursue a conspiracy theory against her sweet older brother.

The after-work crowd steadily filled the pub with chatter and laughter, and Tara smiled with the satisfaction. The brewery was booming, and if she had anything to do about it, it would only grow more. The seasonal brews they’d introduced were being well received, and more craft-beer aficionados were taking notice of Weldon Brewery. Slowly but surely, they would leave their mark with the quality of their brews.

Her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket, but she stubbornly ignored it. The pub was too busy for her to be distracted. Besides, she had a feeling she knew who it was, and he would be the biggest distraction. She’d already spent half the afternoon driving herself nuts with questions about what was happening between them. But every time she saw anything close to an answer forming in her mind, she shied away from it. The morning on the hill had felt as though it was more than a casual nondate. Something had changed between them. It was lust. Their desire for each other had reached another level. Like nuclear level. That had to be it.

“Hello, gorgeous.” An unfamiliar man approached her at the bar with a slimy smirk that begged to be punched off his face. He appeared to be in his early twenties, brimming with the false confidence that came from the misguided belief that he was invincible. Oh, the follies of youth.

She caught her brother’s eyes at the other end of the bar. His face was set in stone, which she recognized as the calm before the storm, but when she gave him a subtle shake of her head, he reluctantly turned his back to her with a frustrated huff. Her brothers and she had an agreement. They weren’t allowed to interfere unless she was in physical danger. She couldn’t have them bodily throw out every customer who hit on her. It was easier for her to handle things without the complications of testosterone overload.

“What can I get for you?” she asked with polite indifference.

“You can start by giving me your number.” He thought he was oh so clever.

“My number’s not on the menu.” She pointed helpfully to the chalkboard menu above her head. “Why don’t you try again?”

The guy’s cocky front crumbled a little, but he pulled himself together for a second try. “Playing hard to get? Not a problem. I’m a patient man.”

“A man. Right. Just to be sure, may I see your driver’s license? You look a bit young to be sitting at the bar.”