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Chapter Text

Preface

Congratulations! If you’re holding this book, you have already taken the first step toward building your craft cider business.

Everyone has read the statistics: 50% of small businesses fail within their first five years and we won’t sugar coat it: starting a business from scratch is not for the faint of heart.

For people who are passionate about their craft, there will be long days and sleepless nights. You will need to show up with that rare combination of tenacity, optimism, skill, and discipline. You will have to be a graphic designer, a salesperson, a delivery driver, a mad scientist, a boss, a customer service representative, a line cook, a bookkeeper, and a social media guru all within the same day. You will give everything you have, and then you’ll have to give a little bit more.

This book will give you a step-by-step roadmap to make a fantastic cider and to build the kind of business that will support it. Cultivating a brand that customers love is just as important as making a quality product. Great marketing can only go so far to overcome a bad cider, and conversely, even the best cider producers in the world will go out of business if they don’t connect with their customers.

For your business to succeed, the product and the brand must go hand-in-hand. They are a symbiotic pair, a yin and yang, always at odds yet completely dependent. You must find a balance between the two sides that often operate on opposite ends of the spectrum. It requires respect and humility, a constant give and take, an understanding that one cannot succeed without the other.

But when you hit that perfect blend? There’s no limit to what you can achieve.

Chapter One: The People

Though we spent most of the prologue outlining the importance of finding the perfect balance between the product and the brand, we would be remiss if we didn’t begin this book by talking about the people. Whether you’re the CEO, a production manager, or a part-time bartender, having the right people in the right positions is fundamental to any successful business. The founder of the company may not be the best CEO. The person with the most technical knowledge may be the worst businessperson on your team. Find a way to maximize everyone’s strengths and your business will benefit.

“Alright, not to sound dramatic, but we’re fucked.” Elle fell heavily into the cheap plastic folding chair at the head of the rickety, stained table.

Darcy folded their arms stubbornly across their chest. “I wouldn’t go that far, and yes, you sound very dramatic.”

“I’m not just talking about the taproom, Darce. I’m talking about the entire company.” The metal legs of Elle’s folding chair scraped against the concrete floors when she scooted back.

“I just don’t get how it can be that bad,” Charlie frowned, chewing on the tip of his pen. “We’re selling more cider than we ever have, and the quality of this year’s batch is better than it’s ever been. ”

Elle waved her hands around wildly, pacing the room. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: It’s no one’s fault. It isn’t a matter of effort, or passion, or hope; it’s a matter of dollars and cents. We just aren’t making enough money to cover our expenses.”

Darcy shook their head. “No offense, but you’ve been saying this for months. You told me to add more sandwiches to the menu and I did. You told me to host more events, and now we have Drag Bingo and trivia every month. I can’t just conjure people from the mist!”

“I’m not asking you to –”

“Guys, Elle’s right.” Everyone turned to face Isaac, who sat calmly at the other end of the table. “The only reason Appelle has been able to keep the doors open this long is because no one except Charlie is getting paid anywhere near what they deserve.”

Charlie’s jaw dropped. “Well excuse me for being the only one without another job or a partner to subsidize my life. I didn’t realize that was a prerequisite to pursuing my passions. And I would like to state for the record that I could be making so much more at some other place. I’m positive Darcy takes more home in tips than I get in my paycheck.”

“If you want to cut off the tip of your thumb with a commercial meat slicer or deal with PJ and Carla for two hours every fucking afternoon, by all means, be my guest,” Darcy screeched.

Charlie slammed his hands on the table. “Sorry, I’m too busy burning my lungs with caustic fumes and working 65 hours a week for that, but please tell me more about how hard it is to talk to people for a living.”

“WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP!” Elle roared. With her wild mane of tight curls and death stare, she looked exactly like a fierce lioness. The room fell into a tense silence. She glared at each person one by one. “I’ve been saying it forever because it’s been bad forever. We’re at the point where we’re literally going to have to close our doors within six months if something doesn’t change.”

Charlie dropped his head into his hands, visions of back-breaking hours spent scrubbing the floors until they were spotless, the innumerable nights curled up on the dusty couch tucked into the corner of the warehouse, the years of apprenticeships and education and sensory training, and for what? Just to roll over and admit defeat like every other business that couldn’t hack it? That couldn’t be the way this chapter of his life ended.

“I don’t understand what isn’t working.” Darcy sounded pained when they spoke, eyes red-rimmed.

Elle’s gaze softened. She sighed and perched on the edge of the table. “Me neither, Darce. If I knew, I would’ve tried to fix it already. Charlie, your cider is fantastic; everyone who tries it says it’s the best they’ve ever had. Darcy, you’ve turned the taproom into a fun and vibrant safe space for so many. And Isaac, I know you’re only here part-time, but if you hadn’t been doing the books for us, Appelle would’ve gone out of business ages ago.” She shook her head sadly, hands folded in her lap. “The only thing left is…me. I’m supposed to be the CEO, the person who casts a vision and leads us from one stage to another, and I feel like I’ve just been failing across the board.”

Darcy leapt up from their chair and pulled Elle into a hug. “Oh, Elle, no, you’re doing such a good job! It’s just hard in this environment.”

“Yeah,” Charlie echoed, crossing the room to join their embrace. “Like you said, it’s no one’s fault.”

Isaac closed his laptop and folded his hands on top. “Elle, you should tell them about your solution.”

Elle sniffed and rubbed at her eyes. “Yeah, okay.” She gave Darcy and Charlie one last squeeze and then slid out of their embrace. “So. I have a plan I’ve been working on for a few weeks.”

“There’s our fearless leader.” Charlie returned to his seat and opened up his notebook. “What do we do next, boss? How do we turn this around?”

“Well, this will probably come as a surprise, but I’ve hired a consultant.”

Charlie dropped his pen to his paper. “With what money?”

Elle bit her lip and averted her gaze.

“Elle is forgoing her salary for three months to cover their fee,” Isaac explained.

Darcy was already shaking their head. “Elle, seriously, we don’t need some random finance bro to charge us thousands of dollars just to tell us to post more often on Instagram or add more plants in our taproom or some shit like that.”

“I promise they’re not finance bros, Darcy; I’m just as allergic to those as the rest of us are. Apparently they’re really good. They’re going to help us identify what’s working and what isn’t and improve our business model so our company is sustainable.”

“My cider is off limits.” Charlie folded his arms across his chest defiantly. The production space was his domain. Even Elle asked permission before she walked onto the floor, and she owned the entire thing. There was no way in hell Charlie was going to risk contaminating thousands of gallons of high-end, quality cider by letting some random strangers poke their noses in places where they didn’t belong.

“I don’t remember asking you for permission,” Elle said coolly.

“What?! Elle! Come on. My cider is literally the foundation of this company! They probably drink Angry Orchard! Or, even worse, White Claw!”

“Hey –” Isaac said, deeply offended.

“Whoa –” Darcy held their hands up in shock.

“How dare you!” Elle seethed. “Put a dollar in the jar.”

“Ugh, fucking White Claw,” Charlie grumbled, tossing two dollars in the White Claw jar tucked behind a stack of papers on Elle’s desk.

“I signed a contract two weeks ago with Nelson Verma Consulting,” Elle continued.

“What a stupid fucking name; I can’t believe they haven’t closed yet,” Charlie interrupted.

Elle whirled around. “You are on thin ice. Need I remind you that if we go out of business, you’re out of a job?”

Charlie clenched his jaw and harrumphed back into his seat.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I’ve already been working behind the scenes with NVC. I sent them our financial statements and tax records, and as far as I understand, they’ve been doing a deep dive through our website and socials to get a sense of our company. They’re coming in tomorrow to present their preliminary findings. They’ll be here a few days every week for six weeks. Depending on their recommendations, they may bring other members of their team in to work with us, so be prepared to meet some new faces. They’ve requested full access to every department and I’ve ensured them that I have a capable, friendly, and professional team who will bend over backwards to give them anything they request.”

Each person in the room withered under Elle’s steely gaze. When she was satisfied that everyone was on the same page, she slumped back into her seat and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, no one wants to be in this position less than I do, trust me. Mine and Tao’s entire life savings is in this company, and I will never be able to repay you for the personal and professional risks you’ve each taken to bring my dream to life. I hope you believe that I wouldn’t go to these lengths if it wasn’t truly necessary. But now that it’s decided, we have to do everything in our power to turn this around. I don’t know what they’ll find; they could tell us that I’m the problem or that we’re in a bad location or that our logo isn’t working. But I’ll be damned if this company, the business we’ve built together over the last two years, dies because of our egos. Can you all promise me that, even if you don’t like it, you’ll do what it takes to fix it?”

Isaac nodded seriously. “Absolutely.”

“Yes ma’am.” Darcy saluted with a mix of sincerity and sarcasm.

Everyone turned to face Charlie. He pressed his fingertips into his temples and closed his eyes. The only thing that made him willing to agree was his firm belief that no one— no one— made cider as good as his. There was a 0% chance that he was the problem. “Alright, fine.”

Charlie dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and bent to untie his shoes. He’d forgotten to bring his spare pair that morning, which meant he had to drive home in wet work boots. He peeled his wool socks off of his feet and shuddered at the sight of his water-wrinkled toes.

“Isaac? Almost ready?” he called into the quiet apartment.

A disembodied voice responded from the back corner. “Yep, just waiting for you.”

“Okay, let me change real quick.”

Charlie shuffled into his bedroom and tossed his soggy jeans into his laundry basket. The overall dampness of his job was probably his least favorite part, but no matter how you sliced it, running industrial hoses and crawling under fermentation tanks every day was going to result in wet jeans. It was a hazard of the job.

Once he was dry, he and Isaac made the short journey down the hall to Tao and Elle’s apartment. They walked in without knocking and were instantly enveloped in the comforting smells of Elle’s cooking: fried onions and minced garlic and toasted cinnamon and freshly-ground cumin. Charlie’s stomach grumbled.

“Hey guys,” Tao said glumly from the couch. “Elle told me it was a rough day.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Charlie agreed, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Isaac found his way to his favorite armchair and sunk into it. “How’s Elle been?”

Tao looked over his shoulder into the kitchen, concern clouding his eyes. “Oh, you know Elle. Trying to look on the bright side. She had been really stressed about telling you all how bad it’s been, so I think she’s glad that part is over at least.”

Guilt twisted in Charlie’s stomach when he remembered how poorly he’d responded to Elle’s news that morning. After their meeting, he had gotten lost in his usual rhythms in the production space: taking measurements, sampling and sniffing and swirling, adjusting pectin levels and carefully monitoring residual sugar. By the afternoon, when he transitioned from making cider to running cleaning cycles and sanitizing kegs, his outlook on Elle’s plan had vastly improved. He certainly didn’t want to lose his job at Appelle; the last time he lost a job he loved, picking up the broken pieces of his life had nearly killed him. At least this time there was a warning, the chance to course-correct before it was too late. Maybe Elle was right and an objective set of eyes was what they needed to turn things around.

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Charlie announced, heading toward the kitchen.

Elle’s back was to him, her hair wrapped in a scarf and piled messily on top of her head, apron strings hanging loosely down her back. She hummed to herself and stirred something in a big pot on the stove.

Charlie walked over and bumped his shoulder into hers. “Hey boss.”

Her smile was warm and wide as she bumped him back. “We're off the clock, Charlie.”

“It smells amazing in here, what are you making?”

“Just lentils and rice tonight. I didn’t have the energy for much else.”

Charlie leaned his hip against the stove and turned to face her. “You know we can always pause for a week, right? Or just move things to our place if you need a break? Isaac and I can cook.”

Elle raised an eyebrow and paused her stirring. “What kind of boss would I be if I let you spend an entire day scrubbing floor drains and then asked you to make me dinner afterwards? Plus, I like hosting. It’s one of the only traditions that hasn’t disappeared since we opened Appelle. I just wish I had more time to make it special like we used to.”

A small smile formed on Charlie’s mouth at the memory of their Monday dinners in the Before Times: bottles of wine and complicated board games, elaborate meals and meandering conversations. The idea for Appelle had been conceived during one of those dinners. They’d pored over Pinterest boards and shared lofty visions about ‘cultivating an inclusive space’ and ‘balancing the art and science of craft cidermaking’, written business plans with greasy fingers and imagined a future so bright they had been blinded by it.

Now, even though the meals were simpler and the conversations subdued, their weekly gathering felt more like a lifeline, a necessity, something that kept them tethered to each other. It reminded them of who they were outside of work, that they had a past and would have a future, and that no matter what direction life took them in, they’d spend it together.

Charlie squeezed Elle’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry for being such a jerk earlier.”

Elle started stirring again. When she looked at Charlie, her eyes were bright with tears. “It’s okay. And I’m sorry for getting us into this situation in the first place. I just…this is the only way I can figure out how to get us out.”

Charlie wrapped his arm around Elle’s waist and rested his head against her shoulder. “I know it’s hard, and I know things are tough right now. We’re both stressed out and working long hours. There are sleepless nights, and my feet are always wet and my back is always sore…”

Elle elbowed Charlie in his ribs, starting to giggle. “Is there a ‘but’ coming or are you just going to keep listing out your complaints?”

“I love my job, Elle,” Charlie said sincerely. “I love making cider. I love working for you. You’re a great boss and an even better friend, and no matter what these consultants uncover, whether we have to close the doors or they actually do figure out a way to make this work, I’ll never find a job that I’m as passionate about, that makes me want to go through all the tough parts because of how much I love the good parts. And you are a good part. We just have to get through this.”

A tear rolled down Elle’s cheek and fell into the lentils. She clapped her hands over her mouth as Charlie gasped. They faced each other, wide-eyed. “Shh, don’t tell Tao,” she hissed, stirring the lentils with renewed vigor. “He’ll go on some stupid rant about bodily fluids in his dinner even though we’ve exchanged plenty of them throughout the course of our marriage.”

“The particulars of Tao’s germaphobia will never make sense to me. Plus, he’s not the one whose literal job requires keeping germs out of a consumable product.” Charlie reached over and turned the burner up to 7.

“If we’ve got one thing going for us, it’s that. No one has ever died from drinking our cider.”

Charlie threw his head back and laughed. “It’s a low bar, but a very important one. I’ll make sure to tell those consultants that tomorrow morning: We may be failing, but have you considered that no one has died by our hands?”

Elle covered her mouth and snickered. “Why yes, Mr. Business Strategist Man, I did give up my salary for you to tell me how shitty I am at my job, but did you know that three quarters of my management team have never taken a paycheck?”

Charlie covered his face with his hands and dissolved into giggles. “God, how did we get ourselves into this mess?”

Elle bumped Charlie with her hip. “I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else but you.”

Charlie and Isaac shuffled back to their apartment, full-bellied and wine-fuzzed. They waved sleepily at each other before disappearing into their own bedrooms.

Charlie fell into his bed, already knowing he’d regret not brushing his teeth or washing his face in the morning but not having the wherewithal to do anything about it. He expected to drift off to sleep the second his head hit the pillow, but instead, loose fragments and conversation snippets swirled around his brain, beginnings of ideas that he wasn’t quite awake enough to grasp before they evaporated.

After tossing and turning for half an hour, vacillating between being too warm under his comforter but too cold with just the sheets, Charlie gave up on trying to distract himself from the obvious problem: he was worried. Deeply, profoundly worried.

It wasn’t just the prospect of losing a job or being temporarily unemployed; Charlie had met enough serial entrepreneurs to know that closing a business was rarely the failure people assumed it to be. It would be a setback, but none of them would end up begging on street corners or getting laughed out of town.

No, what concerned Charlie was what closing Appelle’s doors would represent for his friends. For Tao and Elle, Appelle’s success was directly linked to their adoption dreams. For Darcy, who had spent years bouncing from one dead-end retail job to another, Appelle was the first place they had ever been able to show up as themselves, as chaotic, hyperactive, and determined as they were. Creating the safe space in their taproom had renewed them, given them a passion and a purpose that was so much bigger than a paycheck.

And then, well. There was Charlie himself.

Objectively, he made fantastic cider. There was an entire wall full of medals proudly displayed in the taproom that proved it. Hell, Appelle shuttering its doors would probably set off a regional bidding war for the chance to employ him. He’d land somewhere with a bigger salary, better equipment, and more support than he’d ever dared dream.

But those promises would pale in comparison to what Appelle had given him over the years. What started as a quirky cidermaking hobby became a passion with Elle’s encouragement, and the second she suggested they could do more with it, it became a shared obsession: it filled his sleepless nights with starry-eyed dreams and quieted his intrusive thoughts. It was the lifeline that pulled him out of his lowest-low depths and an anchor when he was unmoored. Appelle was Charlie’s wake-up call, his catalyst, his identity.

Charlie reached across the bed to grab his phone from the side table. He scanned the email outlining Elle’s expectations for the consultant’s visit the next morning and within minutes, he was scrolling through Nelson Verma Consulting’s website. It was pretty impressive, actually; crisply corporate with engaging visuals, effective design and glowing pull-quote testimonials.

He clicked on the ‘About Us’ page, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline when he came face to face with who he assumed to be the men the company was named after, back-to-back, steely-eyed, folded arms. Despite their 80s bus stop insurance-salesman pose, Charlie couldn’t deny that the one on the left was exactly his type: broad shoulders and swelling biceps, pursed pink lips and piercing gaze.

“Oh fuck me,” he whispered, zooming in to get a closer look and unconsciously licking his lips. This might literally be the only person in the world who could convince Charlie to abandon his sky-high quality standards mid-cleaning cycle with a suggestive wink and a nod toward the storage closet. He looked like he could crush an apple in between his thighs and carry a keg from the walk-in cooler to the taproom without breaking a sweat.

Charlie suddenly felt much more optimistic about the next few weeks.

His brain stuttered back to life when he scrolled away from the picture and started to read through their bios. He quickly sussed out that Nicholas Nelson was the square-jawed, sandy-haired dreamboat, while Sai Verma was the smaller man whose expensive glasses and well-tailored suit couldn’t quite conceal the impish look dancing in his eyes.

Sai Verma, CPA – Sai Verma fully embraces his life motto of “Carpe Diem”. Born to immigrant parents whose small business supported him through college, Sai has a soft spot for emerging business leaders and companies who prioritize their passons and profits equally. When he’s not at work, you can find him coaching the robotics team at his former high school or eating way more tandoori chicken than appropriate for a man of his size.

Charlie gave an impressed nod. Small business focus, community-minded, great choice of comfort food. Check, check, check. “Alright, Sai, I see you.”

Charlie continued on, eager to see if Nick’s bio was equally as impressive.

Nicholas Nelson, MBA – Nicholas “Nick” Nelson brings passion, focus, and drive to his clients. With a focus on core values and C-Suite alignment, Nick’s the man for the job when companies find themselves navigating key decisions. Nick’s leadership experience began when he became the youngest captain in the storied history of the Hopkins University rugby team, leading them toward an historic run to the national championship during his second year. Outside of work, Nick enjoys perfecting his golf swing and sampling quality whiskey.

Charlie wrinkled his nose. That bio sounded like it was plucked straight from the pages of Alpha Males 101. “That’s a damn shame, Nick. We could’ve had a beautiful future.”

He clicked on the Instagram icon at the bottom of the website, scrolling quickly through the feed filled with inspirational quotes and obviously posed ‘candid’ images. There were a few other people added into the mix along with Nick and Sai - a blond-haired blue-eyed woman here, lanky crew-cut there, power suits and pencil skirts and perfectly arched eyebrows.

Charlie scrolled back to the top and was surprised to find links to Nick and Sai’s personal pages. Interesting move. As a rule, Charlie never appeared on Appelle’s socials, but even if he didn’t have a good reason for it, he would still never link his personal account to his work account.

“Let’s see what Nick Nelson does for fun.” He clicked on Nick’s name and was redirected to an Instagram feed. Charlie’s eyebrows rose when he saw the number of likes displayed on the bottom corner. “Four hundred?” He scrambled to a seat against the headboard and grabbed his reading glasses. “Two thousand?” What the hell, what could a business-jargon spewing protein-shake drinking cliche like Nick possibly say that would inspire thousands of people to watch his posts?

Charlie hit play on the video and sucked in a surprised breath when Nick’s naked torso filled the frame, freckle-splattered and sun kissed. Well, that would explain the likes. His abs were so defined that actual shadows formed in the valleys between them. With forearms like that, he could carry two kegs at a time.

“Hey guys, I’m out here on Windmill Lake and I just had to show you this incredible view.”

Nick turned the camera and panned over the sparkling water, pink-gold ripples and purple, snow capped mountains dotting the horizon. His beaming face (and perfectly sculpted shoulders, Charlie’s lizard brain helpfully supplied) filled the screen again. “Anyway, my buddy dared me to do a cold plunge, so as soon as I slam back this Black Cherry White Claw, I’m going in!”

“Oh fuck, ew ew ew!” Charlie tossed his phone onto the bed like it was a wriggling snake. He clutched his chest as his heart rate slowly came down, which always took a while after being jump-scared by White Claw, especially the Black Cherry version. They didn’t even use real cherries, for fuck's sake! This man’s taste must’ve come straight from the pages of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. God, he probably popped his collar and wore baby pink shorts with tiny embroidered whales on them. He probably wore sockless loafers on his days off. Charlie’s earlier lusty thoughts were promptly replaced with disgust.

He plugged his phone back in and laid down in his bed. Nick might be stupidly hot, but he was apparently also stupidly stupid. Hopefully Sai could bring something interesting to the table, because god knows, Appelle would fail spectacularly in someone like Nick’s hands.

Charlie let out a deep sigh and pulled the cover over his shoulders. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Elle.”

Chapter Text

The Brand

One of the best ways to distinguish yourself from your competitors is through your brand. Aesthetic choices like colors, fonts, and logos will attract different types of customers. Do you make high end, sophisticated ciders or do you make vibrant, playful ciders that pack a punch? Even the most niche businesses can find their die-hard fans if they tell their story well. 

Charlie grabbed his travel mug from the cupholder and slid his bag over his shoulder. He nudged the car door shut and cut a diagonal line across the vacant parking lot, gravel crunching and keys clutched. It was quiet; the eerie kind that made him keenly aware of his peripheral vision, the kind that made him subconsciously count his steps. The fact that it was always deserted, every time, didn’t give him any comfort. With a quick glance behind him, Charlie unlocked the door and slipped inside. He let out a relieved sigh and then punched in his key code to disarm the security system. 

There were legitimate reasons for Charlie’s jangling nerves. Opening Appelle on the corner of South and 7th Street had been called a ‘hopeful act’ by the gracious, raised eyebrows of the cynical, and inspired the journalists of the city to overuse the word ‘trailblazers’. Burned-out street lamps and shadowy corners were filled with lurking figures by Charlie’s overactive imagination.

Of course, he made that dark, solitary walk twice a day. The difference about this particular journey was that Charlie’s mind was already buzzing with anxiety about the meeting with Nelson Verma Consulting. His interest in Nick had careened so wildly from ‘yes please’ to ‘not with a ten foot pole’ that his neck still ached with whiplash, but what remained static was the heavy dread that pooled at the bottom of his stomach when he tried to imagine what recommendations NVC would make based on their initial assessment. 

He set his bag on his desk and began his morning rounds, switching on lights and peering at the tiny temperature gauges attached to each tank to make sure nothing unexpected had happened overnight. His anxiety settled as he worked. There was something soothing about the steady hiss of carbon dioxide and his echoing footsteps; the low, mechanical hum of the walk-in cooler and heavy metal doors that separated him from the outside world. 

As Charlie filled the fermentation tank with scalding water and carefully poured in the caustic, he tried to imagine what NVC could have possibly discovered from trawling Appelle’s Yelp page and TikTok account. Like any business-owner worth her salt, Elle read their reviews religiously, sharing feedback with Charlie in their weekly one-on-ones. Even though it gave his friends yet another reason to tease him about being thin-skinned and pretentious, Charlie was certain that the negative reviews were just blatantly wrong, written by people with underdeveloped palates and a fundamental lack of understanding about what cider actually was. The cider wasn’t sweet enough? Obviously you haven’t had actual cider, Jan, why don’t you try again after you’ve expanded your horizons? Oh, was a bottle too expensive for you Leon, really? The fact that you couldn’t taste the difference between Appelle’s heirloom-apple, French ciders and the corn syrup and apple essence mass-market monstrosities you’re comparing them to says a whole lot more about you than it does us.  

If their financial situation was as dire as Elle made it sound and NVC was going to base their recommendations off of some guy hiding behind his computer screen, Charlie would rather mercy-kill Appelle now than let it bleed to death. 

“Morning Charlie!” 

Charlie almost jumped out of his skin when Elle breezed by him, the monotonous physical tasks of rinses and sanitizer cycles allowing his mind to wander while his body was on autopilot. He turned off the hose at the wall and followed Elle into the office. “Hey Elle, ready for the big meeting?”

She paused her gathering of various paper scraps and empty sample glasses from around the table. “Honestly, yes. Sometimes I feel like all I do is make decisions and pretend to be certain enough about them that no one questions me. It’ll be so nice to have someone else tell me what to do for a change.” 

Charlie grabbed a clean dish rag and a spray bottle of sanitizer, wiping down the table. “Have you ever mentioned that to Tao?”

Elle ignored his joke. “I’ve been spinning in circles trying to imagine what they could possibly say today. I just want to bite the bullet and get it over with so we can start fixing things.” She stared into the distance, like she was having a vision. Her voice was devoid of emotion when she spoke. “Part of me wants them to come in with the biggest, most earth-shattering suggestion possible. We’re in a tight enough spot that just cutting corners isn’t going to be enough. We’re gonna have to slash and burn.” She made a sharp slicing motion across the space in front of her. 

“Okay, you’re kind of scaring me.”

She blinked a couple of times as she came out of her daze. “These are desperate times, Charlie, very desperate times.” 

The office door creaked and Darcy stumbled into the room. They waved blandly and fell face first onto the couch. “I thought meetings before 2PM weren’t allowed. I was here until midnight last night.”

Isaac followed closely behind Darcy. “And I’m supposed to be at my actual job today. You guys know the one: it pays me for my labor?” 

Elle snapped to attention. “Great, we’re all here. Isaac, seriously, thank you for coming in for this meeting. I’ll make sure that they schedule any follow ups with you on days you're normally here. And Darcy, I’ll have them start with you today so you can go home for a few hours before your shift tonight.”

“You’re a legend. I’ll make coffee.” Darcy dragged themself up and headed into the tiny kitchen. 

“You know I don’t actually mind coming in two days in a row, right?” Isaac asked, taking Darcy’s spot on the couch.

“I do know, but I still appreciate it.” 

Charlie headed toward the door to the warehouse when his timer beeped. “That’s my cue. I’m going to get filtration started. I should be ready just a few minutes before 9, okay?”

“Sounds good, and Charlie?” 

Charlie turned, his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“Open minds, yeah?” 

Charlie grimaced. It would be a lot easier to have an open mind if he knew or trusted the people he was supposed to be opening it to. “I’ll do my best.”

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie plucked a rubber gasket and one of the stainless steel clamps out of his sanitizer bucket and twisted them around the end of the hose, grunting with effort as he tightened it. 

“They’re here!” Elle called across the warehouse, patting her hair into place as she jogged to the back door. “Almost ready?” 

Charlie flashed her a thumbs up. “Two minutes!”

When Elle disappeared from view, Charlie sat back on his heels, doing a quick spot-check to make sure he’d set everything up correctly. Warm laughter and approaching footsteps echoed off the cinder block walls. God, this was it. The moment of truth. He hoped they were as good at turning around failing businesses as the testimonials on their website claimed they were.  

“And this is Charlie—he’s our Head Cidermaker and the backbone of this company.” Elle was in tour guide mode, walking backwards and gesturing vaguely in Charlie’s direction. “He’s just getting filtration started, so if you guys don’t mind, we can get you settled in the office and he’ll be able to join us in just a couple minutes. Would either of you like coffee?”

“Actually, if it’s really just a couple minutes, could we watch?” 

Charlie glanced up, unsure which man had made the suggestion. The two of them—Nick and Sai—held identical poses, hands in pockets and eyes roaming the warehouse, and fuck, the tiny screen on Charlie’s phone had not been adequate preparation for being in Nick’s physical presence. He was a walking contradiction of hard muscles and cashmere sweaters, broad shoulders that narrowed to a trim waist, casually imposing and effortlessly alluring and Charlie had never felt grimier, crouched on the ground in his soggy jeans and tattered sweatshirt, gripping the leg of the fermentation tank to keep himself from floating away into an explicit daydream.

“Of course,” Elle enthused, oblivious to the flood of Charlie’s pheromones. “I’m sure you’ll be spending a lot of time back here over the next few weeks, but might as well get your first peek behind the curtain now. Charlie?”

Charlie could have used another minute to regain his composure, but seeing as Nick and Sai were watching him expectantly, he mentally doused himself with cold water and snapped back into work mode. He was a professional. He stood up and wiped his hands on his thighs. “Sure, so what I’ve just been doing is connecting this hose to the filter, which you can see is already connected to FV2 –” he caught himself, “That’s ‘Fermentation Vessel 2.’”

Nick and Sai followed Charlie’s finger as he traced the circuit, nodding in understanding.

“So all I need to do now is turn on the pump.” Charlie bent forward to flick the switch and the machine whirred to life. He walked back over to FV1. “When I open this valve, the cider will be pumped into the filter and then transferred to FV2, which I sanitized this morning.”

“That’s so cool,” Nick breathed. 

Elle subtly tilted her head toward Nick and mouthed something. 

“Actually, would you like to do the honors?” Charlie asked. He and Elle had their tours down to a science.

Nick’s hand flew to his chest. “Who, me? Really?”

“Sure, you’re just going to turn this valve to the left.”

Nick eyed the puddle of water in between himself and Charlie. 

Sai nudged Nick forward. “Come on Nick, don’t let a bit of merino wool get in the way of a good time.” 

Nick pinched his pant legs between his fingers and tiptoed gingerly over the puddle, hovering so close that Charlie could smell his aftershave. “This one here? Just turn it to the left?” He crouched down and pointed, glancing up at Charlie for affirmation, and god dammit, the golden flecks in his eyes matched his hair.

Charlie took a steadying breath. “Yep.”

Nick gripped the valve and gave a resolute nod, and then cranked it to the left. 

Charlie turned to Elle and Sai. “Great, we’re all –”

That’s when all hell broke loose. It was a scene straight out of Charlie’s stress dreams: a metallic ping as the tri-clamp valve broke; a horrified ‘Charlie, oh my god!’ from Elle; a blast of cold cider—a 5 horse-powered centrifugal pump’s worth of force—shot squarely into Nick’s stomach.

“What the hell?” Nick threw his hands over his head and sprinted toward Sai, stomping right through the puddles.

“The pump! The pump!” Charlie screeched. He chased after the hose, which had taken on a life of its own, writhing and twisting, shooting cider into the air with no regard for the people scurrying away. Elle darted forward and flicked the off switch on the pump. The hose instantly fell to the floor with a dull thud. 

A hushed silence fell over the room, cider trickling down the floor drain and dripping from every imaginable surface. Isaac and Darcy stood frozen in the doorway across the warehouse, eyes wide. 

“Are you kidding me right now? I’m soaked.” Nick wiped his face and flicked the droplets away in disbelief. He glared at Charlie wordlessly demanding an explanation.

Charlie was still panting from the burst of activity, hurrying to get another tri-clamp and gasket sanitized so he could get everything back to order. He gestured absently at the broken clamp laying in a puddle of cider on the floor. “Yeah, sorry, the tri-clamp failed.”

Nick gaped at him, eyes blazing. “I don’t even know what a tri-clamp is, but can I suggest investing in some better tri-clamps?”

Charlie’s hackles rose. It’s not like he had planned this ahead of time to insult the guy—as if he would waste quality cider on a practical joke. And who wore designer sweaters to a warehouse anyway? “You obviously aren’t very familiar with manufacturing companies, but just so you know, mechanical failures do happen sometimes. It’s an inevitable part of mass production.”

Nick stood taller and puffed up his chest. “This is the second time you’ve said ‘fail’, which is one of NVC’s forbidden words.”

“Let me guess, ‘failure is not an option’ is your company motto, how very original,” Charlie spat.

Nick’s jaw dropped dramatically. “It isn’t an option and it shouldn’t be! If you think failure is an option you've hired the wrong consulting firm.”

“Oh my god, please hear me when I say that a random piece of equipment failing is not the clever metaphor you want it to be!”

“Boys.” Elle stepped between them, physically separating them from where they had squared off, soaked chest to soaked chest. “Charlie, do you have a change of clothes here?”

“Yes.” Charlie glared at Nick, his eyes narrowed.

“Nick, we have a bunch of merch in the back. What size are you?”

“Extra large.” Nick glared at Charlie, who just rolled his eyes. Of course someone like Nick wanted everyone to know he was extra large, he was probably dying for someone to ask how he’d gotten so big so he could describe his gym routine in excruciating detail. 

Elle folded her arms across her chest. “Alright. Get yourselves cleaned up. We’re starting this meeting in five.”

“Yes ma’am,” they both said at the same time, glowering at each other.

Sai snorted and followed after Elle. “I can see why you’re in charge.”

🥂🍾🥂

Five minutes later, everyone but Nick had settled around the table in the office, pencils poised and coffee steaming. Elle made introductions while they waited, answering Sai’s questions about how they’d picked their location and whether she had always wanted to open her own business. 

Sai’s phone vibrated on the desk, which he glanced at briefly before he started laughing. “Alright, Nick is on his way, but he wanted me to warn you guys that his shirt is a bit tight.”

“I honestly thought we’d have a lot of extra larges back there. I feel so bad that the only one we had was –” Elle started.

The door swung open. Nick’s large, backlit form filled the doorway. The cherry-red tank top with ‘Cider is for (gay) lovers’  in curvy rainbow script was stretched tight across his chest.

Darcy frowned. “I didn’t know we still had some of last year’s PRIDE tanks back there.”

Charlie’s stare could've burned a hole through his pad of paper. He refused to give Nick the satisfaction of fawning over what he’d already spent an embarrassing amount of time drooling over the night before in that stupid Instagram reel.

Elle tapped her pen against her chin as Nick dropped into the empty seat next to her. “You’d make a great merch model. Can you do a twirl for me?”

“Uh…” Nick stuttered, glancing awkwardly between Sai and Elle.

Elle clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, god, sorry, I totally got caught up in your whole aura.” She clasped her hands together and cleared her throat. “Let’s get started, shall we? I hope you’ll accept my apologies for the rough start this morning. Please believe me when I say that has actually never happened before.”

“Nothing a run through the wash can’t fix!” Sai assured her. Charlie wasn’t 100% certain, but he thought he heard Nick mutter ‘dry-cleaner, actually,’ under his breath, which was so on-brand it was almost like he was trying to be an amalgamation of cliches. 

Elle turned to Sai and Nick. “I’ve told my team that you guys have some initial findings to share, so I’ll turn it over to you. I know we’re all eagerly anticipating your feedback.” 

Sai and Nick instantly transformed into the professional consultants Elle hired, sitting up straighter and opening their leather folios. “Yes, Nick and I reviewed the information Elle shared with us, which brought us up to speed on your financial situation.” He turned to Elle. “I’m glad you reached out when you did. I’m not going to sugar-coat it: you guys are in a pretty precarious situation.”

Elle slumped in her seat and scrubbed one of her hands over her face. “I know. Please tell me it’s not too late already.”

“No, no, nothing of the sort,” Sai affirmed, Nick nodding earnestly next to him like he actually cared. “In fact, we’re confident that if you buy into our recommendations, we’ll be able to do a full 180.”

Charlie tried not to roll his eyes at what was obviously a well-practiced line, but Elle leaned forward in her seat hopefully. “Really?”

Sai nodded. “Yes, really. We had our Head of Marketing do an analysis on the national and regional craft cider market to get a better sense of the competitive landscape. And then our Social Media manager looked through your channels to get a sense of the story you’ve been telling through your brand, whether you’ve meant to tell it or not.”

Isaac, Darcy, and Elle nodded, hanging on every word. Charlie wondered which of them was going to have to do the brunt of the work that Nick and Sai were about to recommend.

“You guys should be proud of yourselves, you’ve created a really special business here,” Nick said, taking over. “And what gets us really excited about this project is that we’ve identified a clear direction that we think will make a really big, immediate impact. That doesn’t always happen.”

Elle reached for Charlie’s hand, gripping it across the table. “Alright, you’ve warmed us up enough. What’s it gonna take?”

Sai took a deep breath. “We’re concerned about the cider.”

Charlie tilted his head to the side, confused, as Elle’s jaw dropped. Isaac and Darcy slid their eyes in his direction. “I’m sorry, what? It almost sounded like you said you were concerned about the cider.”

“The cider is fantastic, don’t get us wrong, but at $20 a bottle, it’s one of the most expensive products on the market,” Sai responded.

Charlie waved his hands in front of himself and shook his head. Nick and Sai had obviously gotten the impression somewhere along the line that higher priced ciders were a bad thing instead of an indication of exquisite quality. Charlie just needed to explain that. “No. No no no. The cider is not a problem. The cider is the company.”

Sai nodded empathetically as he flipped through the pages in his portfolio. “Yes, but we’re worried your approach is a little too high-end. You’re making special-occasion cider, not an every-day, have-fun-with-your-friends cider. When you look over the market analysis –”

Charlie sat back, stunned. “I’m sorry, you’re telling me my cider is too good for my customers? We opened this business because the cider is good! What kind of consultants come in and tell a company to make their products worse?” Charlie spun wildly in his seat. “Elle, no offense, I’m sure you vetted these guys and thought they were great, but they are idiots.”

Sai ignored the personal dig. “We aren’t suggesting you make worse cider. We’re suggesting you change your approach.”

“My approach? The approach that wins awards every time we enter a competition? That approach?” Charlie’s pitch verged on hysterical, hands flailing as he spoke.

“You’re a Gen Z brand making a Boomer product,” Nick added flatly. He folded his arms across his chest and sat back in his seat like he was immensely proud of his pithy little zinger.  A white-hot rage flared through Charlie’s chest. The audacity, the sheer gall of this man, to walk in like he knew anything about Charlie’s ‘product’. 

Sai elbowed Nick sharply and then turned to face Charlie with an apologetic look. “What Nick is trying to say is that your brand is bold and energetic. It attracts young people who want to have a good time. You’re making fine-dining cider for people who want poolside barbeque cider. You’re going to have to change either the product or the brand if you want to stay in business, and your brand is really special.”

Charlie slammed his fist on the desk. “My cider is really special!” 

Nick let out an exasperated sigh. “Your preoccupation with ‘really special cider’ is bankrupting your company.” 

Charlie sat back, stunned. It felt like he’d been kicked right in the diaphragm. 

Elle reached for his hand again, her face ashen. “Charlie. I think they might be right. I think we have to change the cider.”

Chapter Text

The Product

Though both are equally important, even the most beautiful brand will struggle without a quality product. Whether you make high-end ciders with only heirloom apples or you make modern ciders full of all sorts of additional ingredients, you have to tinker with your process until you’ve made the best possible version available to you. Quality can be created at every level, and consistency will keep people coming back for more.

It’s just cider.  

How many times had Elle said that over the years? 

When demanding customers crowded the bar and stressed-out servers accidentally shattered glasses. When Darcy gulped down icy air in the walk-in cooler to calm herself down and Charlie’s eagerly anticipated delivery was pushed back by another day. It’s just cider.  

Charlie always bristled when Elle said that. She was right, of course: in the grand scheme of capital ‘L’ life, cider didn’t solve international conflicts or heal the sick. It was just a beverage, and an alcoholic one at that. No one needed it to survive. 

But it wasn’t just cider to Charlie. It was a form of self-expression, a blending of technical skill and cultivated craft. A good bottle of cider encouraged celebrations and offered condolences. It had a storied history and had shaped cultures, and like any artist, Charlie’s cider had a specific point of view. It would never be ‘just cider’ to him.

Charlie heard Elle approaching before he saw her. He sighed and set his sample glass down next to his clipboard covered in his scribbled tasting notes. 

“Hey,” Elle said quietly.

“Hey.”

She gestured at the empty glass. “Is this the Basque one? Can I try it?”

“Sure.” Charlie grabbed a clean glass and pulled a few ounces from the sample valve. He handed the glass to Elle when he returned.

She swirled the glass and held it up to the light and then closed her eyes and took a long inhale through her nose. She had a taste and raised her eyebrows. “That’s got a kick to it.” She swirled it again and took another sip. “Yeah, that’s really nice. The astringency really comes through.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said glumly. Acidic, low-alcohol, cloudy Spanish ciders would probably be the first thing Nick and Sai tried to axe from Appelle’s lineup.  

Elle set her empty glass down next to Charlie’s and sighed. “Look, I know that was not what you expected to hear just now.”

Charlie let out a bitter laugh and held up finger quotes. “‘The cider is the problem’. Yeah, not exactly what I walked in there thinking would happen. I was expecting something a little more like, ‘add a vegan sandwich to the menu.’”

Elle smiled sadly. “It’s gonna take a lot more than a new sandwich to fix this. I know changing the cider feels drastic, but we need something drastic.”

Charlie folded his arms across his chest and gazed across the production floor, trying to wrap his head around what ‘changing the cider’ would even mean, practically speaking. He had a strong feeling that Nick and Sai knew next to nothing about how much work their tossed-off, cavalier suggestion would actually require.

“I have an idea,” Elle said. “Why don’t we try to put our concerns aside for the rest of the day and just focus on business as usual. Come over for dinner tonight and we can talk about everything after we’ve had a bit more time to process it all.” 

“Aren’t we supposed to meet with Nick and Sai though? I thought we were going to be in meetings with them all day.” 

“They’re going to meet with Darcy and Isaac this morning, but after you stormed out, they suggested we push our meetings with them to tomorrow. I think they understand that we both need a bit of time to come to terms with this.”

“Gee, how magnanimous of them to give us 24 hours to create an entirely new company.” Elle gave him a pointed look, and he sighed. “Yeah, okay, dinner sounds good. But I’m opening your last bottle of the 2017 Maison Herout.”

“Tao’s already got it in the fridge, babe.”

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie’s mood had improved by the time he knocked on Elle and Tao’s door for dinner that night. For one thing, he hadn’t seen Nick or Sai again—they must have made their exit while Charlie was otherwise occupied, which he had to begrudgingly admit meant they had at least some degree of social intelligence. Without being jump-scared at every turn by the very people who had just turned his entire life upside down, Charlie had lost himself to the flow of the menial tasks and physical challenges that came along with his job, making good progress on his never ending to-do list in between monitoring the filter. 

Tao bowed dramatically when he opened his apartment door, a white napkin folded over his forearm. “Good evening monsieur. Your dinner awaits.” 

Charlie rolled his eyes and stepped around his friend. “God, it smells amazing in here! How many cloves of garlic went into this meal?”

Elle floated over from the kitchen. “Ooh, you brought me flowers, thank you!” She accepted them from Charlie’s outstretched hand and plucked a vase out of the cupboard to fill with water. 

After a quick peek into the oven, she beckoned Charlie and Tao into the dining room. Charlie’s eyes widened as he took in the pink-fanned folds and marbled rounds of cured meats nestled in between blue-veined slabs and oozing wedges of cheese. The neck of the Maison Herout poked out of the top of an ice bucket with a bottle of Beaujolais beside it.  

“Elle has been cooking since she got home,” Tao said proudly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pressing a kiss into her temple.

“It’s almost like she’s apologizing for something,” Charlie grinned, winking at her. 

She rolled her eyes heavenward. “I’m not apologizing. But do I feel a tiny bit responsible for hiring the guys that just told you to change everything you love about your job? Yes.”

“Must I remind you that we do not discuss work during dinner? Especially not today.”

Elle nodded and took her seat. “Right. Thanks Tao. I thought we could start with the charcuterie while the chicken roasts.” 

Charlie turned to face Elle, his throat catching when he realized the significance of the table set before him. “You recreated the meal from Normandy?”

She smiled warmly, her own eyes bright with tears. “I thought it might be nice to remember how everything started after a day like today.”

Tao popped a Marcona almond in his mouth and eyed Elle and Charlie. “This is a work-adjacent conversation, but I’ll allow it.”

Charlie spread a wedge of brie over his bread, sighing contentedly as the creamy texture coated his tongue. He swirled his glass out of habit and took a sip, letting out an indulgent groan as he was transported back to that sun-dappled bistro table, the flapping awnings and purple impatiens, swirling scents of red wine and espresso, clicking heels and clinking forks and the dawning realization that perhaps he could still remember what happiness felt like. 

He’d trailed into the restaurant behind Tao and Elle that afternoon, still guilty despite their repeated assurances that his last-minute attendance on their vacation was welcomed. Even with the fresh setting and constant flow of conversation over the previous few days, the dark cloud hanging over Charlie refused to shift, darkening his vision, draining the colors from his memory and turning them into shades of gray. The things about his life that he had assumed were fixed—tangible things like life partners and living arrangements, abstract things like self-worth and aspiration—had become ephemeral in an instant and dissolved without his permission.

For some reason, whether it was the setting, the company, or a simple chemical reaction, that first sip of cider cut through more than the rich food. It was a revelation. It stopped him in his tracks. Not just any cider could have broken through the fog like that and changed the trajectory of his life. 

Who cared that he was sleeping on a friend’s couch when that same friend stayed up brainstorming and dreaming late into the night? Who had time to wallow in self-pity when he had Apple: A Global History to read? Charlie became obsessed with sharing that unexpected gift, of recreating an experience so sublime that it ushered in a moment of catharsis for another lost soul.

They spent the rest of their meal doing the same thing they had done all those years ago: savoring bites and stories, overindulging in rich flavors and favorite memories, marveling at their good fortune to have found this cider, this restaurant, each other. 

Charlie held his glass up to the light and then took another sip. “How is this even better than I remembered?”

Elle picked up the bottle to inspect the label. “I know. It’s so complex. You think you’ve got it figured out and then it surprises you with another layer.” 

Tao sighed and propped his chin in his hand on the table. “Elle used to think I had a lot of layers.”

Charlie snorted and Elle placed her hand on Tao’s cheek, gazing at him with such warmth that Charlie had to look away. He was so glad they had each other—they were true soulmates—but sometimes he left their apartment with an ache in his chest so deep that even the best cider couldn’t fill it. 

They retired to the couch after they finished their meal, loose-limbed and sated. “You know, we could do both,” Elle said after a moment, watching Charlie from the other side of the couch, her legs resting on Tao’s lap. “If they’re right, that there just aren’t enough people who drink the kind of cider we make to keep our doors open, we have to pivot. We just do.”

“Well, personally, I’m not convinced they’re right about that.”

“Well, personally, that’s because you walked out of the meeting before they had a chance to share their data.”

Charlie narrowed his eyes. “You’re on their side, aren’t you?”

Elle held up her hands to stop Charlie from going any further. “I’m on the side of keeping our staff employed and keeping me and Tao from having to declare bankruptcy.”

Charlie tipped his head back to rest on the couch, tracing an invisible line across the ceiling.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Elle said finally. “If you promise to do your very best to follow NVC’s recommendations, I promise that, once we get through this rough patch, you can start making the good stuff again.”

“I get what you’re saying, Elle, I really do, but do you know how big of a change it would be, process-wise, to start making modern ciders? It’s like turning a winery into a brewery. All of our equipment, all of our vendors, they were all selected with this style in mind. It would almost be like starting over from scratch.” 

She swung her legs off of Tao’s lap and leaned forward to grip Charlie’s shoulder. “Then we start over. We don’t have an option. You already make the best traditional cider on this side of the pond; now you just have to make the best modern cider, too. If anyone can do it, it’s you. And if we blow up—which I’m just going to assume we will— then you get to do whatever you want on the side. We can call it the, the…I dunno, the ‘Cidermaker’s Reserve’ or something. All of our original customers will be thrilled, you’ll have a bigger budget to play with, and I’ll actually sleep at night knowing the electricity isn’t about to get shut off.”

Charlie scrubbed his hands down his face. He had seen Elle bend the universe to her will enough times during the course of their friendship to take her at her word. “Alright, fine. You have a deal. I’ll give those knuckleheads a chance, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.”

“Yes!” She squeezed his shoulder and topped up their glasses. 

Their conversation continued long past when Tao shuffled off to bed. By the time he got home, Elle had well and truly convinced Charlie to give Nick and Sai a chance. It was his only choice, after all.

🥂🍾🥂

Once again, any charitable feelings Charlie planned to offer Nick and Sai disappeared the minute they walked in on Wednesday morning. It seemed Sai was the one with the social intelligence; he had obviously caught on to Appelle’s relaxed culture and had traded out his navy suit for a pair of khakis and a Polo shirt. 

Nick had not gotten the memo. God, what does he think this is, a runway show? Charlie’s gaze washed appreciatively over Nick’s olive green slacks and billowing silk shirt. If Nick would just dress appropriately for the setting—were jeans and tee-shirt too much to ask, for heaven’s sake?—Charlie might actually have a fighting chance of listening to the words that came out of his mouth. As it was, Charlie was but a simple man, and a very gay one at that. Even though he was 90% sure all of Nick’s original thoughts had been supplanted with quotes from The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, the brawny forearms revealed by his pushed-up shirt sleeves and the hint of chest hair poking out of his collar made Charlie want to circle back to the low-hanging fruit and test out their synergy.

“Nice suit.” Charlie said when Nick took his seat at the table.

“Thanks, I usually stay away from green but–” Nick cut himself off when he saw Charlie’s eyes dancing. “Oh. You’re making fun of me.”

Charlie feigned innocence. “Not at all. I appreciate your commitment to expressing yourself through designer fashion in spite of yesterday’s evidence that this is the worst possible environment for it.”

Nick folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Funny, I could say the same thing about your commitment to making designer cider in spite of the clear lack of market support.” 

Charlie’s jaw dropped, an unexpected thrill running down his spine. He hadn’t expected Nick to go straight for the jugular, but two could play that game. “Wow, insulting your clients on day two, is that a ‘best practice’ you picked up at your fancy business school?”

Instead of hurling back another insult like Charlie expected, the smile fell off Nick’s face. “You’re right, that was unprofessional. I shouldn’t have —”

“Alright, boys, I brought breakfast,” Elle announced, breezing in from the kitchen. Sai followed behind her carrying a carafe in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. Charlie refused to look at Nick, just like he refused to examine why, exactly, their snappy argument felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. They had business to attend to, after all. 

Once the bagels and coffee had been distributed, Sai walked over to the white board and pulled a marker out of his pocket. “Elle briefed me during the coffee run that you guys are on board with our recommendation to adjust the style of your cider. I’m sure that was a really hard decision, but it will make our time together a lot more productive. We’ll be able to focus on the how instead of arguing over the what.”

Charlie failed to fully stifle his groan. Were these guys made in a lab or something? Even the words that came out of their mouths sounded like they’d been doused in Axe body spray. He caught Nick glaring at him and smirked.

“Let’s focus our conversation this morning on the process of cidermaking,” Sai continued. “You guys are the experts here, so Charlie, can you give us a better sense of the differences between traditional and modern cidermaking? That’ll help us figure out what immediate steps we need to take to get started in the new direction.”

Charlie took a deep breath and launched into it. His pent up frustration about being in this terrible position subsided as he outlined his own process: how he sourced their juice from heritage orchards around the country during harvest season, how he fermented it all over the winter and then spent months aging it in oak barrels, blending different batches together until the cider sang, how he packaged each bottle and then labeled it by hand. 

Sai scribbled notes on the white board while Nick listened, his fingers tented in front of his mouth. “So, it’s April. When did you make the cider you’re serving in your taproom right now?”

“Not this past fall, but the fall before,” Charlie answered. “In a couple of months, we’ll release the first bottles from 2024.”

Nick shook his head, confused. “But what do you do if you run out too early, like three months before the new batch is ready? What if you think you’ll need X volume to get through the year but you actually need X plus 100?”

Elle shrugged. “The harvest dictates the volume.”

Nick scratched his head, eyes roaming around the room, the cogs in his brain practically visible. And they were turning slowly. Very very slowly. Like molasses, even. “What if there’s a bad harvest? Or a flood, or a drought?”

Charlie clapped his hands together sarcastically. “Ah, congratulations, you’ve finally figured out that apples are an agricultural product.”

Nick tossed his pen aside. “This business model makes no sense. It’s completely inelastic and unpredictable.”

“Oh, shall I just call up every single winery in the history of mankind and let them know their business model makes no sense then?” Charlie snapped.

Nick held his arms out wide. “But wine isn’t a niche product!”

“I swear to god, if you say another word like ‘niche’ or ‘inelastic’ or ‘X plus 100’ I cannot be held responsible for what I do.”

“Charlie.” Elle was staring at him like he’d just kicked her puppy. “Did none of our conversation last night sink in? They need to understand our process if we’re going to change it.” She turned to Sai and Nick, “Please excuse Charlie’s behavior. He is extremely passionate about what he does, to a fault,” she glared at him, “and he’s having a bit of a hard time wrapping his head around all this.” 

Charlie’s cheeks burned with the embarrassment of being publicly chastised for losing his temper. He sucked in a slow breath and blew it out, raising his eyes to find Nick and Sai waiting patiently for him to collect himself. “I might be ever so slightly sensitive about the cider.”

Sai nodded empathetically. “We understand; it’s a big change. Believe it or not, you’re actually taking this better than a lot of the clients we work with.” 

“Thanks,” Charlie muttered. He peeked at Nick, who gave him a curt nod. 

Elle clapped her hands twice. “Great, glad we’ve worked that out. Now where were we?”

“Charlie was just about to explain how modern cidermaking differs from traditional,” Sai said, picking his marker back up.

“Right. So, where traditional cidermakers use more of a winery process, modern cidermakers follow more of a brewery process.”

Nick and Sai stared back at him, blank faced. Apparently they had done next to no research about the industry. Charlie sighed deeply. “Modern cidermakers—and breweries—will get what they need to ferment one batch at a time. They skip the aging part and just blend, package, release, repeat. Breweries pump out a new beer every couple weeks. It’d probably be closer to four weeks for cider, but still, it’s way shorter than the year plus we take.”

Nick glanced at Sai, who gave him a meaningful look as he added notes to the white board. “But wait, how does a modern cidery use that shortened process if they can only get juice in the fall?” Nick asked.

Charlie couldn’t keep the disdain out of his voice. “Well, for one thing, they’d use crapple juice.” 

Nick tilted his head to the side. “Sorry, crapple juice? Is that, what, apples and cranberries? ”

“It’s short for ‘crappy apples,’” Elle giggled. 

“Oh!” Nick said, letting out a surprised laugh. “Do crapples grow year-round?”

“No, there’s just an exponentially larger amount of crapples available, so there’s all sorts of infrastructure to support processing them year-round,” Charlie explained.

Elle nodded and took over. “Right, so for example, I can’t get fresh-pressed heirloom juice in the middle of the summer, but there are dozens of processing plants with hundreds of thousands gallons of frozen crapple juice that would deliver to us tomorrow if I called them right now.”

Nick whirled around in his seat to look at Sai, who grinned and drew a large chaotic circle around the word ‘CRAPPLE’ on the white board.

Charlie rubbed his temples with his index fingers to stave off the headache he already felt coming. He knew exactly where this was headed, and he didn’t like it one bit. “François Gaudel would be rolling over in his grave right now.”

Elle gasped, bringing her hand to cover her mouth. “François Gaudel died?”

“No, no,” Charlie rushed, “it’s just a figure of speech.”

“Yeah, when someone is dead.” Elle glared at him. 

Sai looked back and forth between Elle and Charlie expectantly. “Who is François Gaudel?”

“The wine critic at Food and Wine magazine,” she explained.

Charlie sat up straighter in his seat. “He was one of the preeminent critics in France before he moved out here. He called my Newton Pippin ‘a revelation from one of the most exciting up-and-coming-cidermakers on this side of the Atlantic’ last year.”

Nick tapped the end of his pen against the table a few times. “So is impressing this guy more important than cutting your cost of goods in half or…?”

Charlie gritted his teeth. “I didn’t say that, I’m just saying that he’s a fan. He would be able to tell we started using inferior ingredients the second he stepped into our taproom. I wouldn’t be able to sleep well at night if I knew he was disappointed in me.” 

“Well, I’ll make sure we don’t send him the big press release about how Appelle is about to start making worse cider,” Nick said sarcastically. “I, for one, am thrilled to share that we've just unlocked a key piece of this puzzle, right Sai?” 

Sai bounced on the balls of his feet. “Absolutely! Pick up the phone: it’s time to order some crapple juice.” 

Chapter Text

The Market

Ah, ‘the market’. Some business owners spend hundreds of thousands of dollars trying to identify and define that elusive, amorphous entity. At its best, a well-defined market narrows your scope and ensures your customers will be happy with what you make for them—a true win/win situation. But if you give the market too much power over your creative process, you’ll find yourself chasing trends and losing sight of why you started your business in the first place: to create something special.

From the second Nick and Sai gathered their notes and bid farewell on Wednesday afternoon, Charlie had been off to the races. He didn’t even know he was capable of giving more of himself to Appelle than he had been, yet here he was, burning the candle at both ends to outline an entirely new production process before their next meeting. He spent hours on hold with conglomerate fruit orchards to get crapple juice samples and categorized the equipment in the warehouse, scoured cidermaking forums and created detailed inventory management spreadsheets. The line between his work life and his home life, which had been blurred for years, disappeared completely as he ate his meals at his desk and worked from his bed. 

Elle was just as busy. After making it clear that she trusted Charlie with the cider-related tasks, she turned her focus to Darcy and Isaac, who had their own list of NVC-provided tasks. In an effort to boost their taproom sales and get a quick cash infusion, she and Darcy got their menu added to DoorDash and GrubHub. Her project with Isaac included creating multiple iterations of their sales projections for the rest of the year based on various pricing models and levels of success. 

It felt like a long-awaited reunion when Elle and Charlie reconnected on Friday, marveling about how much they’d been able to accomplish over the last 48 hours. They huddled around Elle’s laptop to review potential yeast strains, comparing alcohol level and temperature tolerances, tasting notes and expected off-flavors.

“That one might be good,” Charlie said, reading out loud over her shoulder. “Commonly recommended for quick, clean fermentation with a big fruity finish.”

She turned her head to smirk at him. “Well, with a ‘big fruity finish’, I kind of feel like we have to.” She clicked ‘Add Sample to Cart’ and navigated back to the long alphabetized list of cider strains.

“Sorry to interrupt, but these ladies are here to see you?” Darcy ushered two women into the room through the door that separated the taproom from the warehouse. 

Elle glanced up from her computer, doing a double-take when she realized what time it was. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry—I totally lost track of time there.” She snapped her laptop shut and crossed the room, hand outstretched, with Charlie following closely behind. “Welcome to Appelle! I’m Elle, and this is Charlie. He’s our Head Cidermaker.” 

A petite woman with icy blue eyes clasped Elle’s hand between hers. “Well, that’s about the coolest job title I’ve ever heard! I’m Imogen, Head of Marketing for NVC. Nick and Sai have said so many great things about you two!” 

Imogen’s enthusiasm seemed genuine, but Charlie doubted that Nick had said ‘great things’ about him considering their interactions had been limited to spraying Nick’s fancy suit with cider and openly mocking him during their meetings. 

A tiny woman, who seemed far too young to be a consultant about anything other than AP classes, thrust her hand into Charlie’s chest and pumped it enthusiastically. “Sophie Thatcher, Social Media. Great to meet the man behind the best cider on this side of the Mississippi!” She stopped abruptly, cutting herself off. “No, no, that’s not right. Let me try again.” 

She closed her eyes for a second and then snapped them back open with a gigantic, toothy smile. “Hi! I’m Sophie Thatcher. It’s so great to meet the man behind the best cider on this is of the Atlantic Ocean.” She made a broad gesture with her free hand, beaming, and then cupped her hand around her mouth. “That was better, right? Nick warned me you were super prickly about the ci—”

“Sophie!” Imogen interrupted, a tight smile on her face. “Maybe you should get started on the photo shoot?”

“Right!” Sophie whirled around and began digging through her briefcase. She pulled out her camera bag with a flourish. “I heard you guys have a few new releases coming up and you’re working on growing your food program?”

Elle nodded excitedly. “Yes! I’m a terrible photographer, but I know I need to stop using the same five professional pictures over and over again.”

Sophie’s hand flew to her chest as she gasped. “Wait, you repeat content? Oh Elle, no wonder your posts have such abysmal click rates! Do you even put a call-to-action in your captions?”

Imogen cleared her throat loudly, but Elle just waved her off. “I’ll be the first to admit that our social media presence leaves a lot to be desired. Come on, follow me. I’ll get you set up with Darcy in the taproom while Imogen gets started with Charlie.” Elle wrapped her arm around Sophie’s shoulders, leading her through the door, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

Charlie waved absently, preoccupied by trying to determine just how large of a region he could claim to be the best cidermaker within. He would never have been so bold to claim the entire nation, but his 2021 Kingston Black had won Best in Show at the World Cider Awards, and François Gaudel had even called it—the rough scrape of Imogen’s chair against the concrete floor interrupted his train of thought. He blinked and shook his head. “Sorry, can I offer you anything to drink before we get started?”

Imogen pushed back the sleeve of her floral-print blazer to check her watch. “Well, it is Friday afternoon, and we are talking about the craft cider market.” She arched an eyebrow. “What do you say, shall we start the weekend a bit early and share a bottle?” 

“Yeah, of course!” Charlie grinned. It was about damn time one of the people theoretically trying to save Appelle gave the cider the attention it deserved. He peeked at Imogen, the bleach blond streaks in her hair, the hot pink nails, the glittery eyeshadow. “I do have to warn you, our ciders aren’t sweet. Like, at all.”

She tossed her hair dramatically over her shoulder. “And what makes you think I need added sugars when I’m already the sweetest thing around?” 

Charlie let out a surprised laugh and held up his hands. “Forgive me for assuming.” He grabbed a bottle of the 2023 Golden Russet from the kitchen and offered her a glass.

She took a sip, paused, and then took another. “Okay, wow, this is unlike any cider I’ve ever had before. It’s so…so,” she gestured ambiguously as she searched for the right words, “complex! I can see why you’re so proud of it.” 

Charlie let out a relieved breath. “Thanks, I’m so glad you think so.”

“What made you get into making cider?” 

Imogen listened intently as Charlie described his last-minute trip to France with Tao and Elle, how they made their way from Paris to Normandy, learning more about the country with each bottle of Champagne from Reims and Cabernet Franc from the Loire Valley. She was fascinated by the story of the tiny bistro where Elle admitted she was a bit tired of wine, and how relieved Charlie and Tao were when she said it. He described how their waiter suggested a bottle of cider instead, how they looked between themselves and shrugged, how the curling tendrils of mist spilled from the neck when the cork popped and the tiny, gravity-defying bubbles climbed up the sides of their glasses.

“And then, well. I’ve kind of been obsessed ever since.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to France,” Imogen sighed dreamily, her chin in her hand. “I have this fantasy that a strapping, handsome man will run through the rain and admit he’s been in love with me all along and whisk me off to Paris so we can have sex in a vineyard.” 

Charlie giggled. “I’m not sure there are vineyards in Paris proper, and if there are, I can’t imagine those gnarled roots would make a very comfortable bed.”

Imogen snapped out of her daze and picked up her pen. “Anyway, enough about me, let's talk about you. You have such a great origin story for your brand. You and Elle, lifelong friends on a last-minute vacation, a bottle of cider that changed the direction of your lives. I could do a lot with that story.”

She set her glass down and faced Charlie, growing serious. “I know we’re suggesting you make a version of this that you’re not as passionate about, but with the combination of your talent, Appelle’s brand, and NVC’s guidance, I have no doubt you will cement yourselves as the highest-quality modern cider brand around. And then, when you have everyone’s attention, that’s when you pull out these high-end options. You aren’t abandoning your principles by changing your style; you’re ensuring that Appelle gets big enough to be the brand that sets the trends.” She squeezed Charlie’s forearm and set a thick packet of papers in front of him. “Now, shall we dig into the data?”

Though Charlie had been trying his best to have a positive outlook, his frown grew more prominent with each recommendation Imogen made. It was like ‘the market’—whoever the hell they were—had joined forces and agreed to love the very things that Charlie hated just to fuck with him. Instead of bottles, they wanted cans, which were lighter weight and more versatile. “Gen Z highly values versatility,” Imogen explained, as serious as if she were informing him of an attempted military coup. ‘The market’ wanted to be slapped in the face by bold and exciting flavors instead of the barely-there nuances Charlie preferred, the kind that only revealed themselves after multiple sips and intense concentration.

“Pineapple Mint? Razzle Dazzle Raspberry? Are these ciders or did we accidentally end up in the yogurt aisle at Costco?”

Imogen threw her head back and laughed like she was at a comedy club. “Yogurt aisle at Costco, good one!” She bit back her giggles as she wrote down the exact phrase to tell Nick and Sai the next time she saw them.

Charlie started punching numbers into his calculator app when Imogen suggested a target retail price of $9.99 per four-pack, mumbling under his breath and then stopping her outright when he hit the equals symbol. “I can’t make a good cider for that price. There’s literally no way.” 

Imogen wagged her finger in his face. “Ah ah ah, that’s negative thinking, and ‘can’t’ is one of NVC’s forbidden words. But you know what isn’t one of our forbidden words? ‘Crapple.’ I have it on good authority that you have several different crapple juice samples on the way and you’re starting test batches next week. Have I been misinformed?” 

Charlie dropped his head to his forearms. He did have samples headed his way, and he’d seen enough of Isaac’s pricing spreadsheet to know it was technically possible, but making the cider taste good with such a tight budget and crapple juice seemed impossible. 

Imogen placed a sympathetic hand on Charlie’s back. “Let’s finish with the good news, shall we? Now, I’m still new to the alcoholic beverage category, but I did review some of the larger brands out there, and none of them even come close to your demographic spread.”

Charlie’s muffled voice floated out from where it was still buried in his arms. “What’s a demographic spread?” 

“Well, I thought you’d never ask!” Imogen straightened her shoulders and flipped back a few pages. “Beer and hard liquor skews male. Wine and canned cocktails skew female. And cider is pretty much a 50/50 split, which is great.”

Charlie lifted his head. “That sounds right.”

“What’s even better is that Appelle skews young. Everyone is after Gen Z and you already have them.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Right. What was it Nick said again? We’re a Gen Z brand making a Boomer product?”

Imogen looked scandalized. “I said that to him in confidence! He wasn’t supposed to tell you, especially not without giving me credit!” She narrowed her eyes and drummed her nails against the table for a second, lost in what looked to Charlie like a detailed revenge fantasy. “Anyway, the most interesting part of your demographics is that an unexpectedly high percentage of your customers self-identify as queer. That’s a really sought-after group, from a marketing perspective.”

Charlie peered at the data more closely. “I’m not surprised by that, considering everyone on our staff self-identifies as queer.”

A delighted smile painted Imogen’s face. “Really! Everyone on your staff? Present company included?” 

Charlie had been out for so long he barely remembered that new people didn’t automatically know he was gay. “Yeah, did the flag not make it obvious?” 

Imogen’s gaze traveled upwards, where the progress Pride flag hung from the rafters. “Well, you know what they say about making assumptions. Have you told Nick and Sai that yet?”

Charlie glanced at her suspiciously. “No, why? Don’t tell me you’re going to exploit our minority-owned business status for some kind of marketing scheme.”  

Imogen rolled her eyes dramatically. “Alright, I see what Nick meant by prickly now. No, it’s nothing like that.” She chewed her lip, weighing her words carefully. “I think Nick in particular might be interested in knowing.” She looked at Charlie significantly, one eyebrow arched. 

Charlie’s stomach dropped. Had he been so distracted with drafting creative insults about Nick’s wardrobe that he missed the tell-tale signs of latent homophobia? He took a quick mental tally of their limited interactions for evidence but came up short. Upon reflection, it seemed Nick’s issues with Charlie fell predominantly into the ‘self-defense after being unnecessarily provoked’ category, while Charlie’s issues with Nick were primarily cosmetic—a general distaste for his clothing and vocabulary. Well, that and the pesky little issue of Nick dismissing Charlie’s life purpose like it was a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe. As gutting as that had been, it did not qualify as a hate crime, and thank goodness for that.

It was too late in the afternoon to start any new tasks on the production floor, so when Imogen started to gather her things, Charlie decided to call it a day, too. He grabbed their empty glasses and deposited them in the kitchen sink. “So, have you been with NVC since the beginning?” 

Imogen laughed brightly. “God no, I haven’t known them nearly that long.” 

“I thought you met them in business school?”

“I did, but believe it or not, they started planning this company way back in high school.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though, why you’d spend your free time in high school planning a consulting firm instead of making out with strangers at football games is beyond me.”

“Oh wow, I didn’t realize they had known each other so long.” Charlie opened the back door to the production space and held it open for her.

“Well, someone didn’t read the ‘About Us’ section of the NVC website,” she smirked.

Charlie’s cheeks warmed when he remembered how his brain refused to ingest any new information after he’d seen Nick’s image. “I read some of it.” 

“It’s fine, even a marketing whiz like me can’t make a consulting company’s origin story very interesting. But yeah, Nick practically grew up with Sai’s family because his mom was always at work. They played in the same rugby league, went to the same college, same major, same dorm room even.”

“Huh, so they’re super close then.”

“Oh, they’re thick as thieves. I pity anyone who tries to come between those two,” Imogen said grimly, stopping in front of a kicky little mint green Mini Cooper. “This is me. It was great to meet you today, Charlie! I’m excited to get to know you and your brand a little bit better over the next few weeks.”

Charlie shook her offered hand and smiled. “Yeah, great to meet you as well. I feel a bit clearer about the direction I should take the cider now.” He paused, contemplating whether to share his thoughts. “I know no one asked me, but Nick and Sai should’ve brought you to that first meeting. I have a feeling I would’ve been a bit more receptive to their feedback if it had come from you.”

She placed her hand on her heart in appreciation for the compliment. “Aw, thanks for saying that! Nick and Sai don’t always have the softest touch, but don’t let their no-nonsense demeanors fool you. Sai is a total sweetheart and Nick, well…” A blush crept onto her cheeks. “He’s all bark, no bite. I’m sure you’ll warm up to each other soon enough.” She hopped into her car and waved through the open window. “Have a great weekend, Charlie!”

🥂🍾🥂

Knowing he was on the verge of the most stressful work situation of his life once Elle got NVC’s permission to pull the trigger on their new production plan, Charlie decided to take an actual break over the weekend. He spent hours catching up on his neglected TV shows, loose-limbed and sweatshirt soft. He lowered the thermostat to 65 and burrowed into bed, where he spent a dozen motionless hours and finally emerged with sheet impressioned cheeks and sun-sensitive eyes. By the time the overhead bell tinkled at his and Isaac’s favorite Pakistani place on Saturday night, he’d managed a five-mile run, three loads of fermented-apple-smelling laundry, and had finally finished the novel he’d been avoiding for a month.

“Anil, our prodigal sons have returned!” A short, round woman bustled out from behind the register, untying her apron and hanging it on a hook by the counter.

“Hi Seema!” Charlie stooped down to receive her offered hug. “Sorry it’s been so long—we’ve both been consumed by work, haven’t we Isaac?”

Isaac rubbed his temples dramatically. “God, yes. Can you believe I used to consider an unending supply of cider and the chance to spend more time with my best friends a fair trade for doing Appelle’s books? This fun little side-gig is giving me ulcers lately.”

Seema clucked her tongue and reached out to pat Isaac’s cheek. “You kids these days and your jobs that take over your lives. What about having fun? What about getting married?” She rolled her eyes heavenward and clasped her hands to her chest. “I’ll never be a grandmother at the rate my kids are going.”

“Hah, like you’re one to talk!” Charlie said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “In the five years Isaac and I have been coming here, I’ve never once seen anyone behind the counter except you or Anil.”

She held out her hands and shrugged. “Yes, but we’re old. We have nothing better to do. Plus, who would make your vindaloo if I took the day off?”

Isaac jabbed Charlie in the chest. “Charlie Francis Spring, if Seema stops making her world famous vindaloo because of you, I’m listing your bedroom on Airbnb the minute we get home, and yes, that is a threat.”

“Okay, okay!” Charlie giggled, “I take everything back! You and Anil can never retire.”

“As long as you two keep coming, I’ll be here. Now, who wants an extra serving of chutney?” They placed their orders and exchanged another hug before she bustled off to greet another customer by name. 

In between bites of flaky chicken curry puffs and creamy cauliflower curry, Charlie and Isaac discussed the proposed changes at Appelle. Isaac—who loved cider but loved seeing the numbers in the bank account trend up instead of down even more—was optimistic about the new direction. He batted away every single one of Charlie’s concerns, reiterating Elle and Imogen’s claims that Charlie would be able to make his triumphant return to traditional cidermaking once Appelle was in a more stable position.

By the time they left Dhaba House, Charlie had made up his mind: someone would eventually earn the title of ‘best modern cidermaker on this side of the Atlantic’ by a source much more reputable than Sophie Thatcher. It might as well be him.

Chapter Text

Bench Trials

One of the most exciting parts of cidermaking is developing new flavors. As your cider company grows, so will the volume of your batches. While you may have been willing to experiment with a five gallon batch when you made cider as a hobby, mistakes can be extremely costly when made on a larger scale. Enter the bench trial. Bench trials give you a chance to make minute adjustments to each variable within your new cider: the sugar content, the acidity, varying combinations of fruits and spices. Learning how to use the scientific method in your experiments will save you time and money and ensure that your ciders are a hit every time.

The weekend off did wonders for Charlie’s mental health. The idea of changing the cidermaking process had been a millstone around his neck from the moment it had been proposed, one he’d thrashed against and clawed at to the point of exhaustion. Only when he was at home, distracted by the mundane but necessary tasks he’d neglected all week—an overdue oil change here, a pass of the vacuum there—did he truly come to a place of resigned acceptance.

He and Elle met on Monday to add the finishing touches to their presentation for NVC the next day. Elle’s relief at Charlie’s improved attitude was palpable. “Honestly, Charlie, my name may be the one in the Articles of Organization, but Appelle is as much your business as it is mine. I’d choose my friendship with you over this company any day of the week, but if you’re truly on board, I would love to keep both.”

It was in that spirit that they headed into their presentation with Nick, Sai, and Imogen the next day. Elle busied herself in the kitchen, fussing over the platter of sandwiches Darcy had prepared for them, while Charlie headed into the office to give his presentation a final review. He was surprised to find Nick already settled at the table, squinting at his laptop screen, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. Charlie sucked in a breath when Nick glanced up, temporarily frozen in place.

It had been almost a week since Charlie had last seen Nick—not that he had been counting. But Nick’s presence carried a certain weight, a heft. It was an electrical charge, the kind that increased Charlie’s awareness and made him innately attuned, poised and ready. It was completely destabilizing.

Nick’s open expression faltered when their eyes met; a flicker of uncertainty that disappeared into a polite smile before Charlie had a chance to respond to it. “Good morning. How was your weekend?”

Charlie set his bag and travel mug down and dropped into the seat next to Nick. He wasn’t going to let some kind of invisible undercurrent that only he felt keep him from sitting in his preferred seat. “It was alright,” he said, purposely vague. “What about you?”

Nick made an almost imperceptible shift, giving Charlie a few extra centimeters of room, like he was afraid of being within striking distance. “Alright, yeah. Just the usual. Family, friends and fitness.”

“Fitness, hm?” Charlie smirked and flicked his gaze deliberately to the cable-knit sweater stretched across Nick’s muscular chest. “If only there was a way you could let people know you lifted weights without having to tell them with your words.”

Nick rolled his eyes and chuckled dryly. “I’m looking forward to the day you come up with something to insult about me besides my clothing choices.”

“You’d have to have actual personality traits for that,” Charlie shot back. That same thrill from their last exchange zipped through him, dangerous and charged.

Nick brought his hand to his chest indignantly. “Me? You’re telling me that I’m one-dimensional? You’re like the stuck-in-his-ways cartoon dad from a Disney movie whose entire purpose is to rail against the concept of progress!”

A surprised bark of laughter escaped from Charlie’s lips before he could clap his hands over them. “Okay, time out. I have to give credit where credit is due. That was an extremely specific and very creative insult.”

Nick grinned and bowed his head, acknowledging the compliment. Charlie eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing here so early, anyway? The meeting doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.

Nick sat up a little straighter in his chair. “My father always said, ‘If you’re not early, you’re late.’”

“Oh god, already? Literal seconds after you showed the tiniest glimmer of an actual personality and you’re back to the business cliches already? Is there some kind of factory reset button hidden somewhere on your body I could push?”

“You wish I would let you push my factory reset button,” Nick said snootily before his face sobered. “But no, punctuality is actually really important to me.”

Charlie dropped his head into his hands. “God, you must be fun at parties.”

“Did someone say something about a party?” Imogen poked her head through the office doorway, Elle and Sai’s lighthearted conversation floating in behind her. A tiny frown filled her face when she saw Nick and Charlie, squared off and scowling in their side-by-side seats. “Sorry, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Unless you have a problem interrupting a verbal assault, no, not at all.” Nick glared pointedly at Charlie, who raised his hands innocently.

“That’s cute that you thought that was a verbal assault. Give me a heads up next time; I’ll actually put some effort into it.”

Imogen appraised Nick and Charlie with narrowed eyes as she crossed the room. She removed her hot pink blazer and draped it across the back of a chair on the opposite side of the table. “There’s a weird energy between you two,” she said, wiggling her pointer finger in their direction. “It’s like you’re oil and water, but you’re both so angry about it.” She turned to face Charlie, an excited grin on her face. “I brought you a present!” She fished around in her bag for a second, pulling a bottle out with a flourish.

Charlie’s jaw dropped. “Is that an Etienne Dupont?” He set the bottle in front of him, spinning it around to inspect the back label.

“It’s from Normandy—I found it at this little gourmet market near my house.”

Charlie placed his hand on his heart. “Imogen, thank you.”

Nick leaned over to inspect the bottle, a small frown on his face. “How much did it retail for?”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “God, can you ever just let me enjoy myself, even for just a second?”

Imogen held her hand out in a silent warning. “It was $21.99, Nicholas, and I don’t want to hear it. Charlie and I are working on his price point.”

Imogen and Nick glared at each other, locked in a silent argument, a simmering something dancing between them that made it impossible for Charlie to tear his eyes away.

Elle chose that moment to call them into the kitchen to make their plates for lunch. The group filed into the kitchen, filling their plates with bags of chips and sandwich halves, then settled around the table, exchanging stories from their weekends while they ate. Sai regaled them with tales about the high school robotics team he coached; Elle and Tao had spent an afternoon soaking in the sunshine at Hudson Park. Nick described his Saturday at the golf course, which Charlie sarcastically thanked him for going into such great detail about before admitting sheepishly that the highlight of his weekend was deep cleaning his oven.

“Wow, so this job really is all you have,” Nick muttered just loud enough for Charlie to hear him.

“Careful, Nick, I could get you fired,” Charlie said through a fake smile, not even turning to look at him. He pushed back abruptly from the table. “Shall we get this meeting started?”

He and Elle cleared the empty plates. She caught him by the elbow before he returned to the office, taking a moment to whisper a few encouraging words. It was exactly the pep talk Charlie needed to get his head back in the game. Nick’s ability to get under his skin was as irritating as it was intoxicating—a fact Charlie refused to think too deeply about—but now wasn’t the time to give into self-indulgent distractions.

The stakes of this meeting were sky high. Even though making modern cider had been their suggestion in the first place, Nick and Sai had offered it without extensive background knowledge. A lot of pieces would have to fall into place for it to become the silver-bullet solution they hoped it was. Now, backed with evidence, it was Elle and Charlie’s turn to convince them that this change was the only one they should focus on, not just a small piece of a larger puzzle. It was hard to imagine a bigger change than this one, but scrapping everything—the brand, the cider, the location—must have been on the table at some point. Charlie needed to convince everyone that changing the cider would be enough.

With a final shoulder squeeze and a decisive nod, they returned to the office, game faces on. Elle kicked things off, giving a high-level summary of their findings from the previous week, which mostly boiled down to a ‘yes, this can work if we do it right.’ The energy in the room really shifted when Charlie took over to summarize his new production plan. He needed some time to identify new suppliers and begin recipe development, but if everything went smoothly, he could have a lineup of modern ciders, with flavors derived from Imogen’s extremely helpful market research—he paused his presentation to wink at her, which she responded to by exaggeratedly fanning herself—within six weeks.

“So you’ll get juice samples tomorrow, then?” Sai asked, his pen hovering over his notebook.

“They actually came in yesterday, but they needed a couple days to come to temperature. I’ll probably start bench trials tomorrow if they’re warm enough.”

Sai cocked his head. “What’s a bench trial?”

Elle recognized Charlie’s sharp intake of breath as the precursor of an extremely detailed deep dive, so she jumped in with her answer before he could. “It’s when we change one variable at a time and compare sensory notes. So, we’ll divide the two yeast strains we just ordered between the four different juice samples and come up with eight potential combinations. After a few days, we’ll taste them all and see which specific combination of juice and yeast hits the flavor profile we’re shooting for.”

“Oh my god, this would be such good content for your socials,” Imogen said excitedly. “I can have Sophie come by tomorrow if you let me know what time you’re starting.”

Charlie and Elle exchanged a secret glance. “Actually, Charlie prefers not to be featured on Appelle’s socials.”

Imogen’s face fell. “Oh no! I hate to see a face like yours go to waste. Those full lips? The glossy curls? Your cheekbones? Appelle’s followers would eat you right up.”

“If you didn’t already know I was gay I’d think you were hitting on me!” Charlie giggled, batting her words away.

“What’s fair game, then, hands? Forearms? Lower back? Waist-down?” Imogen asked, whipping out her pen and notebook.

Four sets of eyes swiveled over to Charlie. Strangely enough, a frank discussion of whether he was comfortable sharing below-the-waist images on the company Instagram account wasn’t the most absurd conversation that had been held at that table—that distinction belonged to the brainstorming session that ended with Darcy creating her now-famous ‘Trash Sauce’. Still, having a room full of people—many of whom he’d barely known for a full week and one of whom he was keenly aware of at all times—discuss various parts of his body was awkward, to say the least.

“Um,” he said, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He shot Elle a helpless look.

Nick held out his hand to stop Imogen’s increasingly specific list, which had spiraled to include ears, nape of neck, and feet. “You’re making him uncomfortable, Im. We don’t need to catalogue the exact body parts Charlie is willing to show on camera.” He turned to Charlie. “We won’t post you on Appelle’s socials unless you want us to. I’ll make sure Sophie runs any content by me for approval first. Does that work for you?”

Charlie fought to keep his face neutral despite his conflicting emotions: gratitude for being rescued from an embarrassing conversation; annoyance that it was Nick who had done the rescuing. He nodded, agreeing to Nick’s proposed solution, and the meeting got back on track. Elle opened up her cost-comparison spreadsheet and Nick and Sai were immediately engrossed.

The rest of the meeting went so well that by the time they gathered their bags and confirmed Sophie would come by in the morning, there was an energy, a palpable positivity, about the hard work that lay ahead. Nick and Sai had approved the bones of the plan and were eager to spend their remaining five weeks fleshing them out. Together, Sai promised as he shook their hands at the back door, they were going to breathe life back into Appelle.

Though he had yeast to rehydrate and bottles to fill, Charlie found himself ruminating on how, without trying, Nick had provided the proof he had been searching for all week, unable to locate through the haze of silky shirts and meaningless word-salad. It seemed that, despite his lack of tact and penchant for custom tailoring, Nick Nelson was good at his job. Very good.

And the quick, decisive action Nick had taken on Charlie's behalf, the way he had noticed Charlie’s discomfort and instinctively put a jaw-flexed, hard-eyed, folded-arm stop to the conversation that had caused it was so. fucking. hot.

Charlie shot up in bed, the liminal-space attention he'd been paying to the sweater-stretched, constellation-freckled, frustratingly blasé image in his mind shocking him right out of his dream state.

Oh no. No no no no.

He dropped his head into his hands, trying to slow his thumping heart as he was forced to accept all it took was the merest hint of an underlying personality to flip the switch from 'I hate that fucking guy' to 'I wanna hate-fuck that guy'.

The longer he sat there, though, the more he teased it out, the more he realized that it wasn't just that. That electrical undercurrent, that buzzing focus-draw had a name, one that he'd tried to avoid like a buried-head ostrich.

Attraction.

Honest to god, more-than-purely-physical attraction.

How embarrassing.

🥂🍾🥂

By the time Sophie arrived the next morning, tripod in one hand and reflectors tucked under her opposite arm, Charlie had already been at work for hours. He’d slept fitfully, dreaming of the hilly pastures in Normandy and cashmere sweaters, cinder block warehouses and errant locks of hair. It was only after his third cup of coffee, when Elle arrived and he was no longer the only person in the building, that he was able to fully separate dreams from reality. And the reality was that he had a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it. Distractions, even annoyingly competent ones with strong biceps and a frustrating ability to match his insults beat for beat, just couldn’t be a part of the picture.

He sanitized his surfaces while Sophie set herself up in the corner, chatting about the recent changes to the TikTok algorithm. When he was finally ready, Charlie grabbed four jugs of apple juice and set them on the counter, each in front of a sharpie-and-tape labeled section.

“I’ve got a tight shot on the table; just the jugs and glassware,” Sophie said, stepping out from behind her camera. “Your hands might get in there too.”

“That’s fine,” Charlie replied through gritted teeth. He hated that, despite his and Elle’s best intentions to make his off-camera preferences as benign as possible, they had turned into such a thing. “Here, want to try some of the juice?”

Sophie nodded eagerly, accepting his offered glass of cloudy liquid. “I’m prepared for this juice to be sub-par. Nick told me all about the crapples.” She swirled the glass and held it up to the light like she had worked at Appelle for years.

“As juice it’ll be fine, just like what you get at the orchard in the fall,” Charlie explained. He took a sip and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. It was fine. A perfectly serviceable option for a haunted hayride or paired with a bowl of oatmeal.

“Notes of candy apple and green Jolly Rancher,” Sophie noted. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Hint of cardboard…some interesting minerality.” She gulped down the rest of the juice in the glass and she licked her lips. “Interesting; it’s got a hint of effervescence to it, but almost no viscosity!”

Charlie quirked an eyebrow. “Have you been reading my sensory guidebook?”

“Of course not—I bought my own!”

Charlie let out a surprised laugh. “Did you now?”

She put her hands on her hips and gave him a scornful look. “Charlie, I’m in social media. My entire job is writing captions—can you imagine if I didn’t do my own research and triple-check my sources?”

Charlie opened his mouth to answer her but she barreled on.

“I know you’re kind of old, but kids these days don’t read books anymore, they read captions. Which makes me their Bard! Keeping factual errors out of my captions is a responsibility I don’t take lightly.” She returned to her post behind the camera, leaving Charlie frozen in place.

She adjusted her angle and snapped her fingers. “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

Charlie blindly grabbed his sanitized glass jugs, stunned that she had managed to convince him that writing captions for Appelle’s Instagram reels were on par with composing historically significant sonnets.

“Alright, everything is set for the yeast addition,” Charlie said once he had distributed the juice evenly between them. “I have two strains that I have rehydrating in the office. Do you want to follow me or should I just go get them?”

“I’ll follow you!” She unclipped her camera from the tripod base and fiddled with a few buttons, shooting him a thumbs up when she was ready.

Charlie headed into the office, waving at Elle behind her desk, and grabbed the bubbling beakers from the table. He bent to inspect them, narrowing his eyes and swirling each with their own spoon, before nodding in satisfaction. “Okay, they’re ready.” He grabbed the beakers and headed back to the kitchen, one in each hand, while Sophie trailed him. “So I’m just going to —”

“Elle! Have you seen the guard plate for the slicer?” Darcy yelled, storming through the opposite door.

“Darcy!” Charlie yelped just before they collided.

“Shit! Charlie! Sorry!” Darcy gasped. Milky yeast-water sloshed over the edges of the beaker. Despite a valiant attempt, Charlie couldn’t keep a hold of the glass in his left hand. It slipped from his grip and fell to the floor, scattering shards of glass and in every direction.

“What happened?” Elle asked, running through the door Charlie had just walked through. She stopped abruptly when she saw Darcy and Charlie clinging to each other in the middle of the kitchen, warm yeast water wetting their shirts and dripping from their fingers. “Okay, don’t move, let me grab the broom.”

She reappeared a minute later, sweeping the debris out of the way, while Charlie and Darcy carefully tiptoed out of the kitchen to change clothes.

Sophie, who apparently had cat-like reflexes in addition to a great palate, snapped her camera back into place on the tripod, gesturing at the floor. “I can tell this has happened before.”

“More times than I care to admit,” Elle confessed, chuckling. “It’s the price we pay for having a walk-through kitchen and someone like Darcy on staff.”

When Charlie returned, he mixed up a new batch of yeast, explaining each step along the way while Sophie took detailed notes. He granted her request for a tour while the yeast rehydrated, and when they returned twenty minutes later, it was bubbling away. Sophie headed back to the tripod to film Charlie as he swirled the yeast, made notes in his notebook, and then poured a few ounces into each of the glass jugs. He got eight different stoppers and air locks from his sanitizer bucket to seal them, and then turned to face Sophie. “Alright, that should do it.”

“What happens next?” she asked.

“Now we wait for fermentation to start. In a few days, we’ll come back and take some measurements and another sample to see how they’re turning out.”

“Will you let me know whenever it’s time for the next step? I can get content along the way and then patch it together to make a really cool behind-the-scenes sneak peek at how a cider company develops a new hit flavor.”

“Sure,” Charlie chuckled, “Though I’m not sure adding yeast into a jug of apple juice is going to go viral.”

“Well you’ve never worked with me,” Sophie winked and punched her number into Charlie’s phone. “I'll be here tomorrow morning to get some static shots of the production space, so if you think of anything interesting that will be happening, let me know!” She tossed a wave over her shoulder.

They’d only met twice, but Charlie had a feeling that if anyone could make something boring go viral—whether it be yeast additions or urban housing policy—it would be her.

Chapter Text

The Taproom

There is no better opportunity to showcase your brand than your taproom. Whether the primary goal is to generate revenue, educate customers, or test out new products, each person who walks through your door presents you with the opportunity to make a great impression. Choices like music and decor show us who you are and what you care about. When your taproom works, it will turn casual customers into brand ambassadors. When it doesn’t, you’ll put your company’s very reputation at risk. Never underestimate the power of your taproom. 

Charlie was in a surprisingly good mood. Nothing made him happier than making a new batch of cider. He loved that even the tasks that appeared simple on the surface had so many steps, each one with its own set of requirements and practical reasons. Mentally repeating those steps throughout the day brought him into a zen-like state: sanitize the scale, measure yeast to the gram, warm the water, set the timer, stir every five minutes. At the present, with his professional life out of his control and trending in a direction he didn’t want, the steps of cidermaking were a comfort, like a pebble in his pocket he could rub until it was smooth and he was safe again.

After bidding Sophie farewell, Charlie headed back toward the office. A glance at the clock when his stomach grumbled convinced him to veer off course toward the taproom instead; now was as good a time as any for a lunch break before he started his afternoon tasks.

The second he stepped through the doorway that divided his production space from the taproom, he felt it: that attention-tug, that sixth sense awareness that could only mean one thing. Before Charlie had a chance to fight it, his eyes found Nick’s across the deserted room, snapping together like they were magnetized. Everything around him faded away—the framed botanical drawings and rows of gleaming glassware; the corkboard advertisements and fluttering Pride flags. 

Nick was seated at a table in the front of the taproom, elbows propped and phone clasped. Without breaking eye contact, he reached to the empty chair on his right and pulled it out, quirking his eyebrow in a silent invitation. Charlie grabbed the edge of the bar to keep himself from stumbling on his unsteady feet, his pulse pounding so wildly he was sure it was audible. Why did his limbic system have to be such a fucking traitor?  

“Um, excuse me, but what was that?”  

Charlie whirled around to find Darcy standing right behind him, looking suspiciously in Nick’s direction. “Jesus, Darcy, that’s the second time you’ve snuck up on me today.”

“At least this time you weren’t carrying an open container,” Darcy pointed out.

Charlie peeked over to Nick, whose attention was back on his phone. Darcy folded their arms and gave Charlie a small frown when he dropped into one of the bar stools. “I’m sorry, but no,” they said flatly.

“What?”

They shook their head. “You’re not allowed to sit here right now.”

Charlie checked his watch again. “But it’s after 11:00. We’re open.”

“Yeah, but I run the show on this side. There’s no way I’m going to let you sit here, alone, and leave him over there, also alone, after all that gratuitous eye-fucking you just subjected me to.”

“We weren’t eye fucking,” Charlie defended, feeling his cheeks growing hot. “I was just…surprised to see him, that’s all.”

“Ah, is that what you call that look on your face? Surprise?” Darcy placed their hands on the bar and leaned forward, lowering their voice to a whisper. “Because to me it looks a lot like lust. Primal, animalistic lust.”  

“He’s extremely straight,” Charlie muttered under his breath, glancing again in Nick’s direction. God, he was so hot. He was dressed more casually than usual, wearing the khakis-and-sockless-loafer combo that straight men seemed particularly fond of when they wanted to come across as effortless. 

Darcy wiggled their eyebrows salaciously. “He might have been straight when he showed up last week, but given the way he looks at you, I’d wager he isn’t anymore.” 

“Darcy, come on, it’s not nice to speculate.”

“He’s extremely straight,” they parroted in a high-pitched voice, mimicking Charlie’s previous words. “Hate to break it to ya but that, my friend, is also speculation.” A mischievous glint shone in Darcy’s eyes as they turned toward the front of the taproom, cupping a hand around their mouth and raising their voice. “Hey Nick! Mind if Charlie joins you? He was just telling me how he’d love nothing more than to sit at your feet and learn from the master.” 

“Darcy!” Charlie hissed, shooting daggers before turning to return Nick’s polite smile with his own forced version.

“What, Charlie? Our entire company, the very name of our brand is at risk right now, and only you can save us. You know what you have to do.” 

Charlie rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. ‘Make modern cider.’” He made finger quotes in the air.

“No, silly. Seduce and destroy.” 

Charlie sighed deeply, the legs of the stool scraping against the floor as he scooted back. “I might be good, but I’m not that good.”

Darcy grabbed Charlie by the sides of his hoodie, dead serious. “Do it for Appelle, Charlie! Save a business, ride a consultant.”

Charlie snorted and headed toward Nick, reminding himself of all of the very valid reasons that nothing could ever happen between them. First of all, despite Darcy’s claims, Nick was as straight as they came, and Charlie had learned the hard way that barking up the wrong tree was a massive waste of time and a fast track to heartbreak. And secondly, almost as much of a non-starter as incompatible sexual orientations was the fact that they were working together. Charlie had made a lot of vows over the years, but none had been as dead-serious as the one he made with himself, staring into his own red-rimmed eyes in a moonlit bathroom mirror, that he would never, ever, mix business and pleasure again. 

And then there was the barely-contained simmering hatred, which definitely went both ways.  

“Fancy meeting you here,” Nick smiled, pulling the chair out even further.

“I work here,” Charlie said flatly, taking his seat. He had no intentions of being charmed, no matter how sweet Nick pretended to be. “What are you doing here, anyway? I don’t remember having a meeting on my calendar today.”

“Not everything revolves around you,” Nick said primly, flicking at his phone with his index finger. “I have a meeting with Darcy in a bit, if you must know.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize being born with a silver spoon in your mouth qualified you as an expert in front-of-house food-service operations as well as manufacturing,” Charlie mused. “I wonder if you know more about operating a panini press than you do about cidermaking?” 

Nick shook his head sadly. “If only I had been born with all the knowledge in the universe like you apparently were.” 

Without really thinking about the fact that he was at work, and they were temporarily colleagues, and they barely knew each other, Charlie raised his middle finger and held it so close to Nick’s face that his eyes crossed. 

Nick batted Charlie’s hand away. “What do you want me to do, sit on it?” His eyebrows shot up the second the words left his mouth, a bright red flush flaming across his cheeks. “Oh my god.” 

Charlie waved his hands in between them, eyes squeezed shut and head shaking furiously in an Etch-A-Sketch-esque attempt to erase the x-rated image that had popped into his mind. “Jesus Christ! Sit on it? Where the fuck did that come from?” 

Nick buried his face in his hands, completely mortified. “I’m so sorry, I have never behaved like this with a client before. I blame you and your inexplicable antagonism.”

Charlie shook his head in wonder, still dazed. “Well Nick, I seem to have underestimated your ability to craft a completely unhinged and inappropriate comeback.”

“You said that the last time I surprised you with a comeback too, you know,” Nick muttered, dropping his hands back into his lap.  

“Hm, you make a good point. Maybe you’re more interesting than I’ve given you credit for.” 

“Gee, could there be a lesson in here about making assumptions?” 

Charlie pretended to ponder the question, tapping his finger against his chin exaggeratedly, and then shook his head firmly. “Nah, probably not.” They smiled at each other across the table, eyes bright. Charlie, who had yet to find a mode in between flirting and fighting, leaned forward on his elbows, a wicked grin curling his lips. “So, Nick, do you make a habit of offering to get fucked by people you’re working for or am I just special?” 

“God,” Nick moaned, dropping his head into his hands again. “I have a feeling this is going to come up several times over the next five weeks.” The only visible parts of his face were his ears, which were almost purple, and if Charlie squinted, even the tiny bits of scalp in between Nick’s perfectly coiffed locks were blushing. 

“The only certain things in life are death, taxes, and the fact that I’m going to make fun of you for offering to fuck yourself on my finger as often as humanly possible,” Charlie affirmed, wondering if Darcy’s gaydar had managed to ‘find another one’ or if Nick was just more sexually liberated than he looked.

Charlie’s internal musings were interrupted by the person themself as Darcy approached the table, pen and pad in hand. “What’s for lunch today, Charlie?”

“I’ll just have a Golden Russet and the vegan chili,” Charlie said. He turned to Nick. “Have you ordered already?” 

“He did,” Darcy answered. “Once I put Charlie’s order in I’ll run it out to you, Nick.” 

Nick finally removed his hands from his face and glanced at Charlie. “I really am sorry for being so unprofessional around you. You just…you get under my skin.”

“Cheers,” Charlie said, lifting his water glass in Nick’s direction. “We finally found something in common with each other.”

“I have to say,” Nick said after a minute of comfortable silence. “I thought you’d put up a bit more of a fight with the whole ‘changing the cider’ thing.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Would you have changed your recommendation if I had?”

“Oh, no,” Nick chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s obviously the right move. Your presentation yesterday confirmed it.”

“Well, I guess I’m glad to have dug my own grave, then,” Charlie said glumly.

Nick leaned forward, trying to catch Charlie’s eye. “I’m trying to compliment you.”

“Are you? Funny way of saying it: ‘You convinced me that my own idea was not just brilliant, but necessary.’” 

Nick laughed, tongue in cheek. “You’re a menace, Charlie Spring.”

“Never claimed I wasn’t.” Charlie winked. “So, did you want to try the compliment again or…?”

“Even though you didn’t like it, you were open to change,” Nick said simply. “And not many people could create an entirely new production process in a week. You’re really good at what you do.”

Charlie sighed deeply. “Ugh, fine, since you’re obviously fishing for compliments I’ll just say it. You are really good at what you do too.”  

A smile split Nick’s face in half. He reached forward to shake Charlie’s hand. “Truce?"

“If I have to,” Charlie said dramatically, clasping Nick’s hand and shaking it. They held on for a beat, smiling at each other for the second time. Charlie’s pulse started hammering in his neck again, louder than before. He was sure Nick could see it. He swallowed hard.

Darcy interrupted the uncomfortable silence, also for a second time, setting a plate down in front of Nick. “Alright, I have a grilled cheese, add ham and tomato, and a black cherry White Claw.”

“Than—”

“A White Claw?” Charlie snatched his hand back and glared at Darcy as they set can down. “Since when are we serving White Claws in our taproom?”

“Umm…since Nick told me to?” Darcy glanced nervously at Nick, whose eyes widened. 

Charlie whirled around in his seat. “Are you fucking kidding me? We don’t serve beverages other than our own ciders in here, and certainly not shit like that!”

“You do now,” Nick shrugged. “It’s a business decision, Charlie, don’t take it personally.”

“What could possibly be the business reason for selling White Claw in a taproom known for fine cider? We have a reputation to uphold!”

Nick sighed deeply and held out his hand, ticking off his fingers as he spoke. “One, people like White Claw. Two, you guys are low on cash and you can sell these at 300% profit. Three, having a bunch of non-Appelle options will tell us what your customers like. Four, as you yourself told us yesterday, your 2024 ciders aren’t going to be ready for a couple months. You can’t have a taproom without any alcohol in it. Five, if we—”

“Alright, alright, god you are such a dick! I forgot I was dealing with someone who only communicates in dollar signs.”

“I was literally hired to help you guys make more money!” Nick cried. 

“We have values, Nick. We have a point of view! Selling carbonated alcohol water is not a part of Appelle’s brand!”

“No, it’s not a part of your brand,” Nick said, jabbing his pointer finger toward Charlie’s chest. “You have to figure out how to separate what you, Charlie Spring, want, and what Appelle, a business entity, needs! It’s not always going to be the same thing!”  

“I’m sure separating business and personal is easy when your only personal value is making obscene amounts of money,” Charlie spat. “I care about things. I have standards. Just because you’re comfortable putting shit into the world doesn’t mean I have to be.”

“Alright, I’m pulling rank,” Darcy said, stepping between them, one hand firmly pressed into each of their chests. “You might technically be my boss,” they said, looking at Charlie, “and you might technically have been hired by the actual boss,” they said, speaking to Nick, “but this is my taproom. You either shut the fuck up or you get out.” They pointed in opposite directions, to the front and the back door, eyes hardened.

Charlie and Nick stared at each other, jaws clenched. Charlie let out a strangled noise from his throat and spun on his heel. “I take back my truce,” he called over his shoulder.

“Ooh, am I supposed to yell ‘no take-backs’ now? It’s been a long time since I was in first grade, I don’t remember all the rules!” Nick yelled back.

Charlie slammed the door to the production space behind him. He had to hand it to Nick; it was difficult to have a personality so bad that it overpowered a face and body so good, but he’d somehow managed it. As it stood, Charlie wouldn’t be tempted to look at Nick with anything other than contempt ever again.

Chapter Text

Fermentation

You can’t expect to make quality cider if you don’t first master the art of fermentation. Fermentation is the chemical process that breaks one substance down (sugar) and transforms it into a more potent, desired version of itself (alcohol). But be careful—a byproduct of the process is carbon dioxide. If you don’t monitor the building pressure, your beautiful bottle of cider will become a ticking time bomb. 

If there was one thing Charlie Spring was good at, it was cleaning. 

Like most children, his chores increased in complexity as he grew up: the toy gathering and table settings of childhood turned into driveway power-washes and car vacuuming by adolescence. 

He had always enjoyed those daily chores. They were concrete tasks with distinct objectives, projects he could look back on and see his progress. If the job was particularly tedious, he could work in duplicate; his mind wandered while his body performed, addressing two problems at the same time. Nothing felt better than falling into bed, physically exhausted and mentally clear.

Being diagnosed with anxiety as a teenager was like being handed a pair of glasses after discovering he was near-sighted: so many of his curious childhood habits suddenly came into focus. Cleaning wasn’t just a convenient personal preference; it was self-soothing. Charlie began to view the cleanliness of the spaces he lived in as a barometer of his mental health, from the messy dorm room during his joyful college years to the pristine luxury condo, a beautiful backdrop that disguised a harsh reality. Instead of a means to curate a calm environment, cleaning became a symptom to keep an eye on, a habit to monitor. A spotless domain became a warning signal, a corner-crumpled sweater a reassurance. 

In addition to giving him the opportunity to explore his passion alongside his best friends, working at Appelle had also redeemed cleaning for Charlie. Here, in the production space, cleaning was a welcomed obligation. It was a method to avoid contamination, a matter of consumer health, a protection against liability. 

When Charlie had complex emotions to work through—as he did shortly after his heated exchange with Nick—nothing did the trick quite like a good cleaning binge. He grunted with every sweep of his stiff-bristled brush, waves of indignance radiating from his tense shoulders. It was black cherry this and drain-circling suds; don’t take it personally that and sweat-matted curls. He hurled creative insults into the ether while yeast residue dissolved, stretched out cramp-twisted fingers and tossed his soaked sweatshirt aside. 

By the time Charlie went home, physically exhausted but mentally clear, he had identified the one silver lining of having Nick Nelson in his life: Appelle’s floors had never been cleaner.

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie awkwardly stumbled through his apartment door, juggling a bag full of Dhaba House take-out containers in one hand and his keys in the other. 

Isaac shot up from where he had been stretched out on the couch. “Oh! What are you doing here? You never come home this early.” He slid his book under a throw pillow and clicked off the TV. 

Charlie set his bags down and slipped off his shoes, glancing suspiciously between Isaac’s guilty face and the suddenly blank television. “What were you doing?”

Isaac shook his head lightly. “Nothing important.”

“It was important enough to try to hide it from me.” Charlie walked over to the couch and shoved Isaac’s legs out of the way to make room to sit down. He sat, poised on one side of the couch, studying Isaac with narrowed eyes. His sharp intake of breath gave him away: he lunged for the throw pillow, squealing when Isaac dove on top of it first.

“Stop!” Isaac panted, batting at Charlie’s hands. “I’m trying to protect you here!”

Charlie gave up the fight and gave Isaac a pointed look. “You don’t have to protect me. It’s not like I’ve forgotten what you do for your real job.”

They glared at each other, locked in a silent argument before Isaac rolled his eyes heavenward. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I was doing if you tell me why you’re home at,” he paused to look at his watch, “4pm on Tuesday with a bag full of samosas.”

“Deal,” Charlie promised, reaching forward to shake Isaac’s hand. “You go first.” 

Isaac sheepishly fished a well-worn, dog-eared book from under the pillow and flashed the cover in Charlie’s direction. 

“Oh Isaac,” Charlie frowned sympathetically, reaching forward to give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Again? Seriously?”

“Yes again,” Isaac agreed grimly. He flicked the TV back on. Colin Firth’s forlorn face and billowing shirt filled the frame. “This is the third adaptation I’ve had to read this year and it’s only April.”

“Well, then I suppose you have no choice but to brush up on the major plot points,” Charlie agreed. “What if you’ve forgotten something in the two weeks since you watched it last?”

“See? You get it,” Isaac nodded seriously. “I happen to take my work very seriously. If watching Colin Firth dive into a lake on repeat will help me make this adaptation sparkle, then so be it. I shall take one for the team.” 

“What’s the hook for this one?” Charlie asked, getting the box of samosas out of the carryout bag. “Let me guess…gender swap! No, Gay Pride and Prejudice. Ooh, no! Age gap Pride and Prejudice—surely no one has ever had that idea before.”

“Close: werewolf versus vampire, set during the Imperial Tang Dynasty in Ancient China.”

“Ah, of course. That was my next guess.” Charlie and Isaac giggled, passing the box of samosas between them and settling into opposite corners of the couch. “You don’t have to hide your work from me, you know,” Charlie said after a few moments.

“I know, but it’s a bit loaded, isn’t it? I don’t want to remind you about,” he gestured vaguely at Charlie and their apartment, “everything.” 

Memories, the ones Charlie had locked away in the dustiest corner of his mind, burst forth uninvited: charcoal slacks and printer-warmed reams of paper, spinning office chairs and urgent calls that he just had to take. God, everything had felt so important, so necessary back then. When it was all said and done, he wasn’t sure what had hurt worse—being burned by someone he loved or finding out he was so easily replaceable.

He sighed and reached for a piece of naan, chewing it thoughtfully. If the sharp shard of sadness pressing against his chest was any indication, perhaps he did need Isaac’s protection. “I probably wouldn’t want to talk about it every day,” he said hesitantly, “but it’s been a long time since you caught me up on all the company gossip. Are Derek and Courtney still having their torrid breakroom affair?”

“No, better.” Isaac leaned forward excitedly. “They had a torrid breakroom breakup.”

Charlie gasped, hand to heart, and dipped his naan into the rich, orange curry. After the ballad of Derek and Courtney, they busied themselves catching up on the rest of Charlie's former coworkers—well, all but one. It was more likely for Hermione to say ‘Voldemort’ than for certain names to be uttered within the confines of their apartment walls. Charlie learned long ago that pressing on a healing bruise only prolonged the pain.

“And what about you,” Isaac asked after he finished describing the manuscript he’d just finished editing. “How’s everything going with all the NVC stuff? Elle told me your big meeting went really well yesterday.”

“Oh god, don’t get me started on NVC.” Charlie stabbed his plastic fork into a piece of chicken so aggressively that the tines bent backwards. “I swear to god, Isaac. I’ve never met someone as abhorrent as Nick Nelson.”

“Nick Nelson?” Isaac asked, brows pulling together. “He seems alright to me. I mean, I know he recommended the big change to the cider, but I thought you’d come around on that.”

“Well, aside from being as interesting as a piece of wet cardboard and as boring as a bowl of Shredded Wheat with skim milk, he’s also gone and added White Claw to the taproom menu.” 

“Oh, how dare he,” Isaac said flatly, rolling his eyes. “Last I heard, you’re in charge of making the cider, not on the food and beverage menu in the taproom. Why do you care if Darcy sells White Claw?”

“Et tu, Isaac?” Charlie cried, clutching his heart. “It’s unrefined! It’s a mass-produced beverage that caters to the lowest common denominator. And don’t even get me started on the ingredients list. There isn’t a natural ingredient—hey, stop laughing, I’m serious!”

“Yeah, seriously pretentious,” Isaac deadpanned. “You’re insulting our customers! They get Appelle ciders when they’re feeling fancy but you know the majority of them are buying White Claw by the case for their pool parties and summer barbecues.” 

“They wouldn’t dare.”

Isaac threw his arms into the air. “When did you turn into Tao Xu, and I mean the aggressively condescending Tao Xu from high school, not the one Elle reformed with the power of her love? Once your new cider is ready, I’m sure Darcy will take White Claw off the menu. Why let such a temporary, nothingburger change turn an otherwise helpful business consultant into your mortal enemy? Unless…” Isaac turned to Charlie, a glint in his eye. “Unless!”  

Charlie held up his hand, stopping Isaac from continuing. “No. I know exactly what you’re thinking and you don’t even have to say it. You’re 100% wrong.” 

Isaac stabbed his pointer finger into Charlie’s chest. “A hundred bucks says I’m not. You like him!” 

Charlie folded his arms across his chest and shook his head defiantly. “I hate him. He’s legitimately reprehensible.”

“Yeah, and I bet you want to do legitimately reprehensible things to him…in bed.” Isaac’s grin was so large it took up the entire bottom half of his face.

“I swear I don’t.” Charlie paused and peeked at Isaac out of the corner of his eye. “At least…not anymore. The White Claw kind of killed the vibe for me.”

“I knew it!” Isaac clapped his hands gleefully. He sobered when Charlie shot him an irritated look. “Okay, fine, I’ll take you at your word. If it’s really this White Claw in the taproom thing that’s got your panties in such a twist, why are you directing all your anger toward Nick, specifically? I’m sure Sai and even Elle were involved in that decision, too.” Isaac snapped his fingers and pointed at Charlie. “Imogen, of course! She would absolutely suggest adding new products to the taproom as a way to collect customer feedback. You should be mad at Imogen instead of Nick.” 

“You keep Imogen’s name out of your mouth,” Charlie warned. “I know I’ve only met her twice but she’s already one of my top five favorite humans. She asked me about my origin story and then brought me an Etienne Dupont. She shut Nick down when he started harping on Appelle’s price point for the millionth time. Imogen is a bright beam of sunshine wrapped in a power suit and I will protect her with my life.”

“Well, far be it from me to suggest that the person in charge of marketing might have made the decision about marketing.” 

Charlie harrumphed back into his seat, wondering if Isaac was actually right that Nick was a simple messenger in a much bigger plot to cheapen Appelle’s brand with White Claw. Nick and Sai seemed to make most of their decisions together, and even though it wounded Charlie to consider that someone as wonderful as Imogen would suggest something as terrible White Claw, perhaps she deserved some of Charlie’s scrutiny as well.

Charlie picked at his dinner while the last two episodes of Pride and Prejudice played in the background, wondering who specifically at NVC was running the show. He excused himself when the final credits rolled, explaining that he needed to wash off the caked-on layers of yeast, which had started as a powder, been rehydrated into a liquid that he promptly spilled all over himself, and then had dried again. What would he even call that? Redried hydrated yeast? Redrydated yeast? He and Isaac lost at least five minutes giggling about it before Charlie finally made his exit. 

It was only 8:00 when he climbed into bed, exhausted from the physical work of cleaning and the emotional swings of the day. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, waiting for sleep to take him, but it didn’t come. He sighed and grabbed his phone from the side table. 

Maybe it was time he tried to know his enemy a bit better.

🥂🍾🥂

Half an hour later, Charlie had learned a whole lot of nothing useful about Nick Nelson.

Googling had revealed a high school science fair presentation about ionic compounds, which adorably listed Sai Verma as the co-author. 

LinkedIn was as much of a dead end for information about Nick as it was a dead end for information about anything.

The bunny trail of links that started on NVC’s website revealed that Nick’s dad, Stéphane Fournier, was a managing member of the company. Charlie peered at his picture, trying to find Nick in Stéphane’s face, an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. Questions swirled through his brain, like why were  their last names different and why hadn’t anyone mentioned his involvement if he was one of the owners? It almost felt like they didn’t want anyone to know he was involved, which was strange because a quick Google search revealed that he was well-connected, serving on boards and sitting on advisory committees of several prestigious companies in the region.

Eventually, Charlie landed back on Nick’s Instagram account. He scrolled past the images he’d seen the first time, pausing here and there to open individual pictures or watch especially popular reels. Based on the overwhelming number of wooded, snowy paths and sparkling summer lakes, it seemed that Nick spent a lot of his free time outdoors. Occasionally, a dog would show up, sometimes a friend, and, surprisingly frequently, Sai and Imogen. On ski-trips and boats, arms thrown around each others’ shoulders, hot pink nails and bright smiles.

Charlie stopped, his thumb hovering over the screen. Wait. Hot pink nails? Where had he seen those before, aside from on Imogen’s hands both times they’d met and in the picture he was currently staring at? He searched through his memory, trying to figure out what was bothering him. 

He scrolled back through Nick’s feed, opening the pictures he’d seen a few seconds before until— there. There it was. Nick, smiling broadly at the camera, vineyards stretching behind him in neat rows, fingers curled around the delicate stem of a wine glass. And there, in the corner, was another hand. A hand with bright pink nails.

Charlie scrambled into a seated position, hunched over his phone, his heart beating faster, louder with each new discovery. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he saw them everywhere: a hand flattened against a car door in one, grasping the spine of a book in another, resting on picnic blankets and holding forks and squeezing shoulders. 

Charlie set his phone down, pulse pounding, each awkwardly-cropped photo and fake smile another falling domino that led to the only possible conclusion. The barely-contained blush when Imogen referenced Nick being all bark no bite? And—wait. Charlie scrolled back and found the picture of the vineyard, a heavy dread falling over him when he remembered her ridiculous sex-in-a-Parisian-vineyard-fantasy. What had she said again? Something about a strapping man finally admitting he was in love with her all along? All along? That could only mean one thing. 

Oh my god. Oh my god. Nick and Imogen were a thing. From the looks of it, they were a secret thing. From the way Imogen’s face only appeared when they were surrounded by friends, Nick was the one doing the hiding. 

Charlie stared blankly, stomach clenched and white-noise static. His imagination whirred to life, painting pictures that were all too vivid: Nick pushing Imogen out of frame; Nick cropping out her smiling face. A crestfallen look followed by a bright and bubbly recovery, a placating assurance that it was fine, she didn’t mind not being in the picture, honest.  

And oh, how Charlie’s heart broke for her, blue-lit and safely tucked in his cozy bed. He knew what it felt like to be pushed aside one moment just to be beckoned the next. He knew how easily he had been convinced to become invisible—the exhilaration of hiding in plain sight, the thrill of being carefully kept. It had never crossed his mind that he wasn’t someone’s precious secret; he was a dirty one.

He laid on his side, waves of nausea and throat-tightening dread darkening the room around him. How long had this been going on, and how had it started? Just how calculated had Nick been? Had he plotted and planned, falsely befriended and charmed? Was Imogen chosen for the same reasons Charlie had been, that dangerously exploitable combination of ambition and innocence? 

Charlie put up a valiant fight, brought out his tried and true coping mechanisms to fend off his dusty demons. He took calming breaths and counted backwards, tightened every muscle in his body until he shook and then melted into his pillow, panting and weak. He fell into a fitful sleep, garish faces merging and distorting. There were twisted grins and impossible standards, hands-and-knees scrubbings and scribble-scratched darkness. 

When he woke up the next day, there was one thing he knew for certain: he would be the person for Imogen he wished had been there for him: someone who was willing to speak truth to power. Someone who believed victims and defended the defenseless. 

This wasn’t going to happen again, not to him or to anyone else. 

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie stormed into Appelle the next morning.

He cut a line through the taproom, not even pausing to say hello to Darcy. “Where is Elle?”  

Darcy popped up from where they had been squatting to stock the shelves behind the bar. “Well good morning to you, too, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

“I know I owe you an apology for losing my cool yesterday, but—”

“Yes, you do, and no, that didn't count.”

Charlie made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry for getting in a fight in your taproom and I promise I’ll make it up to you. But first I need to know where Elle is. I have to talk to her. It’s—” Charlie was startled when hot tears sprang to his eyes. He blinked furiously, upset that he’d already lost control of his emotions. 

“Whoa, are you okay?” Darcy set down their case of White Claw on the bartop and peered at Charlie with concern.

“I-I…No.” A tear breached his lashes and rolled down his cheek. He wiped it furiously away. He felt like he was on the verge of another panic attack. “I really need to talk to Elle.”

“I haven’t seen her yet today, but she might have come in through the back. Check the office.”

“Thanks Darce. I really am sorry about yesterday.” Charlie wiped his eyes again and chuckled bitterly. “Turns out the White Claw was just a red herring.”

Darcy pulled Charlie into a hug. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea what that means, but I hope you find Elle.”

“Thanks,” Charlie sniffed.

“Can I make a joke about how you should take a White Claw for the road or is that in poor taste?”

Charlie let out a surprised laugh. As much as he and Darcy butted heads sometimes, they could always bring a smile to his face. “Yeah, it's too soon for that joke.”

“No White Claw jokes until further notice. Got it.” Darcy set the case back on the ground and gave Charlie’s shoulder a final squeeze as he squared his shoulders and headed through the doorway. He walked through the kitchen and into the office, finding Elle’s laptop on her desk, but she was nowhere to be seen. Charlie headed to the production floor. 

Sophie popped out from behind her tripod and scurried over. “Hey, Charlie! I was hoping I'd see you today. I had this really fun idea but I know I’m supposed to check—”  

“Have you seen Elle?” Charlie stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck to search behind the tanks. 

“Yeah, she and Sai just left to go meet with a bank. I swear they gave me permission to be back here when they left.”

Charlie dismissed her with a wave of his hand, already pulling his phone from his pocket as he headed back toward the office. “Come on, Elle, pick up,” he muttered, pacing the room, groaning when her voicemail started.

“Elle,” he said after the beep, “I need you to come back as soon as you get this message. I…look. Before you think this is some dumb reason like the cider or, I dunno if you heard about my fight with Nick over White Claw in the taproom? Anyway, it’s not about that, it’s actually serious. It’s…well. I don’t know how else to say this.” Charlie took a deep breath and sat down on the couch, massaging his temple. “Elle, Nick is a bad dude. Like, a really bad dude. And I know this sounds dramatic, but I can't work with him anymore. Sai and Imogen are fine, but I’ll just go ahead and say it: I refuse to be in the same building as Nick. It’s that big of a problem for me.” He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head against the back of the couch. “Okay, I think I’m rambling now. But call me. Better yet, cancel your meeting and just come back right now. I don’t feel safe here, knowing Nick could show up any second. Okay. Talk to you soon. Bye.” 

“I'm sorry, but what the hell was that?”

Charlie leapt out of his seat and spun around to find Nick standing in the doorway, hand resting on the doorknob, face a mix of anger and hurt. 

“How much of that did you hear?” Charlie asked, edging nervously to the other side of the room, his heart rate quickening like it always did when he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

“Enough to be really confused.” Nick replied, stepping forward, trying to cage Charlie in. “All I know is I walked in here and overheard you telling Elle that you don’t feel safe with me in your building? Is that true?” 

Charlie had to give it to him; Nick had the innocent act down to a science.

“Is this about the White Claw?” Nick asked, brows knitted together. “I know they’re not your favorite brand, but I genuinely didn’t know it was going to be such a problem. We can take them off the menu, even though you did sell through two entire cases yesterday…”

“It’s not about the fucking White Claw, Jesus Christ!” Charlie hissed.

Nick held his arms wide. “Please enlighten me then! I know I’m a big guy but no one has ever told me that I make them feel unsafe.” 

Charlie bravely stepped out of the corner he had shrunken into. “I know what’s happening with you and Imogen.” 

“Me and Imogen?”

“Yes, and you can drop the act because I’ve been here before, I know what people like you say when they’re confronted with their bad behavior. You’re going to tell me she’s obsessed with you, that you tried to fend her off, you don’t even really like her but who can blame you, right? Well guess what? That little ‘wink wink nudge nudge, men being men’ shit doesn’t work on me.”

Nick balled his hands at his side and stood tall, eyes hard. “Okay, I’m going to have to stop you right there—”

“Do you have any idea how badly you’re going to fuck up her life? She’s the best part of NVC and I know exactly where she’s going to end up when you get bored of her. She'll be homeless and jobless. She'll be ruined, and for what, your ego?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick said, ice dripping from his voice.

“Oh yeah? I think I have a pretty good idea about people who abuse their power and get away with it. If you’re smart, you’ll put two and two together and figure out that I know my way around these things—” 

“Look,” Nick interrupted. “It sounds like something bad happened to you in the past, and I’m sorry to hear about it, I really am, but,” he clenched his jaw like he was fighting to maintain his control, “but that has nothing to do with me.” 

He took a step toward Charlie, index finger pointed, face red. “You have been a thorn in my side since day one. You've questioned me every step of the way and I’ve rolled over and taken it because I actually like that you’re passionate, that you care. I’ve held my tongue while you mocked me to my face, just to have you turn around and accuse me of something like this? Of abusing my power and taking advantage of one of my employees? Well, this is where I draw the line.” 

Nick took another step toward Charlie, eyes wild and nostrils flared. “You’ve been so obsessed with making up stories about how I’ve created a hostile work environment for my team that you’ve created a hostile environment for me.” He spun on his heel and stormed out of the office, leaving Charlie staring after him with his mouth hanging open. 

Charlie wasn't wrong about this; he couldn't be. Nick had practically left a breadcrumb trail of clues that Charlie had no choice but to follow to the obvious conclusion. He’d seen everything with his own eyes. The—the what? What exactly had it been that had confirmed it the night before? Knowing that Imogen had been with him even if she wasn't on camera? Knowing that they hung out outside of work? 

Like he and Elle and Isaac did? 

Like friends did? 

Charlie froze in his spot, still staring at the closed door. 

No. It wasn’t possible. There was no way he’d been so blinded by his past trauma that his present-day judgement had been clouded. But the panic attack-inducing realization that he’d seen so clearly in the shadowed corners of his bedroom just didn’t make sense in the harsh light of day. He brought his fingers to his mouth. “Oh god, did I just royally fuck up?” 

Charlie shot through the kitchen. “Nick!” 

He searched frantically through the production space and saw Nick storming toward the back door. Sophie was chasing after him, waving her phone excitedly in the air. Nick turned around when he reached the door, his eyes snapping to Charlie's as if they were the only thing in the room. 

The devastation in Nick’s gaze stole Charlie's breath and stopped him in his tracks. 

Sophie, who had finally caught up, was oblivious to the bubbling tension that threatened to boil over. She grinned and chattered, thrust her phone into Nick’s face, waved her hands while she spoke. Nick gave her a decisive nod and a pat on the back, dismissed her with words Charlie couldn’t hear. But his intense gaze never once wavered.

The spell between them was broken when Nick walked through the back door. Charlie staggered on his feet, the heart-roaring blood-rushing understanding threatening to knock him to the ground.

He had made a grave mistake.

Chapter Text

Social Media

Love it or hate it, social media is a must-have. It provides a platform for you to communicate directly with current and future customers. When used correctly, social media reinforces your brand and endears you to your fans. Entire brands have been built and entire brands have fallen apart because of how they engage with social media. Take it seriously; you never know how many people you could reach.

Charlie had no idea what to do.

The certainty he felt when he arrived at Appelle that morning, ready to fight tooth and nail on Imogen’s behalf, had completely evaporated the second he saw the hurt in Nick’s eyes. That kind of hurt couldn’t be faked. That kind of devastation wasn’t an act. 

In an instant, the Charlie from the night before—the one who had jumped so far past conclusions that he had arrived squarely in the land of delusion—was like a stranger to the Charlie on the other side of Nick’s gaze. He ran back to the office to gather his things, an eerie numbness dulling his senses. Had he really let something as silly as a few cropped photos convince him to hurl such a hurtful accusation? 

Once he’d checked to see that the coast was clear—Sophie was fiddling with her phone behind her tripod and Nick was nowhere to be seen—Charlie made the trek across the deserted back parking lot, climbed into his car, and pulled out his phone with shaking hands.

“Elle, hey, it’s me again.” He leaned his head against the driver’s side window and tried to steady his voice. “Um, I think I made a mistake. A bad one. I—” he paused, swallowed, started again. “I really fucked up with Nick. He was pretty upset. God, I can’t believe after all this time I’m still so…” Charlie swiped at the tears rolling down his cheeks and let out a bitter laugh. “I hate to put you in the position to clean up my mess, but I’m probably the last person in the world he wants to see right now. I think the best thing is for me to lay low for the rest of the day. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it right tomorrow.”

Charlie hung up and then composed an email to Sai: “Hey, can you call Nick? He needs to talk to you.”

The street signs and stop lights blurred as he drove, passing by him like an impressionist painting, sweeps of yellows and greens and reds that his body responded to even though his mind was blank. When Charlie got home, he walked straight to his bedroom, silenced his phone, and slept. 

🥂🍾🥂

Three hours later, Charlie was lacing up his running shoes and heading out his front door. The spiraling guilt had hardened during his nap and he woke up resolute, brimming with the kind of anxious energy that always preceded a self-reckoning. He left his earbuds and phone on the counter. This run wasn’t a distraction; it was an excavation, a long-overdue untangling of truth from fiction.

As his feet carried him down his favorite wooded path, Charlie reviewed the interactions with Nick that led up to their most recent one: the cider-spraying tri-clamp failure of their first meeting; the barbs volleyed back and forth, more exciting than hurtful; that last potent look, the one that stole the breath from Charlie’s lungs and pierced his heart with its sadness.

Now that the scales on his eyes had been removed by his own stupidity, Charlie could accept that he’d never even tried to see Nick for who he was. The second he showed up at Appelle, all confident swagger and sharp suits, Charlie’s assumptions had taken over. Nothing could have convinced Charlie that he wasn’t right: Nick used clothing as camouflage and hid his ignorance behind meaningless buzzwords, just like every other person whose only job was telling other people how to do their jobs. 

But Charlie had missed several clues that there was more to Nick than met the eye, the most blatant being his willingness to deliver hard news and stick to his guns when questioned. There was no smarmy salesman to him. He seemed completely uninterested in ingratiating himself to Charlie; he was hired to do a job and he cared about doing it well, full stop. The smoke and mirrors Charlie had come to expect from people who looked like Nick just weren’t a part of his equation. 

There had to be more to it than that, though. Dirt-deadened footsteps and chirping birds, steady breaths and rustling branches provided a perfect soundtrack as Charlie tried to piece it all together. What had changed Nick from a bland businessman—the kind Charlie had effortlessly brushed aside for years—into a specter from Charlie’s past that still haunted him? 

He pushed his body harder, pumping legs and burning lungs, until he reached the end of the trail. He stopped abruptly, hands on knees and sucking wind, when the missing puzzle piece slotted into place. 

Stéphane. Of course. Of course finding out that Nick’s dad was a part of NVC was what had unleashed the ghoulish nightmare from Charlie’s past and grotesquified his present. If he wasn’t so disappointed by his behavior, Charlie could almost laugh at the simplicity of it all. 

He straightened up, shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out over the horizon, spring wildflowers dotting the valley, the reflection of a brook bubbling through the bright-green of early spring. Usually, Charlie preferred his catharses to come with a bit more closure, but this one only filled him with ennui. If the tiniest reference to his past could cause such an intense reaction, had all the effort he’d put into healing—the nights on Tao and Elle’s couch, crying in a huddle of limbs, the pragmatic samosa-fueled deliberations with Isaac, the years of therapy—been for nothing?

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The fresh breeze had brought about a fresh perspective, and each snapped twig and sweat bead on his journey home settled into set-jaw determination. Now that he had identified the root cause of his inexcusable behavior, he was going to have to find a way to…well, to get Nick to excuse his behavior. 

Quite simply, Charlie had been horrible to Nick. He hadn’t just accused Nick of being stupid or bad at his job—both of which he had also done. No, Charlie had gone and accused him of being the worst kind of person: one who exploited his power and preyed on the weak. It would make much more sense for Nick to refuse Charlie’s apology, to rant and rage about Charlie's audacity, than to forgive him. 

But Charlie hoped for forgiveness. 

It would be a wild act of grace if Nick gave him a chance to explain his behavior, to place it in context, to apologize. And Charlie had so, so much to apologize for.

If he was lucky, being forgiving was another personality trait of Nick’s that he had overlooked.

🥂🍾🥂

It had been hours since Charlie had looked at his phone. By the time he finally picked it up, fresh from the shower and wrapped in his favorite fuzzy blanket,  there were six missed calls: four from Elle and two from Isaac. Charlie could only imagine the urgent messages they had exchanged on his behalf over the last few hours. 

He sat on the couch and listened through their voicemails. Isaac focused mostly on Charlie’s comfort: was he alright and should Isaac come home early? Had he eaten and did he want anything from Dhaba House? 

Elle, on the other hand, careened from being Charlie’s oldest friend in one moment (I’m worried sick about you, please pick up), to his boss in the next (Please tell me you’re putting your English degree to work writing the world’s most effusive apology right now because what the hell were you thinking?) and back again (If you need a hug, Tao’s working from home today).

Charlie flopped back onto the couch with a deep sigh, distracting himself from how badly he’d fucked up by catching up on emails and browsing Instagram. The images blurred past his vacant stare, thumb scrolling periodically, until he stopped at the familiar sight of Appelle’s kitchen. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. He could already tell this was Sophie’s work in action. Elle was many things, but being good at social media wasn’t one of them. Honestly, seeing a post from Appelle that wasn’t a static picture overlaid with shouty text—NOW HIRING! NEW CIDER TOMORROW! CLOSED FOR CHRISTMAS!—was already a vast improvement. 

He read the caption: “When you’re getting B-roll and you accidentally capture a cider catastrophe. Good thing our fearless leader is always right around the corner and ready to save the day!”

The video started with a close-up shot of a bubbling beaker, hands swirling the glasses. “Okay, they’re ready,” Charlie heard his own voice say. His back filled the camera as he walked to the kitchen. “So I’m just going to—” 

“Elle! Have you seen the guard plate for the slicer?” Darcy’s disembodied voice could just be heard in the background. There was a gasp from behind the camera then a splatter of droplets covered the screen. The ceiling came into view, a panicked “Darcy!” and a “Shit! Charlie! Sorry!” in response. A scramble of hands, a shatter of glass, a close up of Darcy and Charlie clinging to each other, frozen in place, as dark spots spread across their chests. The camera whipped around when Elle ran in. She stopped so abruptly that her shoes squeaked, and then the view shifted again to zoom in on the puddle on the floor, shards of glass scattered everywhere. The screen faded black as Elle said firmly, “Okay, don’t move, let me grab the broom.” After a buzz of movie-screen static, text appeared: No cider was harmed in the making of this video.

Charlie was so tickled by Sophie’s work that it took him three full viewings before his body caught on to what his brain hadn’t. His breath caught in his chest, eyes widening as he realized what he’d just seen. 

“No,” he said out loud. 

The video looped and started to play again. He stared at it unseeingly, frozen in his place, his grip slackening until his phone slipped from his hand and landed silently next to him on the couch. He couldn’t even hear the chaos as the video continued to play on repeat in the background. 

“No,” he said again, a guttural exhalation, a voice he didn’t recognize. It had been posted hours ago. Hours. There were hundreds of likes, dozens of comments. 

His body shot into action without conscious thought. He grabbed his keys and ran out the door.  

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie barged into the offices at Appelle, barely able to see through his stinging eyes and gut twisting fear. Elle, Sai, and Nick, who were sitting at the table peering at Sai’s laptop, startled at this unexpected entrance, swinging their heads to the door. 

Elle’s eyes widened when she took in Charlie’s blotchy cheeks and heaving chest. “Charlie! Wha—” 

“Instagram,” he gasped, clutching his heart with one hand and steadying himself against the door jamb with the other. He felt like Pheidippides, about to drop dead after running the first marathon. 

Sai and Elle exchanged concerned looks, but Nick kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor, arms crossed at his chest. His hurt must have hardened into anger over the last few hours, but Charlie couldn’t focus on that right now, not when he was on the verge of falling apart.

Sai typed his passcode into his phone. “Did Sophie make her first post on Appelle’s account?”

Charlie didn't wipe away the hot tear that rolled down his cheek. “She posted about me. She showed my face! Darcy even said my name!”  

“What? She wouldn’t have done that.” Sai stared at his phone while Elle watched over his shoulder. They paused for a second, and then Elle gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. 

“Oh my god, Charlie.” She crossed the room and pulled him into a fierce hug, rocking him back and forth, before turning back to Sai and Nick, eyes blazing. “You promised you wouldn’t put Charlie on our account. What was she thinking?”

Nick got out his own phone and stared at it for a few seconds, shaking his head in disbelief. Charlie must have looked completely wrecked—red-rimmed eyes and still-wet curls—because when Nick finally looked at him, for the first time since that morning, the hard set of his frown instantly fell away. “I-I don’t…I didn’t think. I’m not sure how this happened,” he stammered. 

“I’m taking it down,” Elle assured, thumbs flying over her phone. Once she deleted the video, she glared at Nick and Sai. “We explicitly told you not to show Charlie and you did it on your very first post? How did this happen?”

Nick stood up and wiped his hands on his thighs. “I don’t know; Sophie knows to run the posts by me first. It’s not like her to publish something without permission.”

“Whether it’s like her or not, she clearly did,” Charlie said, the heat from his words was counteracted by his watery voice. Elle pressed some tissues into his hand, which he swiped against his cheeks. 

Sai waved his hand to silence the room, his phone to his ear. “Sophie, hey,” he said, glancing at Charlie as he spoke, “did you post a video for Appelle a few hours ago?”

Everyone gathered around the table, bending their heads toward Sai’s phone so they could hear Sophie’s tinny voice when it rang out through the speaker. “Yeah! Have you seen the engagement? It’s bonkers! I think people really like seeing—”

Charlie grabbed Sai’s phone from his hand. “You weren’t supposed to feature me!” he cried. “We talked about it the very day you took that video! What in the world made you think it was okay to—”

Nick snatched the phone out of Charlie’s hand and covered the speaker with his hand. He pressed his fingertip into Charlie’s sternum, his voice coming out in a low growl. “You direct your anger at me, not her.”

It was just the metaphorical slap in the face Charlie needed. A sob broke through his throat, fresh tears springing into his eyes. Truth be told, he wasn’t angry. Who posted what and whether they had approval didn’t even matter because it was already too late.

For the first time since he saw the video, he considered just how much danger he was in. He would have to start sleeping with the lights on again and fight back panic attacks in the parking lot. He would have to scan dark corners for lurking figures and come to accept that the very thing he’d been terrified of could happen at any given second. He slumped against Elle, who wrapped her arm around his shoulder and murmured comforting sounds into his ear. 

Sophie’s voice broke through the tense silence in the room. “I’m sorry, I knew I wasn’t supposed to post anything without approval, but I asked Nick this morning if I could post it as is or if I needed to blur out Charlie’s face and he said it was fine. I didn’t know it would be such a big problem.”

Nick gaped at the phone. “I didn’t say that; I’ve never even seen this until right now!”

Sophie was indignant. “Yes you did! Right before you stormed out this morning. You watched it and said ‘Looks good.’ Maybe I misinterpreted what you meant, but I took that as a green light.”

Charlie’s and Nick’s eyes met, a silent repeat of the look they had shared that morning. The memory flooded back in: Sophie chasing Nick down right after Charlie’s terrible accusation. Nick nodding, patting her on the back, his devastated gaze fixed on Charlie, never wavering.

Nick brought one of his hands to his cheek, realizing what had happened at the same time Charlie did. He spoke only to Charlie, his face clouded with guilt. “I swear I didn’t do this to get back at you.” 

Sai and Elle were silent, both trying to process that what they had been separately told about what happened this morning had indirectly caused what was happening now. Finally, Elle spoke up. “Charlie, I know it’s personal, but I think it’s important for all of us to be on the same page here. Are you willing to share a bit more about why this is such a big problem?”

Charlie drew in a watery breath and nodded. He took a moment to apologize to Sophie for raising his voice and assured her that he didn’t blame her for what happened. Nick’s apology followed, promising Sophie that he was at fault for saying yes to a video that he hadn’t first reviewed. 

When they hung up, Elle placed a gentle hand on top of Charlie’s and gave him a reassuring squeeze. She cleared her throat. “The reason Charlie doesn’t want to be on our social media is because the restraining order on his ex just expired a couple months ago.” 

The air left the room, surrounding them in suffocating silence. 

Finally, Sai took his glasses off and rubbed at his temples. “Shit, man. I was hoping it wasn't something like that.” 

“When they broke up, Charlie moved out of their condo, but Ben refused to leave him alone. Charlie had to change his number, his email address, his apartment. He basically had to disappear so that Ben wouldn’t be able to track him down again.”

Nick flinched and sucked in a breath. “Is he dangerous?”

“I…we don’t know.” Elle glanced at Charlie, an unknown memory flashing behind her eyes. She had done so much to protect Charlie over the years. In some cases, like her’s and Tao’s sudden announcement that they were moving to a bigger apartment, Charlie only found out Ben was the impetus long after the fact.  

Charlie stared at the table, eyes unfocused. “I don’t know what he wanted from me. It was my own fault for not realizing what he was like sooner.”

“Charlie, don’t you dare,” Elle said, deadly serious. “We’ve been through this.”

Nick reached for Charlie, but pulled his hand back at the last second, letting it fall awkwardly back to the table. “Charlie, I—I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I would never knowingly put someone in danger like that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Charlie said flatly. 

“But it is. I told you that I would personally review every post and then I didn’t even look when Sophie showed it to me.”

“And the reason you didn’t look is because you were rightly furious about what I had accused you of just before that,” Charlie replied.

Sai groaned and rolled his eyes. “I swear you two can’t even apologize without arguing.”

Charlie closed his mouth. He didn’t want to prove Sai’s point, even though he was right. 

“Actually,” Elle said, sitting up straighter, “It’s been a tough day for both of you. Why don’t you guys head out? I’m confident Sai and I can figure out the best way to mitigate this situation.” 

Charlie not needing to be involved in ‘mitigating the situation’ might have been the first piece of good news gotten all day. The idea of sitting in his office, discussing how he should change his route to work and carry key-chain pepper spray again made him want to scream into a pillow until his throat was raw. “If you’re sure you don’t need me?”

Elle smiled warmly. “I’m sure. You know I have your best interests at heart.”

Charlie gave Elle a long hug. If he trusted anyone to keep his best interests at heart, it was her. He peeked at Nick over Elle’s shoulder. He looked about as bad as Charlie felt, loosened tie and pushed back sleeves, dark circles under his eyes and raw cuticles. God. It really had been just as bad a day for him. After a quick check in with Sai, who gave him a serious nod and a squeeze on his shoulder, Nick began to pack his bags.

There was another round of thank yous and apologies and goodbyes before Nick and Charlie headed out the back door and toward the gravel parking lot. Charlie gestured at his rusty old Volkswagen when they got to it. “Well, this is me.”  

Nick stuffed his hands in his pockets and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Finally, he flicked his eyes over to Charlie. “I just, I want to apologize again.” Charlie opened his mouth to protest, but Nick shot him a pleading look. “I know we haven’t really seen eye to eye on a lot of things, but I just need you to know. I would never ever like, retaliate like that. It was an honest mistake.” 

Charlie leaned his hip against his car door and folded his arms across his chest. “Nick, seriously. I know you wouldn’t. Just because we don’t get along doesn’t mean I think you’re a monster.” 

“You literally accused me of preying on my own employee this very morning.”

“Alright, fair point.” Charlie dug the toe of his shoe into the gravel. If he was going to apologize, now was as good a time as any. “I spent the entire afternoon coming up with my apology for you. I wanted to give you some space, but I was hoping for a chance to try to make it right whenever I saw you next.”

“Really?”

Charlie stared at his feet like the purpose of life was written on them. “Yeah, I…I realized almost as soon as I said it out loud that I was wrong.”

Nick sighed and moved next to Charlie, facing the parking lot with his back to the car. “I was pretty upset. I still am.”

“I know. You have every right to be mad at me.” He paused, searching for the right words. “Would you believe me if I said that some of the issues I have surrounding my ex are the same ones that made me jump to conclusions and assume the worst about you?”

Nick turned his head to look at Charlie. The setting sun reflected in his eyes, tiny golden flecks shining through cinnamon brown. “Yes,” he said earnestly. “Of course I would.”

Charlie’s throat tightened at the sincerity on Nick’s face. And because the seal had already been broken, the tears that Charlie usually managed to fight back filled his eyes. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Thanks for believing me. And I am really, truly sorry. I hope you'll give me a chance to explain someday.”

They breathed together for a moment, their attention captured by a group of women headed from the parking lot to Appelle’s taproom. Nick rubbed the back of his neck, crossed his legs, glanced at Charlie through the corner of his eye. “How would you feel about explaining now? Maybe we could go get something to eat or grab a drink?” He must’ve noticed the surprised look on Charlie’s face based on the hurried way his next words tumbled out. “I just know that if I go home I'm going to end up sitting on my couch for the next few hours watching a slow-motion replay of everything I should've done differently today. And yes, I’m aware that getting a drink with the guy who just doxxed you probably wasn't on your Bingo card for tonight.”

A hint of a smile crossed Charlie’s lips. “It’s okay, you probably didn't plan on hitting up Happy Hour with the guy who accused you of sexual assault this morning either.” 

Nick snorted into his hand. “Jesus, we really are like oil and water.” 

“Well if you look on the bright side, making shitty crapple juice cider is the least of my concerns now that I’m worried about my physical safety. Do you have any place in mind?”

Nick smirked at Charlie. “As long as they have White Claw there, I’ll manage just fine.”

Chapter Text

Clarification

Clarity is a good thing, in life and in cider. While some cidermakers leave their ciders unfiltered, removing suspended solids like yeast cells and apple proteins is well worth the effort. An unclarified cider is cloudy and muddled, prone to spoilage and off-flavors, but a clarified cider is a beauty to behold. It is clear of blemishes, steady under pressure, and stable over time.

Charlie craned his neck and peered through his windshield. He had just pulled into a parking lot so grim that it made Appelle’s seem like Disneyland by comparison. There were cavernous potholes filled with debris and tangled tufts of weeds in the chain-link fence that marked the perimeter. He checked the GPS on his phone, which cheerily informed him he had arrived, but the squatty brick building with “SHAW’S” painted across the facade was not at all what he expected when Nick suggested it fifteen minutes before.

He took the keys out of the ignition and gingerly stepped around a broken glass, surveying the four lanes of traffic that separated the parking lot from the entrance. There wasn’t a crosswalk; there wasn’t even a lamp.

Just as he was about to take his life into his own hands, Nick’s Lexus pulled into the lot and came to an abrupt stop a couple spots over. He hopped out of the driver’s side door and gave a quick wave. “Hey, did you have any trouble finding it?”

Charlie shook his head and held up his phone. “The wonders of modern technology.”

It had been a short drive—seven, maybe ten minutes. Long enough for Charlie to practice his apology a few times and steel his nerves for the coming conversation, but not so long that he had time to spiral into self-doubt and second guess whether he should have just gone home in the first place.

They crossed the street and Nick pushed his way into the dark, dingy bar, winding through the tables with practiced familiarity. Charlie followed behind, the soles of his shoes sticking to the peeling linoleum floors, taking in the neon Budweiser signs and fingerprint-smudged frames filled with posters for parties in 2013. Nick slid into a black pleather booth with a rip across the seat and immediately picked up one of the cardboard coasters, tapping it absently on the table.

Charlie sat on the other side, scooting over until he was opposite Nick. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a bar like this.”

Nick chuckled knowingly. “Yeah, it’s definitely seen better days.”

“When, in the ‘90s?”

Nick laughed again. “Honestly, I bet some of the staff have been here since then.”

As if on cue, a wiry woman whose voice was as grizzled as her face showed up. She introduced herself as Barb and dropped off water and straws, then tapped her pen impatiently while Charlie squinted at the bottles and cans displayed in the cooler behind the bar. Nick ordered a Guinness for himself and raised his eyebrows appreciatively at Charlie’s request for a Corona with lime.

Charlie shot him a smug look. “What, you think I can’t appreciate a domestic beer?”

Nick held up his hands and shook his head. “I said no such thing.”

“So is this like, your place?” Charlie asked, glancing around the bar again, struggling to picture Nick bellied up to the bar in his suit and tie on a Tuesday night.

Nick swept his eyes around the small bar and nodded. “Yeah, I come here when I don’t want to run into anyone I know.”

Charlie wound the paper straw wrapper around his thumb. “I didn’t really take you for a dive-bar type.”

Nick flicked at the coaster with his index finger, following it with his eyes as it spun across the table and fell to its side. “Funny, I didn’t really take you for someone who would call a Corona a domestic when it’s obviously an import. Isn’t this supposed to be your industry?”

“Whatever, I never claimed to be an expert about macro beers,” Charlie muttered, trying to hide his smile.

In the chaos of the last 24 hours, Charlie had almost forgotten that addictive undercurrent of snappy energy that accompanied his and Nick’s more casual conversations. The last time they’d sat together around a table like this, their teasing banter had boiled over into yet another fight, but the Nick and Charlie who inhabited the sticky-topped table at Shaw’s weren’t the same ones they had been a few days before. Their horn-locked war of attrition had turned their silly workplace disagreement into something personal and ugly. Now, they were weary, defenses lowered and egos razed, victims who deserved apologies and aggressors who owed them.

Charlie placed his hands on the table and stiffened his spine. All that stood between who they had been in the past and who they could be in the future was an explanation. “So, I owe you an apology,” he started.

Nick held up his index finger, effectively stopping the conversation before it started. “Sorry, I promise I won’t interrupt again. What you accused me of this morning was fucked up and we both know it.”

Charlie’s pulse picked up in anticipation of getting a public dressing-down, grateful that at least Nick had the decency to choose somewhere off the beaten path to do it.

“Even though they were completely uncalled for, at the end of the day, they’re just words, right?” Nick continued. “You said them, you realized you were wrong, and I know you’ll apologize for them when I stop talking and let you. But...” he paused, his voice faltering, all pretenses falling away. “But are you safe? If your ex is dangerous, your physical safety has to be a priority right now.” He let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked exhausted, like he’d spent days worrying instead of just that last hour. “If something terrible happened to you because of something I did, even if it was a mistake, I would honestly never forgive myself.”

Up until that moment, Charlie’s panic had blinded him from the reality of his situation, but now that Nick brought it up, logic took over. As much as he was desperate to offer his apology, to explain his toxic behavior and beg for forgiveness, perhaps his physical safety was more urgent than his absolution. He ran through a mental checklist—door locks and address changes, blocked phone numbers and private social media accounts—while Nick watched him with concern-clouded eyes.

Charlie’s anxiety lessened the longer he reviewed his situation. How likely was it that Ben followed a small craft cider brand’s Instagram account closely enough to see the millisecond of Charlie’s face on the screen? And even if he did, what were the chances that he would do anything about it? Certainly the last two years of total stonewalling on Charlie’s end would’ve gotten the point across, even to someone as persistent as Ben.

“I’m safe,” Charlie said quietly, hoping it was true. “The worst thing he could do is show up at Appelle.”

That idea didn’t seem to appease Nick at all. “NVC will cover the costs of installing security cameras in the taproom and over all the doors. Do you have an alarm system? Do you set it every day?”

Charlie nodded.

Nick pulled out his phone. “I’m just putting all this in a message to Sai. I’m sure he and Elle are on it, but just in case. I’ll put a call in with the city tomorrow to ask them to install a street lamp in the parking lot.”

“Okay,” Charlie said, already breathing easier. “If he does show up, he’d have to go in the public entrance when our taproom is open, and I’m hardly ever in there. He’d have to get through all our customers and Darcy to make it into production.”

A hint of a smile broke though Nick’s troubled expression. “I can only imagine what Darcy would do to someone who showed up in their taproom looking to start something with you. Remember how they threw us out just for raising our voices?”

Charlie smiled at the memory. Had that only been a few days ago? He felt like he’d lived three lifetimes since then. Barb came back and set their beers down, tossing another couple coasters on the table. Nick took a long pull of his Guinness while Charlie squeezed the lime into his Corona and tried not to watch Nick lick the foam from his upper lip.

The silence stretched out a little longer than felt comfortable, a clear indicator that both of them knew what needed to happen next. Charlie set his bottle down and swallowed down his nerves. “So, um, I wanted to apologize. Formally.”

Whether he intended to or not, Nick mimicked Charlie’s posture, pushing away his beer and settling against the back of the booth. He folded his hands on top of the table and nodded. “Alright.”

“It wasn’t fair, what I accused you of. I let the differences from our first few interactions color my opinion of you, which I never should have done. I'm...I guess you could say my identity, a lot of my self-worth, comes from what I do at Appelle, so when you showed up and threatened that, I assigned all sorts of terrible traits to you. But I never should've jumped to conclusions about your personal beliefs or your values or integrity. I'm...I'm just so sorry that I did that.”

Nick kept his face blank as he mulled over Charlie’s words. “Okay,” he said after a few seconds.

“I’m not sure if this will help or not, but I never saw anything inappropriate between you and Imogen in real life,” Charlie said softly.

Nick visibly relaxed, sinking back into his seat and reaching for his beer. “That does help, actually, yeah. Thanks for saying that. I was kind of beside myself trying to figure out what caused you to think that in the first place.”

Charlie dropped his head into his forearms on top of the table. “Apparently my past trauma lies a little closer to the surface than I realized." He sighed and then lifted his head so that Nick could tell he was sincere. "I don’t expect you to forgive me, at least not right away, but if you’d be willing to let me try to start over, I would appreciate a chance to earn your forgiveness.”

Nick’s face softened. “Of course. We can try to start over. I’d like a redo too; I know I didn’t have the best bedside manner at the beginning either.”

Charlie let out a relieved breath as they shared tentative smiles across the table. Nick set his beer back on the table and let out a weary sigh. “God. Today was a lot.”

Charlie nodded grimly and tipped his head back to take a drink from his bottle. “I was thinking about it on the drive over here: this was definitely one of the worst days of my life.”

“One of the worst?” Nick asked incredulously. “Have you falsely accused an innocent man of abusing his power just to turn around and get doxxed by him a couple hours later before?”

Charlie looked at Nick quizzically. “Did you forget the part about how I had to get a restraining order from my toxic ex or…?”

The blood drained from Nick’s face. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. Of course you’ve had worse days.” He grimaced and took an awkward sip of his beer.

Charlie waved away Nick’s apology. “Truly, Nick, it’s fine. If I didn’t joke about it I’d just cry all the time and neither of us wants that.”

Nick was quiet, watching Barb dot her way across the dark dining room before his gaze settled on Charlie again. “You mentioned earlier that some of the reasons you jumped to conclusions about me was because of your ex. Would you—you don’t have to, obviously, if you’ve changed your mind, but—would you maybe want to talk about that now?”

Charlie was surprised to find that he kind of did want to talk about it with Nick, and he never wanted to talk about it. With anyone. It was just…there was something about Nick. Charlie had given Nick several valid reasons to hate him over the last two weeks, yet instead of demanding that Charlie grovel for forgiveness, Nick’s biggest concern was for his safety. Instead of dropping Appelle as a client—which would have been justified—here they were, just a few hours later, getting a beer after work like it was already water under the bridge.

So, Charlie took a deep breath, quieted the intrusive whispers of Are you sure you can trust him? and You’re still using your past as an excuse? and told Nick everything.

Nick listened carefully as Charlie described how his years of studying through parties and skipping out on dorm room adventures finally seemed worth it when he landed a highly-competitive internship at Sunny Skies Publishing right out of college. Charlie smiled softly, recalling his awestruck first day. He’d been invited into the hallowed halls and handed keys to the very future he’d dreamed about since he was a child. His first assignment had been thrilling, and his desire to impress his colleagues consumed him.

It only took a few weeks before Ben started paying him extra attention.

At first, Charlie thought Ben had noticed his work ethic, but the break room run-ins and casual copier chats were too frequent to be a coincidence, laced with imperceptible undertones and back-of-the-neck prickling energy.

The first time Ben asked Charlie to stay in his office after a team meeting, Charlie thought he was in trouble, but he was quickly disabused of that notion. The first kiss came as a shock—an instant reframe of all of their previous interactions—but it quickly turned frantic, hands in hair and pushed-aside papers, gasps against shoulders and tortuous zipper slides. When Charlie stumbled out of the office twenty minutes later, shirt-tugged and furtive-eyed, he had to bite his lip harder than Ben just had to keep the smile off his face.

Soon, their fumbling bathroom hook ups and clandestine parking-lot kisses outgrew the walls of Sunny Skies, and on a bright autumn afternoon, Charlie bid farewell to his cheap apartment and stepped into the lap of old-money luxury. As much as he wanted to shout it from the rooftops loud enough that his grade school bullies could hear him, he understood why Ben needed their secret to be locked away; boss-subordinate relationships weren’t looked upon favorably in most workplaces, especially considering Ben’s dad was the CEO.

So the months passed. With Ben advocating for him from the inside, Charlie thrived at work, taking each additional assignment as a confirmation of skill, an affirmation of talent. While Charlie shared his cubicle with the other entry-level interns by day, he shared Ben’s bed by night: side-by-side, thick manuscripts and red pens, reading glasses and tangled legs. Even though Charlie couldn’t tell his peers, at least he and Ben knew the secret power couple behind Sunny Skies’ expanding catalog.

“I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well,” Nick said when Charlie’s pause lasted a little too long.

Charlie let out a humorless laugh, tracing a drop of condensation down the second bottle of Corona that Nick had ordered for him. “Yeah, what gave you that impression? Was it the secret affair with the CEO’s son or my thinly-veiled references to Ben stealing my ideas to impress his dad the whole time?”

Nick sucked in a breath. “Fuck, Charlie, really?”

“Really.”

“Jesus. I’m…I’m sorry. So what, his dad found out? Wait—did he fire you?” Nick leaned forward intensely when Charlie nodded. “But that’s completely unethical! Ben was your boss, not the other way around.”

Charlie gave him a pointed look. “Whose side would you take? Some random kid right out of college or your son, who you’ve groomed to be the successor of the multi-million dollar company you started from scratch?”

Nick let out a low whistle. “So let me get this straight. You and Ben get found out and his dad fires you, and then what, you break up?”

“You want to know the worst part?” Charlie asked bitterly, taking a swig of his beer to distract himself from the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I was the idiot who actually thought he loved me. But when I sat there in his dad’s office, listening to him tell lie after lie to cover his tracks, I realized what a fool I’d been. He did such a good job convincing his dad that I’d been trying to sleep my way to the top that I spent the next six months of my life questioning whether that had actually been my motive all along.”

“Charlie,” Nick said softly, reaching across the table and resting his hand on Charlie’s sweatshirt-covered forearm.

“Everything I’d worked for—my entire life—was over in the span of one conversation. I called Tao and Elle and was out of Ben’s condo before he even got home from work.”

“And that was the last time you saw him? When his dad fired you?”

“For a while, yeah, but then he started showing up at all the places he knew I went—coffee shops, the park where I like to run, Elle and Tao’s apartment.” Nick’s grip on Charlie’s arm tightened, and Charlie wished he felt comfortable enough to cover Nick’s hand with his own, to indulge in the comforting warmth of skin on skin.

Instead, he balled his hands into fists, and with downcast eyes and a low voice, recounted his darkest days: how he grew so scared of his own shadow that he disappeared from the places and people he loved, chased into hiding by the memories of his mistakes; how Elle and Tao whisked him off to France and urged him to fight for his life; how they all, Isaac included, moved to a new part of town after the restraining order was granted. Eventually, Charlie found new coffee shops and parks to run in, but his real salvation came when they opened Appelle.

When Charlie finished, blinking the haze of history away and rejoining Nick in the present, their bottles were empty again and the table was littered with pieces of damp coaster cardboard, absently picked apart by one or both of them, he couldn’t recall. The bar had picked up over the last hour; the empty tables had been replaced by a cast of characters that would’ve scared Charlie if he ran into them in a dark corner. Nick flagged Barb down when she sped by, presumably for their check, but instead, he ordered a burger and then looked at Charlie expectantly.

“Uh, sure, a burger sounds good,” Charlie stammered, thrown off by the suddenness of the offer and the implicit invitation to continue their evening even though they had already gotten their apologies out of the way. The silence that had fallen over their table wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been considering the soul-baring circumstances. Instead, it felt like understanding, a long-awaited settling.

Nick glanced at Charlie from across the table, his mouth curling into the kind of smile that usually preceded an inside joke. “So that was it, right?”

Charlie tilted his head to the side, a curious smile growing on his own face in anticipation. “What was it?”

“That day when Ben’s dad found you out, that was the worst day of your life, not today.”

Charlie laughed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that day is the clear frontrunner.”

“It would be hard to top losing your career, your partner, and your housing within the span of one meeting,” Nick admitted.

“Only thing that could’ve made it worse was if my dog died too.”

Nick lunged forward, hands splayed on the table. “Oh my god, you have a dog?”

Charlie laughed and shook his head. “No, I was just speaking generally. Why, do you like dogs?”

“Do I like dogs,” Nick scoffed, pulling out his phone again. He thrust it at Charlie after scrolling for a minute, beaming proudly. “This is Nellie.”

“Oh my god, she’s adorable!” Charlie squealed, pinching the screen to zoom in. “I saw some pictures of her on your Instagram the other night.”

Nick’s eyes lit up. “You’ve been on my Instagram?”

Charlie took a deep breath, deciding to cover the admission that he'd not just been on Nick's Instagram, he'd pored over it, with the final pieces of information Nick needed to connect the dots. He covered his eyes with his hand and peeked through his fingers. “Hardly; just long enough to see Imogen’s fingernail polish all over the place and jump to some massive conclusions.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s why you thought Imogen and I were together? Because you saw her on my Instagram a few times?”

“Well, I saw that right after I found out your dad was actually running the show at NVC,” Charlie admitted, flames licking his cheeks. He could already hear how crazy he was going to sound when he explained that a picture of Nick’s dad—whom he’d never seen before—had thrown him into a tailspin that had kicked off this entire terrible situation.

Nick froze, his glass halfway to his mouth, eyebrows knit together. “How did you…what’s my dad have to do with anything?”

“When I saw him listed as one of the owners of NVC on your website, and then a few minutes later saw Imogen on your Instagram, and I just…I thought I’d pieced together some kind of secret mystery. It felt so familiar that I kind of lost my mind.”

Nick covered his face with his hands and tipped his head toward the ceiling. “My fucking dad,” he groaned.

“Um, are you okay?” Charlie asked.

Nick dropped his hands and reached for his beer before he realized it was empty. He made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and waved to Barb, pointing at his empty glass, while Charlie watched him, wide-eyed. “Sorry, my dad is just,” he stopped and let out a frustrated breath, “he’s a whole thing. I swear to god, even when he’s not around he causes problems.”

“Sorry, I’m not following. Is he not an owner?”

“No, he is. He gave us the money we needed to get NVC off the ground and helped us make some connections early on, but he’s not involved in the day-to-day. If there was a subordinate relationship at NVC—which is against company policy, by the way—he wouldn’t even know about it.” Nick nodded gratefully when Barb dropped off his Guinness, downing a third of it in one gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then waved it in the air. “Anyway, we don’t need to talk about my dad. You’ll only meet him if something goes terribly wrong.”

“Okay,” Charlie said warily. It was clear from the way Nick spoke that he and his dad had a tense relationship, but it wasn’t his place to pry, at least not tonight. Luckily, his search for a follow-up question was rendered unnecessary when Barb dropped off their burgers.

They ate in companionable silence, Charlie admitting the burger was better than he expected for $6, Nick explaining how he and Sai had found the place when they were in undergrad.

Nick pointed to a two-top in the corner. “We actually wrote our business plan for NVC at that table over there.”

Charlie gestured to the man slumped over on the table, either asleep or passed out. “Was that guy a part of the conversation or was it just you and Sai?”

“Who, Jim? He’s harmless.”

Charlie laughed and shook his head. “I’m really glad you have a special place, even if it’s a place like this.”

Nick’s jaw dropped. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Charlie.” He held his arms wide and beamed. “What’s not to love about this place?”

Charlie wrinkled his nose. “The smell, for one.”

Nick threw his head back and laughed. “Sai and I have been on a mission for years to try to describe the specific smell in here. I think it smells like that powder they would sprinkle on the puke in elementary school when someone got sick.”

Charlie had a visceral response to Nick’s words, his hands flying up to cover his mouth. “Oh my god, I haven’t thought of that stuff in years. What even was that?”

“Beats me,” Nick shrugged. “But it’s a pretty good description, right? Sai thinks it smells like ‘The morning after a New Year’s Eve house party in 2007’, whatever that means.”

It was Charlie’s turn to laugh. “I think it’s…it’s more like…” he paused, lifting his nose to sniff the air, “when you go to a concert and you’re downwind of the Porta Potties, but also the guy standing next to you is smoking and has greasy hair.”

“Nooo,” Nick groaned, covering his eyes with his hand, “How did you do that? This place smells exactly like smoky concert Porta Potty hair!”

Charlie shimmied his shoulders and gave a smug smile. “What can I say, I’ve taken several courses in sensory analysis.”

“Just wait till I tell Sai you nailed it in one. He’s going to want to play ‘What’s it Smell Like’ with you all the time.”

“Oh god, they’ve even named it,” Charlie muttered to himself, casting his eyes skyward.

“Of course we’ve named it. Have you learned nothing from us in the last week? Branding is key.” Nick pushed his empty plate to the side and finished the last of his beer, dismissing Charlie’s offered credit card as he paid for their dinner. “Consider it NVC’s formal apology for letting things go off the rails between us.” He signed his name and handed the receipt to Barb.

They dashed across the dark street and back into the now-crowded parking lot, pausing in between their cars. “So, I don’t know if I actually said it explicitly before now,” Nick said, “but I’m truly sorry that I let a moment of anger keep me from doing the job I promised to do. I compromised your privacy and made you feel unsafe at work and I feel terrible about it.”

Charlie smiled shyly. “Thanks for saying that. It’s not like I gave you any context for my request; you didn’t intend for it to happen.”

Nick nodded in agreement. “I know it probably wasn’t easy to tell me all of that in there, but it really did help me understand where you were coming from.”

Charlie bounced on the balls of his feet. “Since we’re on a roll with the apologies, I’m sorry for being such a shit about the cider stuff, too. As much as it pains me to admit it, Appelle will be in a better place because of what you and Sai are doing.”

“Well, thank you. It’s the right move, and you’re the right person to do it. Honest.”

They smiled at each other and turned toward their cars. “Will you be around tomorrow?” Charlie asked as he climbed into his seat.

“Yeah, will you?”

“I work a minimum of 60 hours a week, Nick. Of course I’ll be around.”

Nick laughed and got into his own car, rolling the window down. “Alright, then. I’ll see you tomorrow. And Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

Nick draped his forearm out the open window. “I haven’t posted Nellie on my Instagram for at least six months.”

Chapter Text

Packaging

You have many options when it comes to packaging your ciders, each with their own plusses and minuses. Whether you opt for bottles or cans outside of your taproom, kegs are a great way to serve carbonated cider by the glass on your home turf. The only downside? They’re extremely heavy! Our tip? Avoid injury and have a partner help you whenever possible.

Charlie groaned when his alarm went off at 5:00 the next morning. He’d been waking up hours before the sun rose for years now, but no matter how early he went to bed, how soundly he slept, his alarm always felt like a personal affront.

Plus, he hadn’t slept well. For once, the wind-rattled windowpanes and midnight floorboard creaks were welcome, interrupting the nightmares that seeped into his edge-of-slumber dreams, but they left him sleepless and staring.

The caffeine and extra-long shower had done their best to help him untangle memories from dreams, but he was still bleary-eyed and foggy-brained when he pulled into Appelle’s parking lot a few minutes before 6:00 that morning. 

“What is that car doing there?” Charlie muttered, squinting through the dark parking lot to see if the car in the corner was one he recognized. Diverting his car in the opposite direction felt like an admission that his nightmares were more rooted in reality than fantasy, but he did it anyway, keeping an uneasy eye on the abandoned vehicle through the rearview mirror. It wasn’t unheard of that cars were left there overnight—Appelle’s taproom was a bar, after all, and he’d much rather a customer get an Uber home than drive drunk. And sometimes abandoned cars were just abandoned cars.  He gathered his bags, trying to reason with his heartbeat. 

In an act of bravery, he decided to pretend the car wasn’t there. Instead of fashioning a rudimentary weapon by threading his keys through his fingers, he would place them boldly into his pocket. Instead of admitting how a nondescript sedan had completely unsettled him, he would turn his back to it as if it didn’t even matter. Instead of letting fear take hold, he would walk very briskly—he peeked over his shoulder one last time, stopping short when he saw a figure waving at him from the driver’s seat. 

“Good morning!” a friendly voice called. 

Charlie exited his car, squinting to make out any discernible features while his brain tried to place the voice. “Nick?” he hissed into the darkness.

Nick emerged from his car, moonlit shadowed and apologetic. “In retrospect, I probably should’ve told you ahead of time that I was going to be here.”

Charlie tried not to stagger when his panic receded as quickly as it had risen. “What are you doing here? It’s six in the morning!”

If Nick noticed the way Charlie’s entire body melted with relief, he kept it to himself. They fell easily into step as if they did it every morning. “I should be asking you the same thing. Is there a cider-based reason you have to get such an early start or is it more of a personal preference?” 

Charlie glanced at Nick out of the corner of his eye, a second confirmation that he wasn’t just a figment of his stress-addled brain, but there he was, solid bodied and suede jacketed. “Sometimes there’s a legitimate reason, but I mostly just like having the place to myself.” 

Nick leaned against the side of the building, surveying Charlie quietly while he searched for his key. “Was that your way of telling me to leave you alone when we get inside?” 

“Depends,” Charlie shrugged, “are you gonna make yourself useful or be a pain in my ass the whole time?”

Nick chuckled. “I think that depends on your approach.”

“Yeah?” Charlie yanked the door open and gestured inside for Nick to enter. “And to think all our issues could’ve been avoided if I just changed my approach.” 

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Nick said. “I respond better to praise than to ridicule.” 

Charlie rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as he walked over to disarm the alarm. “Big muscle-y man has a praise kink, what a shocker.” He punched in his code while Nick waited for him.

“So you really do set the alarm every night, that’s good.” 

Charlie turned to face him. “What, did you think I was lying when I told you that last night?” 

Nick ignored him and stepped closer to examine the keypad. “Do you set it when you’re here by yourself? Usually there’s a way to just arm the exterior if someone is inside…” He squinted at the tiny print on the side of the alarm panel.  

“The doors are all locked, I don’t see the point.”

“You should. Just in case.”

Charlie folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Nick Nelson, did you get here early just to verify that I’m setting the alarm properly? Is this some kind of liability thing so NVC doesn’t get in trouble if I get attacked?”

Nick rolled his eyes dramatically and flipped the alarm panel closed. “No, this isn’t about liability. Heaven forbid I care about you as a fellow human being.” 

Charlie exchanged his pointed ‘you know I’ve been getting myself safely into and out of this place for two years without your help’ retort for a deep, measured breath. In all honesty, this was the first time in months he didn’t have to slump against the back door and count his inhales and exhales to slow his heart rate after making it inside safely. He shouldered his bag and faced Nick. “Thank you for being here this morning. That was very thoughtful of you.” 

Nick seemed genuinely surprised by Charlie’s compliment, immediately transforming from defensive to bashful. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, the hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. “Don’t mention it.”

“Praise kink confirmed,” Charlie sang over his shoulder, biting back his smile when he heard Nick groan behind him. 

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie wandered into the office half an hour later. Nick had set himself up at the table, his laptop and coffee mug in front of him. He glanced up when Charlie walked in. “How’s it going out there?”

Charlie dropped onto the couch and checked his watch. “Pretty good; I just checked the carbonation levels and everything is where it’s supposed to be.”

“That sounds good?” 

“Yeah, I’m just gonna get a refill and then start kegging in a few.”

Nick looked between Charlie and his laptop a couple of times, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Could I maybe watch? I just, you know, the more we learn about the process, the more helpful we can be. I promise I won’t bother you.”

Charlie swept his eyes over Nick’s outfit: light blue slacks, a white button up shirt, tan suede jacket. “I don’t know, Nick, what if there’s another mechanical failure? I’d hate to be responsible for a second dry cleaning bill.”

“I was told failures are extremely rare around here; was that not the case?”

Charlie sighed and pushed himself off of the couch. “Alright, come on. But lose the jacket; this isn’t a board meeting for the local yacht club, for chrissakes.”

“The local yacht club is actually one of my clients.” Nick shrugged off his jacket and draped it carefully over the back of his chair, then smirked at Charlie. 

“It’s so infuriating that I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Charlie muttered. God, was it actually possible that Nick was funny? Was an ideal body, a perfectly symmetrical face, and a frankly impressive handle on piecing together fashionable yet understated menswear looks not enough? 

Their impromptu dinner the night before had revealed that Nick could switch from ‘appropriately earnest’ to ‘apologetic without being cloying’ to ‘possibly quite intelligent’ and back without missing a beat. And then he goes and pulls out that exceedingly considerate parking lot move? Charlie’s ‘no straight boy crushes’ rule was already at risk of being broken as it was; it was too early in the morning to consider what adding ‘funny’ to the list of Nick’s traits might do to him.

They headed into the production space and set their mugs and laptops on a folding table while Charlie talked through what he was about to do, pointing out the CO2 lines overhead and fetching the empty kegs that he had sanitized the afternoon before from the walk-in cooler. Nick typed into his laptop, asking follow up questions and bending to inspect the different fittings Charlie pointed out, oohing and ahhing as the process started to make sense, jokingly hiding behind a corner to protect himself when Charlie turned on the pump to begin filling the kegs.

Charlie wiped his brow with his forearm, already sweating just fifteen minutes into the task. He heaved another full keg to the other side of the tank and set his hands on his hips, attempting to catch his breath. He glanced over at Nick, who had lost interest after a few minutes and was typing away on his laptop, sipping coffee leisurely, legs crossed at the knee.

“So, you obviously work hard for those muscles. Are they reserved for use at the gym or do you wanna make yourself useful?”

Nick glanced up, surprised by the interruption. His mouth fell open when he took in Charlie’s appearance: sweat-dampened undershirt and disheveled curls, rapidly rising chest and parted lips. “Uh, um, sorry,” he swallowed, voice tight. “Is-is that—are you wearing a headband?”

Charlie’s hands flew to his head, searching for the elastic band that he rarely wore in anyone else’s presence. God, it was like being caught wearing a retainer by the most popular kid at the slumber party. He tugged it out of his hair and shook his head, chaotic curls bouncing back into place. 

Nick stood up and wiped his hands on his thighs, his own cheeks coloring. “Sorry, were you asking for my help?”

“I’m just saying, these kegs are a hundred and sixty pounds apiece and I’m going to be filling 32 of them. If there was ever a job for you, it would be helping me get them all back into the cooler.”

“I must’ve missed the ‘please’ in there…” Nick griped. He unbuttoned his cuffs and carefully rolled his sleeves to his elbows, and Charlie, who definitely did not have a thing for the protruding veins that crisscrossed the backs of hands and snaked their way across forearms until they disappeared into casually pushed back white button-up sleeves, heard himself say ‘please’ in a voice that was far too breathy for his own liking.  

Charlie showed Nick where to store the kegs and the two of them fell into a rhythm, Nick experimenting with different grips and methods for transporting the full kegs into the cooler while Charlie busied himself with filling the empty ones, fiddling with CO2 levels, and popping over to his laptop to make notes in between.

It only took a few minutes before Nick’s grunts of effort became distracting. Charlie tried to ignore them, but after a particularly egregious one he stopped, inhaling deeply through his nose with his eyes closed. “Are you alright over there?”

“Who, me?” Nick panted, cheeks red and chest heaving. “I’m great. How many have I done?”

Charlie glanced around, counting the kegs still to be filled and the ones Nick hadn’t gotten to yet on his fingers. “Eight, if my math is correct.”

“Eight?” Nick cried. “You mean eight left, right?” 

“You’ve definitely only done eight,” Charlie giggled. “So 24 to go.”

Nick gaped at him. “That can’t be right. I could’ve sworn I had done like, at least 22 by now.” 

“So you do admit the muscles are just for show,” Charlie sniffed, glancing Nick up and down coolly. “That’s fine, I’ll take care of them on my own—like I do two to three times a week.”

Nick blanched. “Seriously? By yourself? But you’re so—”

“Tread carefully, Nick,” Charlie interrupted, holding up a finger, “You’re not the only one around here who responds better to praise.”

“I was going to say impressive.” Nick wiped a bead of sweat from his cheek. “Do you think there are any of those tank tops from last week in the back I could change into? I’m getting my shirt all sweaty.” 

“Yeah, help yourself,” Charlie called over his shoulder, jogging over to switch off the valve when a keg started overflowing. 

Nick returned a few minutes later, holding up his hand when Charlie’s eyes bugged out. “I don’t want to hear it, Spring.”

“I…uh. I wasn’t. I wha…why,” Charlie sputtered, unsure whether he should avert his gaze to give Nick some privacy. The shirt was stretched so tight across his chest the words were distorted to the point of being illegible. His individual pecs were clearly defined. If Charlie squinted, which he wasn’t—god, he would never— but if he did, he could probably make out whether Nick had a six-pack or the ever-elusive eight pack. It was obscene. 

“Elle needs to order more sizes,” Nick grouched, tugging the shirt down so the strip of skin at his waistband was covered again.

Charlie knew the delight on his face was evident, but he couldn’t muster the energy to fight against it. “This is completely inappropriate attire for a workplace,” he said, circling Nick and clicking his tongue. “Now that I know what you’re working with, your inability to move a keg makes even less sense.” 

Nick threw his arms in the air and immediately yelped when his shirt rode up to his ribs. He crossed his arms in front of his chest with a huff. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure anymore,” Charlie teased, returning to the keg-filler. “We’re going at half my usual pace.” 

Nick rubbed his temples like he was exasperated, but he was smiling. “I swear to god, if we weren’t in a professional setting…”

“Oh yeah, would Sai approve of you vaguely threatening your client?” Charlie giggled. “Now come on, if you could just lift with your legs instead of your back we’d be done by now.”

“Who needs legs and backs when they have arms like these?” Nick joked, dropping a kiss onto his flexed bicep.

Charlie covered his face with his hands and doubled over, partly because goddammit, Nick was funny, and partly because, goddammit, Nick’s biceps had a greater circumference than Charlie’s thighs. Nick’s deep, throaty laughter bounced off the cinderblock walls and pinged from the fermentation tanks, merging with Charlie’s muffled giggles until their delight, their delirious peals of joy echoed through the empty warehouse. It felt like banter. It felt fun.  

If Nick weren’t straight, Charlie could be convinced that it even felt flirty. Alas.

“Hey, you two.”

Nick and Charlie whirled around like they’d been caught doing something much worse than laughing on the job. Elle was frozen in place, keys still in the lock of the back door. The only movement was her messenger bag strap sliding slowly off her shoulder and down her arm until it caught in the crook of her elbow. 

She glanced between them, tilting her head curiously. “I have to say, after the way things ended yesterday afternoon, finding you two laughing at eight in the morning was one of the last things I expected when I unlocked the door.”

Nick straightened up, trying to appear professional in his midriff-baring tank top. “Charlie’s been putting me to work.”

“The word ‘work’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting there,” Charlie muttered. “Unlike Nick.”

Nick snorted and clapped his hands over his mouth.

Elle looked even more perplexed. She pulled the door closed behind her and walked into the production space like she wasn’t sure if she trusted her own vision. “I’m sorry, but what exactly happened between last night and this morning? If I dreamt that you accused Nick of abusing his power and that he doxxed you, Tao is going to have me committed.”

“We talked?” Charlie glanced at Nick, who shrugged and nodded.

“Did you now? And is it safe to assume this ‘talking’ included explanations for bad behavior and heartfelt apologies?”

Charlie and Nick nodded guiltily.

“Good. Because it should have.” She looked at each of them pointedly before her face broke out into a warm smile. “Now that we’re all friends, I can actually spend my time managing this company instead of managing you. Nick, you’re coming to family dinner on Monday night. Charlie, come find me when you guys are done kegging. We have work to do.” She turned on her heel and headed into the office.

Charlie and Nick turned toward each other after she was gone. “Why do I feel like I was just slapped by my best friend and then hugged by mom?” Nick asked.

“That’s kind of Elle’s whole thing.”

🥂🍾🥂

An hour later, Nick was back in his jacket and Charlie had checked ‘keg filling’ off of his task list for the day (finally). Sai, Imogen, and Sophie joined Nick in the taproom to meet with Darcy while Charlie and Elle reconnected in the office.

“Alright, Charlie, bring me up to speed on your modern cider test batches,” Elle asked, clearing a space at the table for Charlie to set out last week’s bench trials. They took their time, tasting each of the eight samples, quickly removing four from consideration after deciding that the white wine yeast was the obvious choice.

Elle took a sip of one of the remaining samples. “You know, these aren’t bad considering they’re made out of crapple juice.” 

Charlie scowled. “Yeah, they’re… alright.”  

Elle laughed lightly. “Considering you wouldn’t be caught dead near a non-heirloom cider a week ago, I’ll take that as a ringing endorsement.” 

They continued their tasting, eventually agreeing that the juice from Michigan was their best option. Elle composed a quick email to the vendor to place an order while Charlie took sugar and acid measurements. 

“Full tanker or half?” Elle asked, fingers poised over the keyboard.

Charlie set the glass down and turned to face her. “Is there any chance that I could still talk you out of this?”

“No,” she said flatly. 

Charlie sighed deeply and rubbed his hands down his face. “Full tanker then. Go big or go home.”

Elle grinned, typed a couple of words, and then grabbed Charlie’s hand to squeeze while she hit send. “Oh my god!” she squealed, throwing her arms around Charlie’s neck. “If this doesn’t take off we’re so massively fucked.” 

“I can’t believe with the click of a button we just ordered over five thousand gallons of crapple juice,” Charlie mumbled into her hair.

“I can’t believe with the click of a button I just spent fifteen thousand dollars,” she replied. They unwound their arms but kept their hands clasped between them. “Alright, Charlie. Time to lower your standards. We have a business to save.”

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie was shocked when he checked the time and realized that it was past six. It didn’t seem fathomable that the attachment fiddling and hose sanitizing, the scrubbing floors and inventory checks could have added up to half a dozen hours. He vaguely remembered Darcy arriving to open the taproom, which would’ve been around two o’clock, and Elle had scurried out to represent Appelle at an event sometime around five. 

He headed into the office and settled behind his desk, the strains of Radiohead filling the empty space as the sharp edges of twilight softened into darkness through the large window behind him. If there was any day of the week Charlie was likely to cut out early—which for him, meant working just ten instead of fourteen hours—it was Friday, but experience had taught him that if he didn’t get everything ready now for the early morning juice delivery on Monday, his weekend would be consumed by anxious thoughts. 

When he couldn’t ignore his grumbling stomach any longer and realized he was working on tasks that weren’t time sensitive, he packed up his bags, the laughter and music echoing from the taproom growing louder as he approached it. 

He poked his head through the doorway, already speaking. “Hey Darce, I’m headed out—” Charlie stopped short when he saw Nick on the other side of the bar, an empty plate and glass next to his laptop. “You’re still here?”

Relief washed over Nick’s face. He snapped his laptop shut and pushed his plate away. “I was just finishing up actually.”

“I’ve already shut all the lights off back there,” Charlie told Darcy when they returned from the other side of the bar with Nick’s receipt. “I’m going to set the alarm on my way out, so just make sure you leave from the taproom side tonight.”

“You got it boss.” They saluted and then hustled away to greet a customer who had just walked in.

Nick stood up and stretched, then shot Charlie an easy smile. “Can I walk out with you?”

“Sure.” Charlie waved at Darcy and followed Nick through the door back to the warehouse. 

The neon red Exit sign beckoned them as they navigated through the dark warehouse, blinking control panels and whirring mechanical hums filling the silence. The back parking lot was a contradiction of Friday-night full yet moonlit hushed, cricket drones and faraway engines enveloping them in white noise silence. They lingered between their cars, surrounded by that swelling stillness that felt like it could grow into anything. 

Nick thrust his hands in his pockets and bounced on his heels. “You had a really long day.”

Charlie leaned against his car, a limb-stilling heaviness spreading through his aching feet and calloused hands. “So did you.”

“Yeah but I was sitting down for most of it. You barely had time to eat.” Nick glanced at Charlie shyly out of the corner of his eye. “I meant what I said this morning. You’re really—what you do here is really impressive. Making cider is so much harder than I thought it was.”

Charlie was too exhausted to offer more than a rueful smile. “Thanks for offering to help. I’m used to being on my own back there, so it was kind of nice, getting to show someone what I do every day,” Charlie waited a beat, smiled slyly, “even if the help was subpar.” 

Nick’s jaw dropped. “I started to get the hang of it by the end.”

“Sure you did.” Charlie patronizingly patted Nick on his shoulder—his very large, muscular shoulder—and even though it felt wildly presumptuous and he knew it would only serve to feed the growing crush he continued to deny, he let his hand linger. 

Nick rubbed his face. “I am going to be so fucking sore tomorrow.” 

“Yeah?” Charlie dug his thumb into Nick’s shoulder, his pulse shooting up when Nick groaned and let his head fall back, moonlit-blue eyelash shadows and paint-splatter freckles stretching across his cheeks. 

Nick straightened up a moment later, their locked gazes thickening the summer-heavy air between them as Charlie’s hand fell back to his side. Charlie wanted nothing more than to find out how Nick would respond if he was bold enough to reach out, to brush that perfect lock from his eyes with tentative fingertips and held breaths. 

“By the way, can I have your number?” 

Charlie blinked away his daydream. “Sorry, what?” 

Nick pulled his phone out of his pocket and wiggled it. “Your number? Can I have it?”

If there was a hint of nerves, if there was an undercurrent of meaning in the request, Charlie didn’t find it in Nick’s open, expectant face. His disappointment at letting his overactive imagination make something out of nothing came out in an exhaled huff and a return to his self-defensive sarcasm. “You could at least offer to buy me a drink first.” 

Nick rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Did the three drinks last night not count for some reason?”

Charlie pulled his phone out of his pocket and eyed Nick suspiciously. “Antagonizing me from Monday to Friday isn’t enough for you?”

“If anyone is the antagonist here it’s you.” He grabbed Charlie’s phone and bent his head. “My buddy and I are going to the lake tomorrow, and there’s this little bottle shop we always stop at on the way.” 

“Heaven forbid you don’t stock up on White Claw before your lake day.”

“There’s a huge cider selection,” Nick continued, ignoring Charlie’s (admittedly tired) joke. “I thought maybe I could send you some pictures and you could let me know if there are any I should pick up since we’ll be working on Appelle’s new flavors next week.”

Charlie stuffed his dismay down. What did he think, that he and Nick were going to start texting at all hours of the day, giggling into their phones until they fell asleep? Of course Nick wanted his number for a valid work reason. “Oh, sure, yeah, just send it my way. Thanks.”

“Great, I’ll see you on Monday, then.” Nick turned toward his car.

“Enjoy the cold plunge,” Charlie called after him.

Nick turned around, laughing as he walked backward. “I’m going to assume this is your way of wishing me a nice weekend too.”

Charlie wiggled his fingers and climbed into his car, his smile disappearing as soon as he was surrounded by darkness again. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and the wild idea that Nick had changed his mind, that he was inviting Charlie to get another drink forced itself into his brain before he could stop it. When he looked at the screen, it was a depressingly simple Nick from NVC introductory text. “Snap out of it, Spring. You are not allowed to have a crush on him,” he muttered, leaning his head back to gather his wits before he drove home. 

His phone vibrated again.

Unknown: FYI I’m not leaving this parking lot until you do. 

Charlie whipped his head around to find Nick’s headlights spilling across the gravel lot, idling a few feet away. The stupidest, biggest grin of his life spread across his face as he backed up, catching Nick’s smile-crinkled eyes through the rearview mirror. 

Charlie sighed and turned left out of the lot to start his journey home, watching Nick’s tail lights fade into the opposite direction in the rear view mirror. “Well, I tried.”

Chapter Text

Sensory Analysis

The greatest cidermakers in history all have one thing in common: a well-trained palate. While it is true that some people are born ‘super-tasters’, all palates can benefit from sensory training in order to better-analyze a consumer product. Regularly participating in sensory evaluations—of your products and your competitors—is a fantastic way to keep your skills sharp and expose the strengths and weaknesses of your palate.

True to his word, Nick texted Charlie a photo of a floor-to-ceiling wall of ciders the next day. Charlie, who had been lounging on his couch with a book, jolted up like he’d been electrocuted when he saw the sheer number of hard-to-find, limited edition ciders stacked next to each other so unceremoniously, like they were mere commoners, like they weren’t the rock stars of the cider world. Nick probably had no idea how impressive the selection was.

“RIP to Nick’s wallet,” Charlie muttered, zooming in to read the tiny names.

NVC Nick: Did the picture come through?

Charlie ignored the double text, wandering from his living room to his bedroom in search of a pen and paper. He dropped onto his bed and started making a list of the ciders he wanted to try.

NVC Nick: Sorry, you’re probably busy

Charlie made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat. How was he supposed to look at the photo if Nick kept interrupting him?   

NVC Nick: Okay well we’re about to leave the shop

NVC Nick: I can probably stop by on the way back

Charlie rubbed his temples and let out a dramatic sigh, thumbs flying over the keyboard.

Charlie: you can’t send me a photo like that and expect me to get right back to you 

NVC Nick: Jesus, it’s a shelf at a grocery store, not porn

Charlie snorted, clapping his hand over his mouth to muffle his surprised laugh.

Charlie: this is my porn

NVC Nick: tbh this explains a lot about your obsession with your job

“What are you giggling about?” Isaac called from the living room. 

“Nothing,” Charlie giggled. 

Isaac appeared in his doorway, sweeping his eyes suspiciously around Charlie’s room. He pointed at Charlie’s list. “What’s that?” 

“Nick sent me a picture of the cider section at this fancy liquor store by the lake. He’s going to pick a bunch up for our sensory analysis on Monday.” 

“Wow, sounds hilarious,” Isaac deadpanned.

Charlie snapped a picture of his list and texted it to Nick, then stood up and pocketed his phone. “Ready for our date?”

“Always,” Isaac affirmed.

They made their way to Isaac’s car and were pushing their way through the Dhaba House doors within half an hour. 

“You came back!” Seema said, hustling over to them, arms open wide.

The three of them fell into a well-practiced hug. “Are you surprised? We’ve been here almost every Saturday for at least five years.”

Seema shook her index finger wisely. “Never take your regulars for granted.” 

“I’ll pass that on to Darcy,” Charlie said solemnly. 

Seema glanced around the shop; it was uncharacteristically quiet. She beckoned Isaac and Charlie to a table and untied her apron, letting out a wince of pain as she sat down in one of the chairs.

“Are you alright?” Isaac asked.

“Oh, just getting old,” she smiled, rubbing her knee. “Always on my feet, no rest, restaurant things.”

Charlie’s gaze swept worriedly across her creased face. “Can you take a couple days off? Or a vacation?”

Seema waved her hands. “No, no, that’s not necessary. How is your business going these days?” 

Isaac and Charlie slid their eyes to each other. “Not great,” Isaac admitted. “We’re working ourselves to the bone but we go deeper into the red every month.”

Seema clucked her tongue and gave Charlie and Isaac’s hands an encouraging squeeze on the top of the table. “I remember those days. It’s so much work, and for what?”

“What did you guys do to turn the corner?” Charlie asked curiously. 

Seema looked back toward the kitchen, smiling softly. “We were lucky that Anil studied business back in Pakistan. He slashed our menu in half, sold off a couple pieces of kitchen equipment so we could afford an electric sign, and we—” she cut herself off, glancing around the restaurant and covering her mouth with her hand, “And we did a lot of lying.”

Isaac’s brows shot up. “Lying? About what?”

She held her hands out in front of her like she was reading from a billboard. “Highest rated tandoori chicken in the state, voted number one Pakistani restaurant, yadda yadda.” 

Charlie lunged forward, shocked. “What? Seriously? You made that up?”

She shrugged, a secret smile tugging the corners of her lips. “No one ever checks these things. And now? We are the number one rated tandoori. We just told the truth before anyone else would tell it for us.”

“Ahhh,” Charlie said, stroking his chin. “We call that ‘speaking it into existence’ these days.” 

Isaac giggled. “Calling yourself a liar could get you into trouble, but if you tell the right person you’re an expert at manifesting? Six-figure book deal.”

Seema rolled her eyes. “Only someone from your generation would rebrand the concept of lying.” She pulled herself back to her feet with a groan. “Let me go get your food.”

“God, she’s just the best, isn’t she?” Isaac asked as she hobbled away.

“Oh, totally.” Charlie agreed. “I want to be reincarnated as her son in my next life.” He pulled out his phone, his eyes widening when he saw seven unread messages. 

“What?” Isaac asked. 

“I’m guessing Nick had thoughts about my cider order.” Charlie opened the screen and scanned through the messages.

NVC Nick: Whoa okay I didn’t expect a hand-written letter

NVC Nick: Seventeen?!?

NVC Nick: I brought a cooler, not a refrigerated truck jesus christ

There was a fifteen minute gap before the next group of texts.

NVC Nick: Is this an R or an F?

NVC Nick: *image*

NVC Nick: Okay probably R, because fose cider makes a lot less sense than rose cider

NVC Nick: You forgot the accent btw. That would’ve helped.

Charlie rested his forehead against the heel of his hand and let out a withering sigh. 

Charlie: are your texts always like a ticker tape printout of every thought that crosses your mind?

Nick’s response was instant.

NVC Nick: I’m actually holding a lot back

Charlie: that’s terrifying

Charlie: put your phone away

Charlie: i thought you were supposed to be lounging on a lake

NVC Nick: I would be if my trip to the liquor store hadn’t taken an hour.

Charlie bit back his smile, thumbs flying.

Charlie: your life sounds really hard

NVC Nick: *image*

Charlie opened the photo, immediately shooting a panicked look across the table, where Isaac was watching him curiously. He flashed his screen in Isaac’s direction, who lunged forward to gape at the image. “Why is our business consultant sending you a shirtless thirst trap from a boat?”

“I don’t knowwww,” Charlie moaned, rising to his knees and leaning across the table so they could both see it. “Probably because I was subliminally asking him to.”

“I thought six was the most abs you could have,” Isaac wondered aloud.

“Maybe.” Charlie bit his lip, looking back and forth between his phone and Isaac’s face a few times. “Maybe we should spend some time really studying this picture so we can get a solid answer to that question.”

Isaac nodded sagely. “I think that’s our only option; the internet is known to be useless in situations like these.”

“So, how’s the whole ‘not having a crush on Nick’ thing working out for you?” Isaac asked boredly.

Charlie tore his eyes away from Nick’s torso—the answer was ten, by the way, in case anyone was wondering—and glanced up, horrified to find that his meal had been delivered, eaten and paid for, his own signature signed on the dotted line.  

Charlie threw his arms into the air, exasperated. “Not great, Isaac! Guess what I realized about him the other day?”

“What?” Isaac asked flatly, grabbing his to-go box and heading toward the door.

“He’s funny, can you believe it?”

“No!” Isaac gasped.

“Yes!” Charlie screeched, following Isaac onto the sidewalk. “And humble! He admitted that he fucked up and gave me a really heartfelt apology without me even asking him to!”

“The nerve of that man.”

“Thank you!” Charlie cried, ducking into Isaac’s car. “I knew you'd understand.”

When they got back to their apartment, Isaac went to his bedroom to pack for an out of town book tour he’d be leaving for the next day while Charlie flopped onto his back on his bed, trying not to let jealousy and what-if’s take over his thinking. He loved working at Appelle, but there was a part of him that missed the catered cocktail parties and slim-cut double breasted suits, the swanky book releases and complimentary champagne. His life had gone from corporate to blue collar, leaving a neglected wardrobe in the back of his closet, curl creams and frizz control gels rendered useless by the sweaty dampness of his new life.

He settled onto the couch, mindlessly surfing the channels until he started to doze off. He wandered into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Once his face was washed and teeth were brushed, he climbed into bed and grabbed his phone, frowning when he read Nick’s latest text.

NVC Nick: Sorry, I didn’t mean to jump scare you with my pasty skin. I probably should’ve just sent a picture of the lake

Charlie scrolled up, realizing he’d been so sidetracked by his game of Count the Abs on the Torso that he’d accidentally left Nick on read for hours. 

Charlie: no worries

Charlie: i’m here for all the lake selfies you want to send.

Understatement of the century, he thought grimly.

Charlie: it’s like getting a fun little reminder that i have a shitty life when i least expect it

NVC Nick: Believe it or not, the lake trips are for work 

Charlie: really.

NVC Nick: Honest. And the golf, too.

Charlie: apparently i picked the wrong industry

NVC Nick: Maybe

NVC Nick: But there’s something nice about not having to sell yourself for your job

NVC Nick: Having something tangible like a bottle of cider that speaks for itself 

Charlie frowned. Of course every job had its downsides, but for some reason, he assumed Nick was blissfully happy with the path he’d carved for himself. How many people under thirty were successful enough to start their own consulting firms, for heaven’s sake? 

Charlie: i suppose so

When Nick didn’t respond after a couple minutes, Charlie plugged his phone into the charger and rolled onto his side. 

🥂🍾🥂

For once, Charlie leapt out of bed when his alarm clock went off on Monday morning. Gone were the days of renting box trucks and driving for hours to pick up a few hundred gallons of heirloom apple juice at a time. In a couple hours, thousands of gallons of fresh (cr)apple juice would be delivered directly to him like magic. 

The one downside was that, apparently, people who drove 18-wheelers preferred to drive overnight and didn’t believe in delivery windows. The only way Charlie could be sure to show up first was to arrive at the ungodly hour of 5:00 in the morning. 

He scanned the alley as he pulled into the parking lot, letting out a relieved puff of air when he found it empty. If he hustled, maybe he’d be able to make a dent in his to-do list while he waited for them to arrive. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he screamed when he saw Nick’s smiling face through his window. 

Nick’s hands flew to his mouth, eyes panicked. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I thought you knew I was here!”

“Why would you think that?” Charlie hissed, his hand over his racing heart.

“Because you literally just parked right next to me!” Nick gestured at their cars, side-by-side in the otherwise empty lot.

“I was distracted!” Charlie covered his face with his hands and rested his forehead against the steering wheel, his relief pouring out of him in manic laughter. When he had calmed down enough to trust his legs to support his weight, he climbed out of the car and shook out his hands, adrenaline still coursing through him, while Nick watched him with concern.

Charlie grabbed his coffee traveler mug from the cupholder and slammed his car door shut. “Well that’s one way to wake up, Jesus Christ.”

“Here, give that to me.” Nick took the mug out of Charlie’s shaking hands.

Charlie unlocked the back door, disarmed the alarm, and made his way to the office while Nick followed quietly behind. He set his bags down on his desk, finally recovered from his shock. “Did you come in early for the juice delivery?” 

“Oh, is that this morning! I totally for—” 

Nick was cut off by a loud banging at the back door. Charlie jumped up and jogged across the warehouse, opening it to find the entire alley blocked by a gigantic truck. He leapt into work mode, signing for the delivery, instructing the driver to back out and approach the alley from the other direction, grunting as he lifted the overhead door. 

As surprised as Charlie had been by Nick’s appearance that morning, he was grateful to have the help. They worked together, Charlie explaining why they needed to sanitize the clamps and how to connect the hoses while Nick asked the kinds of follow-up questions that showed he was starting to grasp the bigger picture. 

Since it was the first time Charlie had ever pumped juice from an idling tanker into his fermentation vessels, it took a lot of trial and error to figure everything out: which fittings to use, the angle of the hoses, the safest way to boost the pump’s power. Once they were all hooked up and ready to go, Charlie took a deep, centering breath and flicked the pump on, watching intently as the amber brown juice climbed the walls of the first fermentation tank. 

Nick stood next to him, hands in pockets, surveying the process. “It smells great in here,” he said after a moment. 

Charlie tore his gaze away from the tanks and chuckled, mirroring Nick’s position. “Yeah, one of the unexpected things about this place is that it looks like a manufacturing plant on the outside, but when you open the door it smells an apple orchard in the fall.”

Nick rubbed his stomach. “How hard would it be to reroute that hose into my mouth for a few seconds?”

Charlie held up a finger and jogged into the kitchen to grab a couple glasses. He returned and handed one to Nick. “Help yourself.”

“Wait, really? Are you sure…is that allowed?”

Charlie laughed. “We have 5,500 gallons, I'm sure we can spare eight ounces for our beloved business consultant.”

Nick took a few tentative steps toward the ladder, glancing nervously at Charlie over his shoulder. 

“No you're not climbing it!” Charlie yelped, reaching out to grab Nick by the crook of his elbow and yanking him backwards, dissolving into giggles.

“Well how else am I supposed to get it?” Nick sputtered.

Charlie took Nick's glass back and held it under a tiny tap on the side of the tank. “This is called a sample valve,” he explained, twisting the knob. He handed the full glass over to Nick and then filled his own. 

“Cheers,” Nick said, clinking their glasses together once Charlie’s was full. They held eye contact as they took their first sips. “What do you think?” 

Charlie narrowed his eyes, trying to identify any off-flavors. “Not terrible? You?”

Nick took another sip and made a show of smacking his lips together. “Good, I think? Seems…fresh? And like…sweet, but not too sweet, is that a thing? And there’s something else too…what is that?” 

Charlie watched Nick, whose brows were furrowed in deep concentration, over the rim of his glass.

Nick snapped his fingers when the word he had been searching for came to him. “ That's what it is. It tastes…” he took another sip and then nodded surely. “Yeah. It’s got some really strong crappley notes.” 

Charlie choked, spewing a mist of cider from his mouth as he coughed, juice dribbling down his chin. “Oh my god,” he gurgled, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. 

Nick dabbed his own face with his fingertips and smirked smugly. “Sorry, I kind of had to.”

Charlie folded his arms across his chest, trying but failing to keep a straight face. “You know what really bugs me about you?”

“Yes,” Nick said, ticking off his fingers as he spoke, “My outfits, my vocabulary, how I'm always right about everything I suggest, the way I—”

“You’re so fucking funny; it kills me,” Charlie interrupted. “You were so much easier to hate when you were a humorless douchebag.” 

Nick threw his head back and laughed. “Have you ever considered that the humorless douchebag in the room just might be the one who prefers it when people are ‘easier to hate’?”

Charlie nudged Nick with his shoulder. “Shut up.” 

“You shut up.” Nick nudged him back.

Charlie stumbled, giggling and grabbing for Nick’s forearms so he didn’t fall over.

“Um, excuse me, but what the fuck?”

Darcy stood in the doorway, keys in one hand and coffee in the other, eyeing them suspiciously. “You guys walked out together the other night and I kept my mouth shut. But then I show up on a Monday morning and find you all red-faced and giggly and I’m supposed to just let that slide? Just a couple days ago I had to physically restrain you from getting into a fist fight with each other.”

“To be fair, if you had walked in a minute later, you might’ve had to do it again,” Charlie deadpanned.

Darcy sniffed at the air like a dog tracking a scent. “Are you like, friends now? Why do I feel like I’m missing something?”

“This may be a bit presumptuous of me, but I feel like Charlie and I are getting comfortable using the F-word to describe what we’re doing with each other at this point?”

Charlie clapped his hands over his mouth.

“Friends!” Nick shouted, holding his hands out. “The F-Word I was referring to was about being friends.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely F-wording each other,” Charlie giggled. 

“But like, antagonistically f-wording each other, right?” Nick suggested.

Charlie tapped his chin with his finger. “I think they call that ‘hate-f-wording’,” he said. “And yes, there’s definitely still some antagonism buried under the surface.”

Nick winked at him. “I’m pretty sure it’s not even buried.” 

Darcy held up their hand at Charlie and Nick’s rapid-fire banter. “No, stop this. As much fun as it is to bear witness to you two working out your relationship in real time, I’m gonna need at least a day to untangle all the conflicting information being sent to my brain right now.” They disappeared into the office and pulled the door shut behind them. 

Charlie and Nick turned to each other. “Darcy’s never been much of a morning person,” Charlie supplied.

“Thanks, I picked up on that,” Nick responded. He took another sip of apple juice. 

Charlie slid his eyes over to Nick. “I usually let it slide, considering they’ve always been  such a reliable f-word.”

And this time it was Nick who did the spit-take.

🥂🍾🥂

Elle had arrived shortly after Darcy and the two of them were washing tasting glasses side-by-side in the kitchen while Nick and Charlie fetched extra folding chairs from the warehouse for their meeting.

“Okay,” Imogen said brightly, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “I know there have been all sorts of conversations between the big wigs at the table here about quality versus cost, modern versus traditional, blah blah blah, so I thought we could all benefit from everyone’s favorite marketing activity: a blind sensory analysis!” She wiggled her fingers in a rainbow shape over her head like her own sunniness had summoned it.

Sophie pranced into the office, holding a tray full of sample glasses on her shoulder. “You’re probably wondering when I had the time to pick up advanced bartending techniques in between my hectic work schedule and my extremely fulfilling personal life.” She set the tray down carefully on the table. “The answer is thorough research and YouTube!”   

Nick flashed her a thumbs up. “Way to go above and beyond, Soph.”

She blushed and waved him away, distributing the glasses around the table. Elle followed behind, handing out pencils and quarter sheets of paper. 

“You’ll each get ten sample glasses,” Imogen said, cutting through the glassware clinks and pencil scratches. “Sophie has the key in the back, but to keep us all organized, leave them in the order she places them in front of you and number your paper from 1-10. Remember, we’re trying to pick out individual flavors and tasting notes so we can compare at the end.”

Everyone got right into it, tasting sample after sample, swirling and sniffing, sipping and savoring. Elle and Sai pointed at glass number four, whispering and nodding before making careful notes, while Darcy slammed back all ten samples and scribbled furiously on their paper, hiding it with their forearm like it was a test. 

“So two of the ten samples are from Appelle but the rest are from the liquor store?” Darcy clarified, furrowing their brow and looking at their notes.

“Yep,” Imogen confirmed. “Given Appelle’s exquisite quality,” she winked at Charlie, “it should be extremely clear which ones he made versus the rest. I’m more curious about which of the modern styles you like the best. We’ll use all of our feedback to help inform the direction of Appelle’s new flavors.” 

Charlie glanced between his empty glasses and his notes, chewing on his lip. He knew #6 was the 2018 Northern Spy—that much was obvious—but he couldn’t pick out whether #2 or #7 was the other Appelle cider, and it was honest to god making him feel like he was losing his mind.

Nick leaned over to peek at his paper. “Let me guess. All of them are bad except for the two you made?”

Charlie was too disturbed to even consider joking back. “Even worse,” he said, his face ashen. “I like all of them but two.”

“No,” Nick gasped. “Assuming two of the eight you like are your own, simple math would dictate,” he paused, counting on his fingers exaggeratedly, and then leaned forward like he was about to share the secret to the universe. “There are six modern ciders that you, Charlie Spring, actually liked?”

“Who even am I?” Charlie cried, covering his face with his hands. “The fact that I can’t pick out my own ciders from the grocery store crapple juice ones is legitimately devastating.” 

Nick clapped Charlie on the back. “It’s hard to come face-to-face with your own prejudice, isn’t it.”

“My ciders are like my children! What kind of father doesn’t recognize the taste of his own kids?!” 

Nick snorted and covered his mouth. “You might want to think of a better analogy.”

“Oh my god, now I’ve made a public confession of cannibalism!” Charlie groaned, giggling into his hands.

Imogen snapped her fingers in their direction. “Hush, you two! This is supposed to be an individual exercise. No sharing notes until the end.” 

Charlie and Nick shot guilty looks at each other and bent their heads back down to their own papers. Charlie cycled through small sips of #2 and #7, trying to figure out which one was magnificent—the very nectar of the gods—and which was a cheap imposter. Why the hell couldn’t he tell?  

“Which two didn’t you like?" Nick whispered out of the side of his mouth, not even looking in Charlie’s direction.

“Three and ten were terrible,” Charlie whispered back.

Nick practically shot out of his chair. He grabbed his paper and thrust it into Charlie’s hand, pointing excitedly. 

Charlie tried to stifle his giggles. “Nick, you wrote ‘shit’ next to #3 and ‘worse shit’ next to #10.”

Nick covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. “But they’re really bad, right? We found something we agreed on!”

“So bad!” Charlie enthused, reading over his own notes for #3, which went into great detail and concluded with “0/10, how dare they.”

Nick nudged him with his shoulder. “I think you made #7 and #2. They’re really good.”

“No, I know #6 is one of mine.” Charlie glanced at his paper. He had also ranked #7 and #2 extremely highly. 

“Really? I don’t think so. It’s good, probably one of my favorites, but it’s not like, I dunno the right word. Layered? Like, I taste it once and I get kinda funky apple notes, and then when I taste it again—”

“Really funky apple notes again!” Charlie lunged for #6 and took a sip, followed by another. He dropped his head into his hands. “Oh no. I don’t even know my own ciders!”

“How does it feel to realize your whole life is a lie?” Nick asked solemnly.

Charlie smacked Nick’s hands away from his paper, which he had turned so he could read it better. “This isn’t funny! My palate should be perfectly attuned to the complexities of my craft.”

"'My palate should be perfectly attuned the the complexities of my craft?’” Nick whisper-mimicked. “God, if you’d said that two weeks ago I would’ve judged you so hard.” 

“Well, I too am glad we’ve graduated to face-to-face insults,” Charlie said primly.

Nick chuckled and leaned back to study Charlie, tapping his pen on the table a few times. “It’s kind of cute, how seriously you take all this. Did you know you get the tiniest little crinkles across your nose when you’re in the middle of an existential spiral?”

“A- ha!” Darcy shouted from across the table, pointing between Nick and Charlie with a wild look in their eyes. Charlie tilted his head at them with an unasked question, but they just grinned and shook theirs.

Imogen chose that moment to gather everyone’s attention to review their notes. If there was anything that could distract Charlie from trying to piece together whatever revelation Darcy had just had, it was an intense conversation about residual sweetness and carbonation levels.

It came as no surprise that everyone hated the same two ciders; it was impossible to find a single redeeming quality about either of them. Sophie tossed them into the trash can and exaggeratedly wiped her hands off before revealing that, just as Nick suggested, Appelle’s ciders were #7 and #2. 

“Was there anything that surprised you about today’s activity?” Imogen asked, gathering everyone’s feedback cards, which she promised to analyze before their next meeting. “Anything you learned about yourself or your own preferences?”

Elle examined one of the cans. “I was pleasantly surprised by several of the berry ciders.” 

“Me too,” Sai agreed.

“Honest to god I’m not trying to suck up to you guys, but my two favorites were the Appelle ciders,” Nick added. 

Charlie grinned and raised his hand. “And I learned that Nick has better taste in cider than he does in clothing.” He winked at Nick, who laughed and flipped him off.

Darcy leaned back leisurely in their chair, crossing their hands behind their neck and their feet at their ankles. “I didn’t learn anything about my own preferences but I sure learned something about some of yours.”

They made quick work of gathering up the sample glasses and running them through the dishwasher before going their own directions to finish up their work days. Elle stopped Charlie and Nick before they headed onto the production floor.

“Still on for dinner at mine tonight?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Charlie answered.

“Yep, can I bring anything?” Nick asked at the same time.

Elle wrapped a friendly arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “See, this is how you win hostess points.”

Charlie dropped his jaw. “I literally asked every week for years! You can only be told ‘no’ so many times before you lose your spirit.”

Elle turned to Nick. “No, don’t bring anything but yourself. Family dinner is my way of making sure Charlie never quits even though I can’t pay him what he deserves.”

“I thought family dinners were an expression of life-long friendship,” Charlie grumbled.

Elle laughed lightly. “Isaac’s off gallivanting across the west coast on his fancy book tour, so it’s just us and Tao tonight. I hope that’s okay?”

“So you’re telling me I’m filling Isaac’s normal spot? Should I bring a worn paperback so you don’t miss him too much?” Nick joked. 

Elle gave him an impressed look. “Nick Nelson, I think you’ll fit in just fine.”

Once they verified the time Elle wanted them to come over for dinner, Charlie headed onto the production floor to pull samples of the new juice while Nick returned to the folding table to take notes for him. 

Half an hour later, Imogen, Sai, and Sophie headed toward the back door, bags over their shoulders. “Are you coming back to the office for our prospective client planning meeting or joining remotely, Nick?” Sai called.

Nick flicked his eyes toward Charlie. “You live in the same apartment building as Elle, right?”

“Mhm,” Charlie affirmed, a flurry of nervous anticipation zipping right through him at the prospect of Nick seeing him in his natural, unguarded habitat. There were plenty of ways to hide his crush in the giant warehouse, but what if it was too big to fit into an apartment?

“Perfect, can I follow you there tonight?” When Charlie nodded, Nick stood to wave at his coworkers. “I’ll call in to the meeting this afternoon.” 

Charlie spun to face the tanks so his slow-spreading smile and pinkening cheeks wouldn’t give him away. He definitely needed to talk some sense into himself if he wanted to make it through dinner with his self-respect intact.  

Chapter Text

Blending

The perfect cider apple doesn’t exist, which is why most ciders contain a blend of apples to hit a fuller flavor profile. Great cidermakers can identify subtle differences in taste—tart and tannic, acidic and sweet—and course correct to create a perfect blend. It is an art that requires patience and insight; sometimes two ciders that seem wildly different combine in unexpectedly delightful ways.

Charlie finished up all of his juice-related tasks by mid-afternoon and spent the following hour on the couch in the office, reviewing his notes from the sensory analysis. He gnawed absently at his thumb as he compared his own notes to the key Sophie had handed out after the meeting, trying to determine any points of commonality between the ciders he liked the most. 

Elle zipped up her laptop bag and slipped it over her shoulder, perching on the arm of the couch. “You look like you’re studying for a final exam.” 

“I’m kind of shocked by how much I liked some of those ciders this morning,” Charlie confessed.

“Same,” Elle enthused, voice full of wonder. She fished through her bag for her own notes, pulling them out and flattening them on her knee. 

“Like that blueberry one?” Charlie asked, pointing at the key. “It was so refreshing!”

“Totally.” Elle affirmed. “That was my highest-rated after the…” she flipped through her notes, “the cherry one.”

“Yes! That was my number one as well!” 

“And then the —”

“Oh, the pineapple and mint!” they yelled at the same time before breaking down into giggles. 

“It was supposed to be an abomination! Why is it so good?!” Charlie wailed. “I told Imogen it sounded like a yogurt flavor.”

“Did somebody say something about yogurt?” Darcy asked, wandering in from the taproom with Nick following behind.

“We’re comparing notes from our sensory analysis,” Elle explained.

“Oh yeah that one was really good.” Darcy flopped onto their back on the couch.

“I liked it too—it reminded me of one of my favorite morning shakes,” Nick started.

“Is anyone surprised to learn that Nick has not just one, but a rotation of morning shakes?” Charlie giggled.  

Darcy draped their legs across Charlie’s lap. “Fork found in kitchen.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Nick laughed, waving his middle finger in the air. 

Charlie gestured at Nick’s finger, sly grin growing. “Is that an invitation to take a seat?”

Nick’s momentary confusion turned into a hand-muffled guffaw when he caught the reference. He dropped into a seat at the table, ignoring Darcy and Elle’s perplexed faces. “Speaking of the sensory analysis, you guys should’ve seen the list Charlie sent me over the weekend when I asked him what he wanted me to pick up from the bottle shop.”

Darcy’s ears perked up at that piece of information. “So Nick has progressed to taking Charlie’s orders now? Right on schedule.” 

Elle winked at Darcy, but Charlie was too busy with his own revelation to notice. “Hey wait a minute, none of the ciders we drank this morning were on the list I sent you!”

Nick shrugged. “After I got all the ones Imogen needed for the sensory analysis, I had a lot less room than I thought I would.” 

Charlie threw his hands into the air. “If Imogen had already given you a list then why did you even ask for my number and send me all those pictures?”

“Yes, why did he text you if not for work,” Darcy murmured under their breath, raising a quizzical eyebrow in Nick’s direction. 

Nick glared at them, a rosy blush spreading across the apples of his cheeks, before he turned back to speak to Charlie. “I’ll bring a bigger cooler next time. I didn't plan on buying the entire store.”

“Damn, I really wanted to try that bottle of Mayador Sidra,” Charlie pouted.

Elle patted Charlie on the shoulder as she stood back up. “I’m sure it’s still there. A cider like that doesn’t fly off the shelves.” 

Nick pointed at her. “Someone’s been paying attention to Imogen’s market analyses!”

“But that was François Gaudel’s top rated Spanish cider from 2024!” Charlie whined. “It’s highly sought after.”

“95% of the people who consider it ‘highly sought after’ are in this room right now,” Nick shot back, which garnered him a grinning middle-finger invitation of his own.

Darcy tossed an imaginary piece of popcorn into their mouth. “Elle, who do you think would win in a fight? Nick is obviously bigger but Charlie’s like a honey badger, all scrappy and full of pent-up rage.”

Elle weighed the question for a moment, studying both Nick and Charlie carefully, before she gestured in Nick’s direction. “It’s hard to argue with arms like those.”

“According to Charlie, Nick’s muscles are just for show. Did you hear how bad he was at kegging?” Darcy rooted through their imaginary popcorn tub for an imaginary kernel.

Nick sighed dramatically and grumbled something about never offering to help again.

“Tao and I call them ‘glamour muscles,’” Elle said matter-of-factly. “Anyway, I’m off to get started on dinner. If this is still a topic for debate, we can settle it there.”

“Ooh, you should make them wrestle, something tells me they’d really get into that,” Darcy said around a mouthful of fake popcorn. They stood up with an exaggerated groan, offering the pretend tub to Nick and Charlie with a quirked eyebrow and shrugging when they politely passed on the offer. 

“There’s something wrong with them,” Nick said dubiously as Darcy dropped the tub into the trash and wandered back into the taproom.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” Charlie confirmed.

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie drove carefully through the streets, one eye on Nick’s car in the rearview mirror and the other on the road in front of him. When they got to his block, he rolled down his window and pointed at a spot on the street. Nick flashed him a thumbs up and pulled into the spot while Charlie searched for another.

“I’m gonna stop by my place for a minute to change,” Charlie said when he met Nick in front of his building a minute later. “I can take you to Elle and Tao’s first or—” He cut himself off abruptly, realizing that the obvious second half of the sentence was an offer for Nick to wait in his apartment. Visions of haphazardly flung dirty socks and days-old pizza crusts danced through his head, despite the fact that he and Isaac kept the place pristine.  

Nick must’ve recognized the panic in Charlie’s eyes. He waved a casual hand and continued down the hall, calling out that he’d see Charlie in a few minutes at Elle and Tao’s.

Charlie made a beeline for his bedroom when he got into his apartment. Elle and Tao’s favorite pastime was telling embarrassing stories about the good ol’ days whenever there was a newcomer at family dinner and they could not be trusted in Charlie’s absence. He picked through his clothes, weighing whether it was worth Tao blurting out something embarrassing like ‘Who are you trying to impress?’ if he wore anything other than his usual post-work sweats.

You aren’t trying to impress anyone, because you don’t have crushes on straight men, Charlie reminded himself as he reached for his favorite pair of black jeans and the blue sweatshirt that made his eyes sparkle, ignoring his snickering inner voice. It’s not like there was a rule that he had to be slovenly in his off hours. He was allowed to make an effort if he wanted to, thankyouverymuch .  

After a futile attempt to revitalize his curls, Charlie made his way down the hallway to Elle and Tao’s apartment. He walked right in, his stress immediately melting away with the flood of familiar smells and sounds: warm laughter and sizzling onions, old jazz records and sprigs of thyme. 

“We’re in the kitchen,” Elle’s voice floated from around the corner. Charlie toed off his shoes and headed in, breaking into a grin when he found all three of them squatting in front of the oven. 

“Elle’s making a soufflé!” Tao announced, brimming with the kind of pride usually reserved for pregnancy announcements. 

“What kind of madwoman makes her first soufflé when she has company? This kind of madwoman.” Elle sighed and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, her worried gaze never leaving the steam-clouded oven window. 

“They look great, you have nothing to worry about,” Nick said with the confidence of someone who…made soufflés in his spare time? And why was that mental image so appealing? All they were were a bunch of puffy eggs! Ah, right. It was the intense whisking.

Nick stood up and wiped his hands on the frilly flowered apron tied around his waist. Charlie deliberately scanned him up and down, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “How much do you guys want to bet he chose that tiny apron just to make himself look bigger?”

“Ah yes, as I always say, ‘the smaller the ruffle, the larger the muscle,’” Tao said sagely.

Elle shook her head fondly. “He’s literally never said that.” 

“Sometimes I say things when you aren’t around!” Tao squawked, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

Elle pressed her nose against the oven window and leapt to her feet. “I think it’s done!” 

Everyone sprang into action, a flurry of heavy-bottomed pots and quickly distributed silverware, chair-leg scrapes and popped corks. Tao raised his glass once they had settled around the table and poured the cider. “To good food and fine wine with friends old and new!” 

They clinked glasses and drank. 

“Wait, what is this?” Charlie asked after the first sharp, cloudy sip. “This is fantastic.”  

“It’s the Mayador Sidra you were excited about earlier today. Nick brought it as a hostess gift,” Elle explained, passing Charlie the bottle.

Charlie spun to look at Nick, who was smirking back at him. “I thought you didn’t have room to buy any of the ciders I wanted!”

“I didn’t, but you underlined it twice,” Nick laughed. “I’ve been on the receiving end of your wrath once before and I did not want to be there again.” He shuddered dramatically.

“Smart man,” Tao affirmed around a mouthful of green beans. “I pissed Charlie off once in middle school and I will never make that mistake again.”

“You’ve known each other since middle school?” Nick asked. “I always assumed you were college friends.”

“Oh no, the three of us and Isaac have been friends since we were, what, eleven? Twelve?” Elle asked, garnering nods of affirmation from Tao and Charlie.

It didn’t take much on Nick’s part—a simple question, an encouraging nod—to direct them toward their hazy history, all prep-school ties and too large jackets. The room was filled with gasping peals of laughter and tales of teenage antics, scraping spoons and giggling first-kiss memories. They stayed huddled around the table long after they pushed away their plates, satisfied by the home-cooked meal and the soothing comfort of a shared past.

Charlie was sure that his growing feelings would be obvious if he met Nick’s alcohol-warmed gazes. He clenched his hands into fists, did his best to ignore the steady rise and fall of Nick’s chest beside him, the occasional press of his thigh beneath the table. 

Nick’s voice was deep and syrup-slow when he spoke. “What did you all want to be back then, when you were younger?”

“Movie director,” Tao said, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “It sounded so magical, finding and sharing the kinds of stories that could change the world.”

Elle threaded her fingers through his hand on the top of the table and pressed a kiss to his temple. “It’s going to happen, Babe. Your latest short film is beautiful.” 

Charlie reached across the table to squeeze his shoulder. “It really is.” 

“Maybe,” Tao sighed. “Anyway, what about you, Nick, what did you want to be?”

“Well, I was pretty into sports as a kid, partly because I was good at it, partly because it was just…assumed I would be?” He leaned back in his chair, studying the ceiling as he spoke. “My dad was an athlete; he always pushed me to practice and take it more seriously than I wanted to when I was little. But then Sai moved next door and joined the team, and it became a lot more fun. It was less about doing what my dad wanted me to do and more about doing what I wanted. I was lucky that they were the same thing back then.” 

Nick glanced at Charlie, an imperceptible admission that the same tension he had glimpsed that night at Shaw’s had bubbled to the surface again. Charlie wished he could press into the moment, to ask the kinds of questions that revealed truths and explained behaviors, but instead he cleared his throat. “I wanted to be a writer, but we all know how that turned out.” 

Tao narrowed his eyes, pointing his finger back and forth between Charlie and Nick. “Do we all know how that turned out? Like, how all of it turned out? Like, do we know that—”

“Yes, Tao,” Charlie giggled, cutting him off. “Nick knows all about my painful foray into publishing.” 

Tao’s eyebrows shot up, a dubious look on his face. “But you never talk about that.”

Charlie gritted his teeth. The last thing he needed was yet another stern talking-to about the hopelessness of his crush if Tao caught a whiff of it. 

Luckily, Elle had known them both so long that she managed to identify and redirect the upcoming conversation with one sharp look. “I wanted to be a politician,” she said. “I really thought I would grow up and change the world.” 

“And now you are,” Tao smiled warmly. “One cider at a time.”

“Hardly,” Elle laughed, shaking her head. “You know, there have been so many times, when things at Appelle are tough, when I just wonder…” she sighed, picked up her glass and swirled it, set it back down. “Like, what am I doing here? I’m smart. I’m capable, and determined, and passionate— I know that. Yet, here I am, using all of my skills, all of my potential to what, convince people to buy more alcohol? It just seems like such a waste sometimes.”

“No, Elle,” Charlie said softly as Tao wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. “You do so much more than that. You employ people, people like me, who were at rock bottom before you stepped in. People like Darcy who have flourished under your leadership. It’s not changing the world, but it’s changed us.” 

“But I could’ve started a nonprofit or something and done the same thing for you guys. Instead, I’m stressed about how many empty seats there were at Drag Bingo last night while the world burns to the ground.”

“People need to have fun sometimes,” Tao murmured. “Your ciders give them something to look forward to at the end of a hard day. The taproom is a safe space for people who don’t always have one. That matters.” 

Nick leaned forward, ducking his head a bit so he could catch Elle’s lowered gaze from across the table. “Do you know how I first found out about Appelle?” he asked gently.

Elle lifted her head from Tao’s shoulder and swiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I submitted a form on your website?”

“No,” Nick shook his head. “Normally it would take us a week or two to get an initial meeting set up, but I called you the second I saw your email. I already knew all about you, and I was so excited when we got your inquiry.”

Elle frowned, looking to Charlie as if he might have an answer, but he wasn’t even aware that Elle had submitted an online inquiry in the first place. He turned to face Nick. Their knees bumped against each other under the too-small table, but neither of them drew away.

“Sai’s little sister—someone I love like a member of my own family—came over one night, absolutely buzzing about Appelle.”

“Really?” Elle asked, smiling softly.

“Yes, really.” Nick sighed and rubbed his face wearily with one of his hands. “She was really scared about coming out last year. She knew her family would be great—of course they would be—but she still worried about what her friends would think, whether she'd be accepted or bullied or treated differently. And I did everything I could to encourage her, to show her that it gets better, that there was an ‘out and proud’ version of her in the future, but she just wasn’t ready.”

Charlie remembered that scary in-between space, those heavy-secret weeks spent wondering if anyone else could tell the truth that he had just discovered about himself. How comforting would it have been to have a trusted friend to talk with back then? His heart squeezed, imagining the kind of relationship Nick must have with Sai’s sister to be the first person she came out to. 

“Anyway, by some random coincidence, she ended up at Appelle for Drag Bingo with some girls from her hall. There were people of all stripes and sizes, groups of friends and married couples, dads with their kids and grandmas with their wives—”

“That would be PJ and Carla,” Elle interrupted, a wide grin stretching across her face.

“And guess who was at the helm, greeting guests like they were family, making sure everyone was comfortable and happy and taken care of?”

Tears sprang to Elle’s eyes. “Darcy.” 

“Darcy,” Nick confirmed. “And guess who came out at the end to thank everyone for coming, and reminded them that twenty percent of the sales on Drag Bingo nights go to support the ACLU?”

“I did,” Elle said in a wobbly voice.

“You did. Rahmi came over later that night and told me she was ready to come out.”

Elle covered her face with her hands. “Oh my god.”

“Appelle is a place where people are celebrated for showing up as who they really are, Elle,” Nick said, leaning forward again. “Rahmi, I could tell her all the stories in the world about my experience coming out, how it’s possible to be proud of your sexuality without being defined by it, how there is a supportive community out there just waiting to welcome her, but she needed to see it spontaneously happen in her own world to believe it. Please don’t underestimate how much it means for us to have a place where we are loved, not just tolerated but wanted, from the minute we walk in the door.”

Sporadic sniffles interrupted the hushed silence after Nick finished speaking. His cheeks were bright pink—from the attention, or the emotion, or the…the fact that. Wait, had he just come out? Charlie tried not to gape, tried not to pierce the precious moment they were collectively suspended in, but his body was in a code-red state of frenzy: blaring sirens and heart-racing euphoria, excited trembles and dazed disbelief. Nick was gay? Or bi? Or— Honestly who cared about a specific label in a moment like this? Nick Nelson was apparently into guys!

“How is Rahmi now?” Tao asked, which was the appropriate question, but certainly not the one Charlie wanted to discuss.

Nick smiled, more broadly than he had all night. “She’s good. She’s gonna do an internship at NVC after she graduates in a couple months.” 

“I meant in terms of being out,” Tao said pointedly, leaving the ‘ you imbecile’ unsaid.

“Oh,” Nick laughed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s doing great. Her friends were supportive, she joined the Queer Society. She has her first girlfriend.” 

Elle wiggled her shoulders. “Ooh, fun!” 

“Eh, I dunno,” Nick said dismissively. “Like, her girlfriend is fine, but Rahmi deserves better, you know? Rahmi deserves the best.” 

Elle smiled knowingly, settling against Tao’s chest again. “Thank you, Nick, for telling me all of that. What I do at Appelle does matter, I know that, but it’s easy to lose sight of that sometimes, especially when things aren’t going well.”

“Anytime.” Nick’s smile faded into a yawn. “Sorry, it was an early morning.” 

“Oh?” Elle asked. “What was this morning?”

Elle’s line of questioning instantly broke through Charlie’s static-filled brain, which was busy celebrating doing the Charleston and singing a gay version of the Hallelujah chorus at the top of its lungs. 

“Yeah, I got in early to—” Nick snapped his mouth shut when Charlie aggressively nudged his knee under the table. He gave Charlie a confused look.

“I’m tired too.” Charlie faked a yawn, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. He slid his eyes over to Nick’s, who clamped down on his lips in an attempt to keep his face neutral. His knee pressed back into Charlie’s under the table, and Charlie tried not to think too hard about the fact it had only taken them a few days to progress from ‘enemies’ to ‘antagonistic friends’ to ‘non-verbally communicating in a crowded room.’ 

It wasn’t that his and Nick’s early morning parking lot meetups meant anything. Up until now, Charlie had chalked them up to some kind of performative self-flagellation on Nick’s park, an unnecessary (but appreciated) repeated apology for posting Charlie on Appelle’s Instagram. But finding out Nick was bisexual might just change how Charlie categorized some of Nick’s behaviors over the last few days. After all, Sai hadn’t asked whether they set the alarm each night. Elle didn’t volunteer to give up hours of sleep to escort Charlie safely in and out of work. 

Charlie had convinced himself that Nick’s protectiveness was a purely guilt-driven consideration, but in light of the way their eyes met and sparked since the minute they first met? The ground tilted when they were in the same room—an off-balance gravity pull that made it far easier to stumble toward each other than to observe from afar. They fell into side-by-side seats, knees knocking under tabletops and elbows bumping as they typed. If the magnetism ran both ways, Charlie didn’t want anyone else to know about it yet, even Elle. His and Nick’s early-morning meetups felt special, a secret tradition that would lose its value if it was shared, a tiny little tendril that still needed to be cultivated so that it wouldn’t wither under direct sunlight. 

They stood up, groaning and patting their stomachs, clearing the table and exchanging hugs in the entryway. The second the apartment door clicked shut, Nick and Charlie turned to face each other. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” Nick rushed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie asked at the same time.

They laughed together, a bright burst of pent-up pressure that confirmed they had been holding it in until they were alone. They paused in front of Charlie’s door, leaning on their shoulders while Nick searched for his words. 

“It’s not that I didn’t want you to know,” he explained quietly, staring at the footstep-faded carpet. “I guess I just like, I don’t know. I don’t really talk about my personal life with my clients, and you guys are my clients.”

Charlie understood where Nick was coming from, he really did. It’s not like he announced his sexuality to his apple broker when he placed his juice orders. But he also didn’t go to dive bars with his apple broker, or disclose his personal trauma in hushed whispers after three beers. He didn’t tease his apple broker, and his apple broker certainly didn’t tease back.

“I get it, Nick. Coming out at work is scary,” Charlie affirmed, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Even when literally everyone in the entire company you’re working with is loudly and proudly queer.” 

Nick giggled, covering his eyes with one of his hands. “God, you guys are like the textbook definition of a safe space and I was still kind of scared to do it.”  

“Do you want to come in for a minute?” Charlie blurted, emboldened by the combination of three glasses of cider and the mental picture of a confirmed queer Nick Nelson lounging on his couch in all his ruddy-cheeked tight-trousered glory. 

Nick glanced at his watch, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. “I would, but I really am exhausted. I seriously don’t know how you keep this schedule.” 

“Aw, is the big bad business consultant tired?” Charlie leaned his back against the door and crossed his legs casually in front of him, fighting to keep his smile to himself when Nick’s gaze dropped for a moment and then snapped guiltily back to his. “Come on Nick, I’m not planning on holding you hostage. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.” 

Nick gave a surprised chuckle, warning that he really couldn’t stay long before he followed Charlie into the living room, silently taking in the brush-stroked paintings and overflowing wine rack, trailing his fingers along book spines and studying framed photos. 

They settled onto opposite sides of Charlie’s couch, falling easily into the kind of conversation that defied categorization. They spoke in solemn tones about beloved childhood stuffies and cringed with the second-hand embarrassment of tragic first dates; they listened to each others’ coming out stories with gentle-eyed understanding and cackled their way through Tao’s senior project for his Art of Cinema class: a silent film, which, of course, starred Elle, Charlie, and Isaac. 

The only thing that interrupted their discussion was when Charlie offered Nick a drink, calling out options as he rummaged through the fridge. Nick leapt out of his seat, holding up a finger to let Charlie know he’d be right back before disappearing through the apartment door. He returned two minutes later with two of the rare bottles of cider from Charlie’s weekend wish-list and a triumphant smile on his lips, explaining with a smirk that he wasn’t the kind of person who solicited requests unless he intended to fulfill them.

And damn if that didn’t make Charlie want to come up with another list of requests. 

Two hours and one rare bottle of cider later, Nick finally made good on his oft-repeated reminder that he had to get some sleep. They paused at the front door, smiles fading as the optics of their evening together came into clear view. It’s not like they had been on a date or anything, but their evening sure fit the textbook definition of one: they had full bellies and even fuller hearts, satisfied by the kind of evening that swelled and stretched until they were deposited in front of an apartment door, staring at each other in the quiet hush of night.

A teasing smirk tugged at Nick’s lips. “Should I read anything into the fact that it only took you ten minutes to invite me over after you found out I was into guys?”

Charlie’s eyes widened in delight, the familiar hum of electricity that came when they exchanged insults in the early days zipping through his veins. “Nick Nelson, are you accusing me of flirting with you?”

Nick placed his hand against his chest, aghast. “Who, me? I would never accuse someone of doing something that they have been very obviously doing.”

“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Thirst Trap.” Charlie let his gaze drop from caramel eyes to bubblegum lips and back again. “Trust me, if I was flirting with you, you would know it.” 

Nick threw his head back and laughed. “Why does that feel like a threat?”

“Because it is,” Charlie vowed. “I’m about to flirt so hard you won’t know what hit you.”

“Well then I guess I'd better step up my game.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Nick took a deliberate step forward. “Has anyone ever told you this shade of blue makes your eyes pop? I thought they were brown until tonight.” He brushed his knuckles against the fabric along Charlie's upper arm.

Charlie narrowed his eyes and tapped his index finger against his chin. “I’ll give you a three out of ten,” he said finally. “If you really want to flirt, you have to make it so obvious that there’s no room for misinterpretation.”

“I kinda thought I had been,” Nick admitted, wiggling his eyebrows and laughing when Charlie’s jaw dropped. “I kinda feel like we’re about ten seconds away from challenging each other to a flirting contest.”

“Now that’s the kind of idea I’ve been waiting for my business consultant to suggest!”  Charlie thrust his hand into the space between them. “Nick Nelson, I hereby challenge you to a flirting contest.”

Nick eyed Charlie’s outstretched hand for a moment, eventually letting out a belabored sigh and reaching forward. Charlie tried not to melt into a horny puddle when Nick’s hand completely enveloped his, but oh god, his hands were so fucking big. Their eyes met, caramel brown and sweater-sparkled blue, as electrical currents zinged up and down Charlie’s arm. 

Nick yanked his hand back like he’d been burned, eyes wide, and then let out a shaky sigh. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.” 

“Don’t worry, we can ease into it.”

Nick tried but failed to bite back his smile, leaning forward to whisper into the space between them. “You should know that I’m kind of an expert at easing into it.”

A bright bubble of laughter floated out of Charlie’s parted lips. “Okay rule number one: ridiculous innuendoes do not count as flirting.” 

Nick shrugged one of his shoulders. “Sounds like you have a lot to learn about what is and isn’t considered flirting.”

They grinned at each other for a second before another yawn overtook Nick's face. He covered his mouth and blinked through watery eyes, apologizing again for being so tired. Charlie waved him away and pushed him toward the exit.

“I’ll be with another client the next couple days. Text me in the morning to let me know you got in safe?” 

“Rude of you to have other clients. And here I thought I was special,” Charlie scoffed, even though the idea of Nick being so worried about him getting safely to work that he requested a text confirmation made him feel like he might float away into a dreamy daze.

Nick rolled his eyes. “No offense, but you guys would have to pay us way more if you wanted to be our sole client. Anyway, I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Charlie blew him an exaggerated kiss and fluttered his fingers. “Not if I see you in your dreams first,” he sing-songed. 

Nick snorted. “Every time you open your mouth I’m more convinced that you have no idea how to flirt.” 

“Famous last words, Nick, famous last words!” Charlie spun on his heel and walked into his apartment. As soon as he shut the door, he slumped against it and let out a shaky breath. He was still coming to terms with the finger-in-the-socket revelation that what he assumed was impossible no longer was. It didn’t just seem not-impossible, it seemed like it was easily within reach. 

He wondered which of them would reach first?

Honestly, challenging Nick to an escalating flirting war probably wasn’t his smartest move. But if anyone was up for a game of flirty Chicken, it was Charlie Spring.

He gave a decisive nod and headed toward his bedroom. “Let the overt flirting wars begin.”

Chapter Text

Carbonation

Sometimes, all it takes to transform a good cider into a great one is a bit of effervescence. Carbonation lifts the acidity and adds a playful punch to fruit-forward flavors. Plus, who doesn’t love a celebratory sparkle in their glass? Do use caution, though: if you ramp up carbonation levels too quickly, the pressure can become unsustainable.

For the first time since it had become their new normal, Charlie wasn’t startled when Nick tapped on the driver’s side window bright and early on Thursday morning. Even though they hadn’t seen each other in a couple of days, the number of times Charlie’s phone had buzzed in his pocket during that time could be classified as excessive. Their meandering conversation thread ebbed and flowed throughout the two days Nick was with other clients, from ridiculously bad innuendos to sunset pictures of Nellie at the park; pre-dawn proof of safe arrivals and late-night confessions that only ended when Charlie fell asleep with his phone clasped against his heart. 

Nick lifted a carryout cup of coffee up to the window and wiggled it, his eyebrow lifted in a silent question. 

Charlie sheepishly held up his nearly-empty coffee traveler mug as he opened the door. “Thanks, but I already have some. There’s no way I would make it here this early without it.”

“Oh, I’m sure making coffee is the first thing you do after you open your eyes.” Nick stepped aside as Charlie climbed out of the car and then reached forward to slam the door for him. “I also know that you still drink about 90% of the pot in the breakroom every day, so consider this my way of saving you a few trips and giving the rest of us a chance to be properly caffeinated.”

“If you think plying me with coffee is a surefire way to get on my good side, you would be correct.” Charlie held Nick’s gaze and tipped his head back to finish the remaining coffee in his mug. He smacked his lips in satisfaction and reached across the space between them to exchange the full cup in Nick’s hand with his empty mug. He tossed a wink over his shoulder and headed toward the back door of the production space.   

Nick jogged to catch up with Charlie. “I didn’t think we’d start the flirting competition this early in the morning,” he smirked, eyes dancing.

“Who said anything about flirting?” Charlie asked lightly as he unlocked the back door and headed in the direction of the beeping alarm. “I always maintain intense eye-contact with men when I swallow.” 

Nick’s surprised bark of laughter echoed through the silent warehouse as they wound through the darkness. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, a picture of casual cool in a delicately embroidered linen shirt and legs crossed at the ankle. “Perhaps I’ve underestimated your flirting abilities.”

Charlie flipped down the alarm panel and raised the cup of coffee in Nick’s direction. “And perhaps I’ve underestimated yours.” 

“Getting you a latte wasn’t supposed to be flirty. It’s called consideration.” 

Charlie spun around, ready to argue that ‘consideration’ encapsulated things like holding doors open and asking after sick relatives, not arriving at the highest-rated local coffee shop at 5:30 in the morning, but he snapped his mouth shut when, instead of the self-satisfied smirk he expected, Nick was staring at him like he had two heads. “What?” Charlie asked, self-consciously patting his hair.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Nick peered at him carefully, eyebrows drawn together, and took a step forward. 

Charlie took a half-step backward, bumping against the cinder block wall. Nick was so close that Charlie could see the way the golden flares of his irises darkened into a deep amber around his pupils. 

“What?” Charlie repeated, flattening his back against the wall. 

“There’s just a little bit of foam,” Nick paused and reached forward, his voice low and quiet, “right there.” He traced his fingers lightly along Charlie’s jaw and brushed the pad of his thumb under his bottom lip, a whisper-soft touch that lingered just long enough for Charlie’s breath to hitch.  

Okay. 

Alright. 

This was fine.

Charlie tried to remain aloof, to pretend he wasn’t flustered by the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, but the redness spreading across the tips of his ears betrayed him. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed when he found the spot that tasted foreign yet familiar, an earthy salinity.

Nick’s gaze dropped, his mouth parting as he watched Charlie’s tentative tongue slide across his lips. A Choose Your Own Adventure list of options unfurled in Charlie’s mind: should he reach out and touch or pull back? Press himself forward or duck out of the way?

What the fuck were they doing? How had their light-hearted flirting competition escalated into staring hungrily at each others’ mouths and panting in the corner of the warehouse in the span of five minutes? Nick had wiped foam from the corner of his mouth, not invited him into the bathroom for a quickie for god’s sake, and honestly, how dare you for assuming Charlie would jump at the chance, even though he would. He wasn't stupid.

Charlie forced himself to break eye contact and regain a sense of self-control, but his voice still came out breathy. “I haven’t seen this side of you before.”

Nick, who apparently didn’t realize just how close he was to getting his clothes ripped off, just waggled his eyebrows. “There are lots of sides of me you haven’t seen before.”

A high-pitched giggle escaped Charlie’s lips. “Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah.” Nick leaned forward to whisper in Charlie’s ear. “If you’re really good, maybe I’ll let you see a few more of them.” 

“I bet it wouldn’t take much for a show-off like you to—oh fuck!” Charlie jumped in surprise when his pithy comeback was interrupted by an ear-splitting alarm. After a few panicked seconds spent trying to figure out the source of the siren, he realized he’d never actually disabled the alarm. He punched his code into the keypad with fumbling fingers while Nick watched him somberly, ears covered by his hands. 

Once Charlie confirmed that everything was fine to the alarm company and Elle, they made their way to the office. 

“I feel like I distracted you this morning,” Nick said guiltily.

“Oh? What gave you that impression?”

Nick pointed at Charlie like he’d just had a bright idea. “Alright. New rule. From now on, no overt flirting until after you disable the alarm.”

Charlie rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’ll make sure to add it to the rulebook.”

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie actually did add it to the rulebook. The rulebook that he and Nick spent the next hour creating, giggling and heads bent as they scrawled into the NVC-branded notebook Nick pulled from his bag. They added to it all week, filling it with complicated rules and creating a points-based flirtation scale.

They were in a dead heat by the following Tuesday, when Nick and Sai arrived for their weekly financial review with Elle. After trying to tune out their conversation so he could focus on updating his inventory spreadsheet, Charlie gave up, announcing that he was going to make some final adjustments on his new ciders before the rest of the NVC team arrived to taste them later in the day. He squeezed Nick’s shoulder in what he hoped Elle and Sai would interpret as a friendly gesture among colleagues and in what he knew Nick would interpret as a +2 points in the Charlie column.  

It only took a few minutes after he popped in his earbuds before he was fully absorbed in his keg-cleaning project. He hummed under his breath while his mind bounced from one topic to the next, an endless parade of thoughts that ranged from the mundane to the philosophical: what did he need from the grocery store and can attraction be one-sided? What would he do if Appelle went out of business and whatever happened to that guy who won Top Chef?

As was to be expected these days, Charlie’s thoughts eventually settled on Nick. Despite their light-hearted bickering and playful banter, Charlie cared about him, in a way that ran much deeper than pheromone-driven physical attraction. It was like they recognized something in each other the moment they first met, like what initially repelled them had become what drew them together, a magnet flipped. Perhaps they were bonded by doing unforgivable things yet choosing to forgive anyway? 

Elle poked her head into the production space. She waved her hand in the air until Charlie noticed her, reminding him that their modern cider taste-test started in five minutes. Charlie finished sanitizing the hose and jogged over to the kitchen. Darcy and Elle were already there, running glassware through the dishwasher, while the NVC team settled around the office table.

“You guys need help with anything?” Nick called through the open doorway. There wasn’t a point value assigned to ‘automatically breaking into a dopey grin when you see each other’, which made the fact that Nick did it even more meaningful.

“Once I run these growlers through the dishwasher, I could use some help filling them,” Charlie said, holding up a glass jug.

“Great, I’ll just run to the restroom real quick.” Nick headed through the kitchen toward the break room but stopped in front of Charlie, his eyebrows knit together. “Remind me, are the restrooms… this way?” He held his arm up and flexed his bicep.

Charlie rolled his eyes and pushed a cackling Nick out of the kitchen door, shaking his head and grinning to himself as he loaded up the dishwasher. 

Darcy nudged Charlie with their shoulder. “Glad to see that you and Nick have buried the hatchet.” 

Elle grabbed a tray of clean glassware from the dish machine. “That may have something to do with the information that came out over dinner on Monday, right Charlie?” 

Darcy bounced excitedly on their toes. “Thank god Nick finally told you he was bi! It was getting really old, being the only one around here who knew.” 

Charlie spun to face Darcy. “He told you?”

“He didn’t have to,” Darcy replied snootily. “I caught the vibes and asked him point-blank if he preferred to top or to bottom.”

“What?!” Charlie whisper-screamed. Elle gasped and clutched her heart with both hands.

Darcy rolled their eyes dramatically. “Okay, of course I didn’t ask him that, but I’ve been subliminally telling you Nick’s queer for like two weeks.” 

“Well why didn't you just…just bliminally tell me?” Charlie sputtered.

“No offense, Darce, but you’re like ‘the boy who cried queer,’” Elle giggled. “You say it so often that it’s lost all meaning at this point.” 

Darcy wagged their finger at Elle. “I prefer the person who cried queer, thank you very much. And obviously I don’t think everyone is queer, but like, it’s gotta be at least 99% of the general population at this point, right?”

They wheezed with laughter, explaining that it was an inside joke when Nick wandered back in from the restroom and asked what was so funny. Charlie grabbed his empty growlers and led Nick out to the production floor, instructing him to get the six small kegs at the front of the walk-in cooler. 

“Come on, Nick, we don’t have all day,” Charlie teased, not glancing up from his Sharpie and Scotch tape labeling project.

Nick set the first keg down with a dull thud. “I’m just warming up. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to pull a muscle.”

Charlie labeled the last growler and sauntered over, coming to a stop right in front of Nick. “I dunno, I can think of one muscle of yours I’d kinda like to pull…”

Nick tried to keep a straight face, but his lips twitched. “I’m pretty sure it’s not classified as a muscle.” 

“Maybe yours isn’t, but mine sure is.” Charlie wiggled his eyebrows, fighting to keep his voice from betraying just how ridiculous the conversation had become.

Nick hung his head in dismay, breaking Charlie’s intense eye contact. “God, how can someone hot be so bad at flirting?”

Charlie stepped back, momentarily stunned. “You think I’m hot?” 

Nick looked at Charlie like he thought he was joking. “Um, yeah, just like every other person with eyes on the planet.” 

Even though Charlie knew they were in the middle of a flirting war—one that had been formally declared with a handshake, one with a rulebook— there wasn’t the merest hint of flirtatious energy on Nick’s face. He spoke about Charlie’s attractiveness like it was a given, like it was a premise instead of a hard-won conclusion. He spoke about Charlie’s hotness like it was something Charlie himself believed.

A wave of unexpected emotion washed over him. “Thanks,” he said quietly. 

Nick must’ve noticed the thickness in Charlie’s voice. He shrugged and told Charlie not to mention it, as if he hadn’t just done more to improve Charlie’s self-image than his years of therapy. 

They walked into the cooler together to get the five remaining kegs. Charlie cracked his knuckles and let out a huff of breath. “Ready to see how it’s done?” He bent his knees and grabbed two kegs in each hand, pushing the cooler door open with his shoulder as Nick watched him, jaw on the floor. 

“By the way, you’re pretty hot too,” Charlie said, letting the cooler door swing shut behind him.   

As soon as Nick’s surprised grin disappeared from view, Charlie set the kegs down with a wince, flexing and wringing out his fingers. 

Nick reappeared from the cooler a minute later, depositing his lone keg next to the rest. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re so fucking strong, like, seriously.” His roaming gaze set off trails of sparks that danced across Charlie’s skin. “I never expected a show of extreme tensile strength to be such a turn-on.”  

Charlie snorted and grabbed the first growler. “No kink-shaming here. I’m glad to have helped you with that important self-discovery.” 

Nick grabbed Charlie’s hand and flipped it over a couple of times in his own, pretending to study it. 

Charlie kept his voice light even though he had to speak over the gay version of the Hallelujah chorus blaring in his brain. “What are you doing?” 

A sly grin tugged at the corners of Nick’s mouth. “Oh, nothing. Just…just imagining what it would feel like to have these strong fingers wrapped around my maybe-muscle.”

The effervescent energy bubbling between them evaporated the instant Charlie snatched back his hand. “Nicholas Nelson, you did not just call your dick your ‘maybe muscle’!” He shrieked. “Whatever happened to the ‘all flirtatious exchanges shall remain work-appropriate’ rule you made me agree to this morning? ”   

Nick sniffed and shrugged his shoulders. “That was before I realized I had a thing for strong hands.” 

“Nicholas!” Imogen’s voice cut sharply through the warehouse. She tapped on the face of her delicate gold watch with one of her hot pink nails. “Have you forgotten about the highly consequential presentation you’re leading in just a couple of hours? We need to get this tasting started!”

“Sorry!” Nick cried. 

They returned to their work while Nick explained the importance of his afternoon meeting. He had been working for months to seal the deal with a new client—long days on the golf course building a rapport with the CEO, multiple interviews with key staff members to identify the root of their issues. If their presentation ended with a signed contract—which is what Nick anticipated after their most recent communication—it would be their biggest client by far, the kind that meant they could press the brakes on what sounded like a near-constant cycle of identifying and wooing prospective business.  

Charlie listened carefully, almost embarrassed by how interested he was in the work he had so mercilessly mocked just a few weeks before. He had never considered how different running a consulting company was to what they did at Appelle. Instead of selling thousands of glasses of cider for $7 apiece, NVC worked for months—sometimes even years— to bring on a single high-dollar client, and even then, there were no guarantees that their efforts would result in a signed contract. The fact that Nick and Sai and Imogen weren’t more stressed out by their upcoming meeting was incredible now that Charlie understood a bit more about the pressure they were under.

Their conversation continued while Charlie tapped the kegs, sparkling ciders swirling into the vessels, filling them with bright fuchsias and bubbling pinks. He capped each growler and handed it to Nick, who ferried it over to the office and then galumphed back to him with a dopey smile and floppy hair, the craft cider version of a golden retriever with a frisbee. 

Once they were finished, he and Nick returned to the office. Imogen led them through another taste test, encouraging everyone to share their opinions openly in an effort to pick the four that Appelle would debut when they relaunched in a few weeks. 

The breath-constricting tightness that had been wrapped around Charlie’s lungs since the first disastrous meeting with NVC loosened with each Oh my god this is so good! and Are you sure this was made with crapple juice?  

Because honestly? The ciders were good. They were really fucking good. There were two clear front-runners: the subtly sweet black cherry cider (yes, it was Charlie’s personal ‘fuck you’ to White Claw, why are you surprised?) and the bright and playful mango-lime. Elle and Charlie promised Imogen they would use everyone’s feedback to select their top four by the end of the day. 

Imogen circled the table in a frenzy, gathering feedback forms and stuffing them into her bag. “Perfect. Email me your picks so I can come up with some fun names and first-draft graphics before Thursday’s customer event.” She checked her watch again and then glanced between Nick and Sai. “Which one of you two is giving me a ride back to the office?” 

Sai jumped up and grabbed his bag. “I can.” He paused in the doorway, the sound of Imogen’s heels disappearing into the warehouse behind them. “Nick? No dilly-dallying. We still need to do a full run-through of our presentation before the meeting this afternoon.”

Nick snapped his laptop shut and slid it into his bag. “It’s on my calendar.”

“Ooh, did you calendar your meeting before the meeting? How very corporate,” Charlie teased, following Nick through the warehouse toward the back door. You know. In case he forgot the way.

“Charlie, those ciders just now…I just…do you know how good you are? To come up with not one but six incredible options on such short notice?”

A grin split Charlie’s face, and for once, he didn’t try to hide it. He was almost overcome with the realization that Appelle was going to be okay; maybe even better than okay. They beamed at each other, lingering in the doorway, drawn closer together by their unadulterated happiness.

Nick glanced at his phone when it chimed. “Alright, if I don’t leave in the next thirty seconds Imogen is going to kill me,” he sighed. “Thanks for walking me out; that was very,” he quirked an eyebrow, “considerate of you.” 

“It’s the least I could do for the guy who showers me with compliments at every possible opportunity.”

Nick waved him away. “I do not.”

Charlie ticked off his fingers. “Strong, hot, impressive, fantastic cidermaker, considerate…and those were just today.”  

“You told me to step up my flirting game!” Nick’s laugh settled into a soft smile. “What time are you leaving tonight?”

Charlie rolled his eyes fondly. “You don’t have to come back just to walk me to my car, Nick. You’ll be out celebrating NVC’s new client with Imogen and Sai.”

Nick took a step closer, so close that he barely had to speak above a whisper. He reached out, brushed the tip of his index finger along the back of Charlie’s hand where it hung between them. “What if I told you that I want to come back and walk you to your car?”

There was intensity to Nick’s gaze, an air-thickening heat flare that made Charlie involuntarily suck in a breath. They drew even closer together. “Then I’d tell you to get here at 6:00.”

Nick stroked the back of Charlie’s hand again, gentle-eyed and soft. “Alright, then. It’s a date.”  

“Wait!” Charlie grabbed Nick’s arm when he turned to leave. “Are you flirting or just being considerate?”

Nick stopped, his hand on the handle of the door, the corner of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile. “I’m not sure. Neither? Both?”

The answer made complete sense. Charlie nodded. “Good luck with your presentation.”

🥂🍾🥂

“Isaac!” Charlie slammed the door shut behind him and kicked off his shoes. “Isaac! Are you home?”

Isaac wandered out of his bedroom holding a wrinkled tee-shirt in one of his hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh thank god you’re back!” Charlie cut a diagonal line across their apartment and pulled his bewildered roommate into a hug. “I’m in so much fucking trouble.”

Charlie perched on the edge of Isaac’s bed, catching him up on everything that had happened over the last few days while he unpacked from his trip. 

“So you challenged the objectively hot bisexual man, the same one who figured out how to save your career and is taking great pains to ensure your physical safety, to a flirting competition? And you’re surprised that you caught feelings?” 

Charlie dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Isaac! I promised I’d never date someone I worked with ever again, but…but I really like him. Like. I really like him.”

“So, to be clear, you really like him?”

Charlie smiled. “Maybe even really really.”

Isaac sighed and placed a comforting hand on his knee. “Well, he’s not actually your coworker, is he? He’s working with you on a short-term project. If that’s a boundary you don’t want to cross, surely you can wait a couple of weeks until the contract ends?”

Charlie nodded glumly. He didn’t want to wait a couple of weeks. He didn’t want to wait a couple of days. To be honest, whatever was happening between them seemed inevitable, like he and Nick were passengers on a pair of cosmic trains whose tracks had finally crossed after hurtling toward each other since the beginning of time.

“Do you think he knows that you properly like him?” Isaac asked.

Images from an hour ago danced behind Charlie’s eyes. Nick had been so disappointed when he arrived. Their meeting had ended with a request for additional information instead of a signed contract. The CEO assured them that checking references was a formality, but Nick was still rigid with tightly-wound irritation. They spoke in low voices in the parking lot, pressed thigh to thigh on the hood of Charlie’s car while cicadas sang around them. Shoulders unclenched and stress melted away with each murmured reassurance that a not yet was miles away from a no. They shared their first hug, locked arms and neck-burrowed noses, chests rising and falling in the still silence of the moonlight. When they parted, slow slides and eyes full of stars, it was as good as a confession.

“I think he might,” Charlie admitted.

“And do you think he properly likes you?”

Thumbs brushing along bottom lips, tentatively trailing fingertips, eyes that roamed then settled, soft and sweet. 

Charlie closed his eyes, inhaled and relaxed. “I think he might.”

🥂🍾🥂

The next two days were similar to the last: full cups of coffee exchanged for empty ones, gentle gazes and quickly disabled alarm systems. There were secret glances and hand-muffled giggles, parking lot debriefs that started with laughter and ended in lingering tip-toe hugs.

Nick wandered out to the production floor on Thursday afternoon to tell Charlie that Imogen’s customer feedback event was set to start in five minutes. Aside from Nick, Charlie had thought of little else over the last few weeks than making his new ciders as perfect as possible. And now here he was, on the cusp of unveiling them to their most loyal fans. Even though Elle had raved about them, the intrusive whispers that they weren’t good enough, weren’t special enough, still plagued him.

Nick nudged Charlie with his shoulder, hands in his pockets and eyes roaming the production space. “This is a really big deal.”

Charlie stuffed his own hands in his pockets and nodded.

“How are you feeling?”

Charlie blew out a breath. “Nervous. Excited. Like I’m starting a brand new chapter.”

Nick’s voice was gentle when he spoke. “The ciders are fantastic. You and I both know that.”

Charlie nodded but didn’t say anything.

Nick nudged him again, sharing a warm smile when he had Charlie’s attention. It was noisy; they either had to raise their voices or step closer to be heard over the whirring pump. They both stepped closer. 

“This is one of the best parts of my job, you know,” Nick said quietly, his thumb brushing across one of Charlie’s knuckles. “Seeing people who have been so worried about whether their business is going to make it finally start to believe that it will. It’s like…” he paused, searching for the words, glancing shyly at Charlie when he found them. “It’s kind of like watching time move backwards.”

Charlie titled his head to the side. “Say more.”

Nick sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. “Starting a business…at its core, it’s an act of hope. No one thinks it’s going to fail at first, but it doesn’t take very long before you’re bogged down in the details. The bills keep coming whether or not the sales do. There are clients to convince and stakeholders to keep happy, and…” he shrugged. “Sometimes you forget why you wanted to do it in the first place. Sometimes you need someone to help you discover that hope again, to help you remember who you used to be.” 

Dozens of what Charlie thought had been throwaway comments played through his brain: Nick’s text about selling himself; his obvious frustration when his dad came up; the deep melancholy when meetings didn’t go the way he wanted. “And who helps you discover that hope if you lose it?” 

Nick sounded surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Charlie replied. “You took that leap of faith, too, started your own thing. You spend all of your time helping people rediscover their hope, but what happens if you lose yours?”

Nick rubbed a hand over his face, a droopy weariness visible for a fraction of a second before he covered it with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tonight is about you, not me.” 

It felt so natural, like something they’d done dozens of times before, when Charlie slipped his hand into Nick’s. Their palms slid together—one calloused, the other smooth—the story of two opposite lives told through a grip. “Nick, this moment—this one right here,” he squeezed Nick’s hand, “this can be about whatever we want it to be.” 

For the first time in days, Nick was guarded, hesitant. “I…honestly.” He rubbed his temple and closed his eyes. “I’m still a bit stressed about that client. We should have heard something by now.” 

Charlie furrowed his brow. “What does Sai think?”

Nick chuckled and shook his head, a fond look crossing his face. “Sai’s already got the champagne on ice. He thinks behaving like it already happened will make it more likely.” 

Charlie smirked. That sounded exactly like Sai. “Well, I don’t know about all that, but he’s the one schmoozing at the bar while you mope in the back, so maybe he’s onto something. Might as well enjoy your life while you wait.” He poked Nick in his side, attempting to lighten the mood.

Nick sighed, his eyes skittering across the production space. “Yeah, you guys are probably right. I should stop thinking about it all the time. It’s just…it’s more than just getting a signed contract. This client is make-or-break for NVC, for me, and I hate feeling like the outcome is out of my hands.”

Charlie stepped closer, realizing that their soft smiles and fond gazes hadn’t yet been expressed with words. “You know you can talk to me about this stuff, right? I want to be here for you.” Charlie paused to summon his courage before he continued. “Because I…I care. About you.”

Nick’s eyes fluttered shut, a relieved exhale escaping his lips as his thumb brushed again across Charlie’s knuckles. “I know you do, and I would honestly really like that.” He squeezed Charlie’s hand before letting go. “But right now isn’t the time. You have like, a hundred fans on the other side of that door waiting for you to make an appearance, and I have been told by two people now that I need to let loose tonight.” 

Charlie grinned. “That’s more like it. You go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

Nick walked over to the taproom door. He turned to give Charlie one last smile over his shoulder before he was enveloped by the sonic wave of energetic music and laughter.  

Once he was alone, Charlie took a final moment to pump himself up, huffing out a resolute breath and plastering on his public-facing face. His questions about what exactly was going on behind the scenes at NVC were going to have to wait. He had fans to attend to.

Chapter Text

Customer Feedback

Your customers are more than just walking and talking dollar signs. They can provide helpful insights about what works and what doesn’t, help you break your normal thinking patterns, and suggest creative solutions to pesky problems. While there’s never a wrong time to seek their opinions, it’s especially important when you’re about to try something new. Read their cues and cater your responses to their feedback. If they hesitate, rethink your methods, and if they give an enthusiastic green-light, go for it.

The nerves Charlie had been battling all afternoon evaporated the second he stepped into the taproom. Imogen had struck a perfect balance, filling the space with long-time regulars and timid newcomers, family friends and bewildered strangers. She bubbled brightly from table to table, passing out feedback forms with wide blue-eyes and shimmying shoulders. Sai manned the front door, directing guests to the few empty seats that remained, and it seemed like no matter where Charlie focused his attention, Sophie wasn’t far behind, darting stealthily from table to table like she was on a covert operation to capture every moment through the lens of her camera. 

Nick must have taken Charlie and Sai’s recommendations to heart; his earlier ennui had already faded away, like it was more of a momentary blip than a state of being. Now, he was absolutely beaming, throwing his head back in laughter one second and exchanging bro-hugs with Sai the next, slapping backs and handing out energetic high-fives.  

When Darcy saw Charlie hovering by the edge of the bar, their eyes lit up. They leaned back and cupped a hand around their mouth, using their ‘bartender voice’ to cut through the noise. “And here he is, the man of the hour: Appelle’s very own Head Cidermaker, Charlie fucking Spring!”  

The room broke into wild applause, loud whoops and arm-pumping cheers like Charlie had just made a game-winning basket. He ducked past Darcy and into the swarm, his dimples prominent despite his desire to evaporate into thin air. A hand shot through the crowd and closed around his arm, yanking him toward a table already filled with Tao, Isaac, and Tara, Darcy’s partner.

Tara pulled him into a tight hug. “Charlie! This is going so well!”  

Tao stabbed his finger into Charlie’s face almost aggressively. “I knew you could do it. The second Elle told me this was what needed to happen, do you know what I said to her?” He pointed at each person around the table, earning several flat variations of No, Tao, what did you say? in response. He leaned back in his seat, crossed a leg over his knee, nodded seriously. “I said, ‘Elle, the only other person in the world I would let you do it with is Charlie.’” 

Isaac frowned. “Sounds a bit sexual if you ask me.”

Tao tossed his pen at the side of Isaac’s head when Charlie and Tara burst into laughter.  

“Just look at them,” Tara murmured when she recovered, gazing softly at Darcy and Elle behind the bar. “They’re so happy.”  

Darcy barked out orders in some kind of shorthand language while Elle worked the bar like the seasoned pro she was, holding extended conversations with her customers and filling glass after sparkling glass without missing a beat. They stepped around each other in a well-practiced dance, laughing and singing along to the playlist of 80s classics. It was only when Charlie saw Elle’s unadulterated joy that he realized it had been missing for some time. God, how long had she been worried about Appelle’s future before she told the rest of them? 

Isaac’s voice cut through Charlie’s thoughts. “Have you had a chance to talk to anyone yet? Do you know which ciders people like the best?”

Charlie anxiously scanned the faces of the people in the room in an attempt to draw some conclusions. Empty sample glasses littered the tables, couples trading sips and scribbling notes on their feedback forms while rowdy friend groups pointed between the brightly colored options, gesticulating enthusiastically. He bit back a smile. “I think it’s going pretty well.”

Tara liked the mango lime cider the best, while Tao preferred the blueberry basil one because its vibrant purple color ‘reminded him of Wes Anderson post-modern color grading’—and it tasted good, too. Charlie tried to stay engaged in their discussion, but his attention snagged on the conversation snippets that rose above the din of the crowded room. The tight knot of stress in the center of his chest loosened with every Wow, have you tried that one? and Oh my gosh, yes, I love it!

When Imogen waved him over from her station in the corner, Charlie excused himself from the table. It took him several minutes to make his way through the crowd, pausing to shake hands and exchange hugs, to answer questions about where he sourced his ingredients and pose for yet another one of Sophie’s photos. 

“Charlie, your new ciders are a hit,” Imogen squealed. She flipped through the surveys in her hands with an amazed grin. “I’ve done a lot of these events and never seen feedback like this: ‘the nectar of the gods’? ‘This cider tastes like my first kiss?’ ‘May god bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become gasoline in the car that took Charlie’s mom to the hospital to give birth to him’?”

Charlie snorted. “Okay that last one was definitely Isaac.”

Imogen smacked him in the chest with the stack of papers. “Charlie! You’re doing it! You’re literally saving your company! This is a big deal and I’m going to need to see a bit more enthusiasm from you, young man!”

Charlie did another sweep of the room. His gaze tangled with Nick’s as if they’d been searching for each other amidst the chaos. Nick grinned, nudged Sai with his shoulder, and the two of them grabbed their drinks from the bar and headed over. 

There was a new ease about them—loosened ties and languid smiles, unbuttoned collars and corner crinkled eyes. Once again, Charlie was struck with the thought that he and Elle weren’t the only ones with a lot riding on this event. While Appelle might go out of business if their new ciders weren’t well-received, resuscitating a company on the verge of failure would do wonders for NVC’s reputation within the corporate community. The idea that his and Nick’s successes were intertwined made Charlie’s stomach swoop. 

Sai threw his arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “Charlie, my man! What a night, yeah? I’d call this a raging success!” 

Imogen bounced excitedly in place. “We should totally go out to celebrate! Please, can we?”

Sai took one look at Imogen—blinking blue eyes and heart-clasped hands—and threw his head back in a laugh. “That pout doesn’t work on me and you know it.” 

Imogen tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Whatever, Sai, I don’t need your permission anyway.” She turned to Nick. “After-party at Shaw’s? Sai’s buying.”  

Sai’s jaw dropped. “Why you little—”

“After-party at Shaw’s,” Nick confirmed with a grin, winking in Charlie’s direction while Sai and Imogen glared at each other with narrowed eyes and twitching lips. 

They made a quick plan—Imogen and Sophie collected feedback forms while Nick and Sai thanked people for coming. Darcy and Elle employed their best passive-aggressive methods to make it clear that the event was over: they turned up the lights and down the music, cleared empty dishes and got out the brooms. It didn’t take long before the only people remaining were the Appelle and NVC teams, scurrying around the taproom to mop the floor and wipe down tables so they could start their celebration. 

“I’m just going to go make sure everything is set on the production side,” Charlie called over his shoulder. 

He let out a contented sigh when he stepped into the quiet stillness of his domain, the looming tanks serving sentinel as he checked their temperatures and put away the equipment left on the drying rack. As silly as it seemed, he was filled with gratitude for what those stainless steel vessels had done for him: they’d dissolved sugars and infused fruits, withstood pounds and pounds of injected pressure and kept Charlie from buckling under his own. 

Just as it had been with Elle, Sai, and Nick, it was only now, after the success of the event, that Charlie could fully appreciate how much stress he’d been under during the last month. He’d come to terms with the company’s changing direction, realized that crapple juice wasn’t actually that bad and worked through an identity crisis after discovering that he legitimately liked modern ciders, but none of that mattered if the customers didn’t like the new flavors. Now that he knew they did, the weight pressing on his shoulders lifted so suddenly he thought he might float away. 

He knew without turning around who the footsteps behind him belonged to. He spun around and drank in the vision of Nick sauntering over, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the strap of his leather cross-body bag against his chest.

Like they had done it a million times before, like it had been discussed and decided, they closed the distance that separated them. The last sticky spider-web threads of stress disintegrated the moment Nick’s arms slid around Charlie’s back. He lifted to his tiptoes, hugged his own forearms behind Nick’s neck, pressed their chests together so tightly he could swear he felt Nick’s heartbeat drumming against his. 

Nick’s voice was gruff against his ear. “You about ready? The others are almost done up front.” 

Excited laughter and approaching footsteps floated into the production space from the taproom. Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and memorized the moment, fingertips pressed into shoulder blades and subtle stubble scrapes, musky cologne and gentle exhales. They unwound their arms and shuffled apart, a silent admission that what they were doing had crossed from silly flirtations to something weightier, something that mattered enough to be kept secret. 

Elle and Darcy rounded the corner, their arms looped together. “All done back here, Charlie?” Elle asked.

Charlie handed Elle her laptop bag.  “Yep—I already grabbed your stuff from the office.” 

“Come on, then, everyone else is already in the parking lot.” 

When Elle and Darcy turned toward the back door, Nick’s palm settled onto the small of Charlie’s back.

🥂🍾🥂

“Shots, shots, shots!” Darcy chanted, banging their fists against the sticky table as Barb passed around the tray.

Imogen sniffed the highlighter yellow liquid inside the plastic cup and wrinkled her nose. “God, I am not used to Shaw’s being a first stop. It’s so much more disgusting when you show up sober.” 

It was just after 9:00 when they arrived, and given how easy it was to find a couple empty tables to push together, Imogen wasn’t the only person in town who considered Shaw’s a second—maybe even a third— location. They squished their group of ten around a table better suited for eight, settling in with squeaking vinyl seats and scraping chair legs. Once the shots had been distributed, Sai thrust his glass into the center of the table and made a rousing toast to their hard work and continued success.

“To Appelle 2.0!” Everyone chorused, clinking their cups and tossing them back. 

Nick nudged his knee into Charlie’s under the table. “Well done, you.”

Charlie grinned and nudged him back. “I think ‘well done us.’”

The friends spent the next hour regaling each other with stories they’d collected earlier in the night. Elle’s customers had been evenly split between their favorite flavors, while Darcy’s had a slight preference for the mango lime. PJ and Carla loved the Lockerberry basil, and Nick detailed a long conversation he had with a man who claimed he didn’t even like cider until he tasted the Prickly Pear.

“That was honestly an inspired suggestion,” Elle told Nick. “Where did you get that idea, anyway? I’ve never seen a prickly pear cider before.”

Sai tried to cover up his laugh with a cough. “Yeah, Nick, how did you come up with the idea of a prickly pear cider?” 

Nick shot Sai a warning look. “No particular reason, really. It just came to me.” 

Sai raised one of his eyebrows, a sly grin on his face. “Really? No reason? Because that’s not how I remember it happening.”

Eight pairs of curious eyes watched Nick and Sai glare at each other. Apparently, Nick lost the debate. He scrubbed one of his hands over his face, and much to Charlie’s surprise, placed his other one on Charlie’s knee under the table. “I’m sorry,” he murmured under his breath, giving Charlie’s knee a gentle squeeze, before he turned to face their friends. “I may have used the word ‘prickly’ to describe Charlie a few times when we were just getting to know each other.”

Sophie slapped her hands onto the table. “A few times! More like a few hundred! The first time I walked into Appelle I was prepared to meet a complete monster based on the way you talked about him.” 

Nick gritted his teeth while Elle and Sai tittered on the other side of the table. “Alright, well I didn’t expect to be live fact-checked by a member of my own team, but yes, I think we can all agree that Charlie and I started out on the wrong foot at first but we’ve moved past that now, haven’t we?”

The visible half of Charlie pretended to be scandalized while his hidden hand slid onto Nick’s. He wasn't sure whether the electrical thrill that shot up his arm came from the physical contact or the fact that it was a secret. “How very dare you, Nick. And to think, while you were busy badmouthing me, I had nothing but positive things to say about you.”

“I believe you compared him to a piece of wet cardboard,” Isaac piped up from the other side of the table.

Charlie spun to face his roommate. “Isaac!” he stage-whispered, “You weren’t supposed to tell him that!” 

“Oh? Was the comparison between Nick and a bowl of Shredded Wheat supposed to be kept in confidence as well?” Isaac teased.

“Shredded Wheat!” Nick scoffed. He shoved his shoulder into Charlie’s with enough force that it pushed Charlie into Elle on his other side. Beneath the table, his palm slid higher up Charlie’s thigh. 

Charlie bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from gasping and giving them both away. He wanted to beg Nick to keep going, to direct Nick’s hand to the parts of himself that were straining to be touched. Instead, he kept his eyes trained forward, a placid half-smile on his lips as he stroked the back of Nick's hand with his thumb, slipped the tips of his fingers into the slots between Nick's, shifted closer. He hid his smile when heard Nick’s sharp inhale.

“You know what I realized tonight?” Darcy wondered aloud. “None of our new ciders are made with just apples. They’re all fruity now.”

“Oh my god, you’re right!” Elle laughed and then immediately looked concerned. “Do you think that’s okay? We’re a cider company called Appelle and none of our ciders are basic apple anymore?”

“Well, they’re all mostly apple-based; they just have some other fruits mixed in,” Charlie pointed out. “By the way, Nick, I made the black cherry cider for the sole purpose of proving just how shitty your favorite White Claw flavor tastes in comparison.”

“You did that for me?” Nick asked, seeming genuinely touched. “I’ll never drink White Claw again,” he vowed, flipping his hand and linking their fingers together in what was quickly becoming the most erotic hand-holding Charlie had ever participated in.

“Your new flavors are spot-on,” Imogen said matter-of-factly. “Every cider company has basic apple ciders. You’ll have way less competition in the market if you stick to unique combinations.”

“It’s actually kind of amazing that it’s taken me so long to figure this out,” Darcy mused. They pointed at Elle, Charlie, Isaac, and themself. “We’ve always been a bunch of fruity people; now we’re a bunch of fruity people who make fruity ciders.”

Imogen dropped her pen as if she’d been shocked. “Oh my god. Darcy, you’re a genius!” She held her hands out in front of her like she was reading from a billboard. “‘Appelle: Fruity Ciders for Fruity Cider Lovers’. That’s a fantastic tagline!”

Sai frowned. “I know I’m one of the few straight people at this table, but like, is that okay? You’re kind of implying your ciders are only for fruity people.”

“Am I the head of marketing or am I not?” Imogen snapped, jabbing a finger into Sai’s chest. “You hired me because I’m the best in the business, now let me do my job.”

Sai held up his hands. “Heaven forbid I provide a counterpoint.” 

Throughout the conversation, Nick’s thumb had been tracing lazy circles over Charlie’s thigh, each sweep inching higher, a torturously slow journey with an impossible destination. Charlie had definitely underestimated Nick’s flirting skills; if he didn’t wrestle back control soon he was going to lose it—the competition, his dignity, his load, all of it. He pushed Nick’s hand back down to his knee, ignoring Nick’s triumphant smirk. 

Barb returned to see if anyone needed anything, which prompted Tao to remind Elle that he had a sunrise shoot the next morning. The group splintered from there: Isaac needed a ride home and Sophie wanted to get Elle’s headshot uploaded onto NVC’s testimonial page but Tara, Darcy, and Imogen were up for another round. Nick and Sai had never passed up one of Shaw’s $6 burgers and weren’t about to start now, and Charlie took Nick’s firm grip on his thigh as the silent request to stay put that it was. He ordered a Corona.

Nick and Charlie wordlessly agreed to avoid arousing suspicion; Charlie was absolutely certain there was plenty of arousal already happening under the table. They unlinked their hands and slid apart when there was more room. The conversation bounced from topic to topic: they gasped during Darcy’s customer service horror stories and reminisced about Nick, Sai, and Imogen’s time together in business school; cooed over Tara’s preschool dance recital photos and laughed until their stomachs hurt. 

Eventually, their table of six divided into three groups of two. Tara and Darcy were snuggled close, whispering into each others’ ears and sneaking kisses until Darcy abruptly announced they were leaving and pulled a blushing Tara out the door. Imogen and Sai were engaged in some kind of work-related debate, phrases like client acquisition rates and key performance indicators drifting across the table every few minutes.

Barb came back to drop off their check, her very own passive-aggressive invitation for them to wrap things up. Imogen snatched the check and smacked it into Sai’s chest. He rolled his eyes but handed over the corporate card anyway. Once Barb had finished the transaction, Imogen slid her purse over her shoulder and turned toward the front door. “Are you two coming?”

Charlie glanced at Nick. They had no legitimate excuse to stay behind—their glasses were empty and bills were paid—but after days of hiding their flirting under tables and in pre-dawn parking lots, he was desperate to see what might happen in a dimly-lit dive bar after a few drinks. “I’m just going to use the restroom real quick,” he blurted, hoping that Nick picked up his subliminal request.

“I’ll wait for you,” Nick offered, right on cue. He smiled at Imogen and Sai. “You guys go ahead.”

Charlie’s blood carbonated when he realized that his and Nick’s ability to communicate in subtext—to recognize each others’ millisecond hesitations and respond to the slightest physical cues—would likely translate very well into other realms. Visions of dilated pupils, fisted sheets, and curled toes danced in his mind’s eye and left him momentarily stunned. 

If Imogen or Sai thought anything of Nick staying behind to wait for Charlie (or of Charlie’s slack jaw and dazed stare), they didn’t show it. They waved over their shoulders and promised to connect at their meeting the next morning as they headed out the door.

Charlie snapped out of his horny daydream and turned to Nick, emboldened by the still-tingling warmth on his thigh. “Will it sound like I don’t like my coworkers if I tell you I’ve been waiting for them to leave all night?” 

Nick let out a throaty laugh. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that the feeling is completely, one hundred percent mutual. God, I thought they’d never get out of here.”

Charlie tilted his head toward the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

Nick grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They headed deeper into the bar, Nick’s hand warm against the small of Charlie’s back as he directed them toward two empty stools in a quiet corner of the bar. Nick sat on one and hooked his foot under the other to slide it closer. He opened his thighs wide, eyes dancing and a smirk on his lips. Charlie climbed on and settled his knees in between Nick’s thighs, the blood in his ears pounding louder than bass when Nick closed his legs and caged him in.

“I swear to god, it’s a true story,” Nick proclaimed an hour later, handing his empty glass to the bartender.  

Charlie clutched at Nick’s arm, giggling into his shoulder. “Sai streaked through campus? The same Sai who refers to apple juice and yeast as ‘fungible COGS’?” 

Nick smiled broadly, years’-worth of memories passing behind his eyes. “Sai is a multi-faceted guy. You’ve only really gotten to see his business side.”

Charlie nudged Nick, his eyebrow quirked. “I seem to remember you threatening to show me a few more of your sides just a couple days ago.”

“That wasn’t a threat, Charlie, it was an offer,” Nick chuckled, his flirty energy shifting into something a bit more earnest, more true.

The last bits of Charlie’s resolve disintegrated. He had intended to play it cool, to leave room for interpretation in between his pokes and prods, but he wanted Nick so badly he could barely take it anymore. “Does the offer still stand?” he asked, voice quiet.

Nick reached forward and tucked an errant curl behind Charlie’s ear. His fingertips traced the line of his jaw and then disappeared. “Do you want it to?”

Charlie smiled. “Do you always answer questions with questions?”

Nick smiled back. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Their bartender was not smiling. “Are you guys all set or do you want another round?”

They jumped apart, pulling their wallets out of their pockets and paying their bills, muffling their laughter as they sprinted across the dark street. They made it safely to the other side of the road, giddy and panting. The cool night air was invigorating, temporarily breaking them out of the hushed whispers of the bar. 

Nick leaned against his car, looking up at the dotted-star sky, his breaths slowing until they were steady again. “You know, I’m really glad we got over our issues. You’re just so…so easy to be around. I feel like we’re really hitting our sweet spot.” When Charlie didn’t immediately respond, Nick rushed to clarify, seeming a bit nervous. “At work, I mean.” 

Charlie’s eyes danced in the moonlight, lips twitching. “Ah, that’s a shame. I thought you were talking about hitting my non-work-related sweet spot, because I have one of those, too.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Charlie.”

Charlie wished the streetlights were bright enough so he could better see the pink flush as it crept out from under Nicks’ silk shirt. “Do you need me to show you where it is or would you rather try to find it on your own?”

Nick rolled his eyes and shot Charlie a smug smile. “I’ve been told I’m pretty damn adept at finding it on my own, thank you very much.”

It was Charlie’s turn to swallow down his surprise. He was fully aware that they weren’t just flirting anymore: they were challenging each other to be bold, daring the other to step across the line. Charlie pushed himself off of his car and closed the short distance that remained between them. 

Nick licked his lips as Charlie approached, half tempted and half terrified, both of them understanding that they were in the final moments of the before of their relationship. He glanced at Charlie, a silent request for permission, and when Charlie nodded, they gave into temptation and stepped into the after at the same time. When Nick closed his hand around Charlie’s hip—his fingertips searching for skin until they found it—it sent an electrical zap dancing along Charlie’s spine. Nick tugged Charlie closer, so close the toes of their shoes bumped against each other, so close that Charlie could make out each individual freckle that dotted the bridge of his nose in the dim blue moonlight. 

He wound his arms around Charlie’s back, a practiced position that swelled with new potential. “Does drinking always make you this bold?”

Charlie slid his palms down Nick’s shoulders, rested them against his chest, and answered the question with a question. “Does drinking always make you this pink and breathless?”

Nick studied Charlie’s face like he was trying to memorize it. His voice came out low when he spoke, a quiet confession. “We both know it’s not the drinking.”

The teasing grin fell from Charlie’s face when their eyes met. Time stretched around them; each millisecond contained a ground-shifting jumble of opposing thoughts and question fragments, a destabilizing teetering between should we? and of course. Charlie drew in a breath, eyes locked, dark and serious. “Nick, please tell me this isn’t just flirting for you.”

Nick’s chest rose and fell under Charlie’s hand, a silky slide, a hammering heart. He shook his head. “It never was.”

Charlie’s eyes dropped to Nick’s parted lips. “Would you ever kiss a client?”

Nick swallowed and bent his head closer. “I don't know.”

Charlie rose onto his tiptoes. “Would you ever kiss a coworker?”

Nick licked his lips, rested his forehead against Charlie’s. “You’re not my coworker.” His words were so quiet, exhaled in a raspy breath, that Charlie felt them more than he heard them. 

Charlie placed his hand on Nick’s cheek, scratchy stubble and a stroking thumb. “Would you kiss me?” 

The words were barely out of Charlie’s mouth before Nick pressed their lips together. Even though they had been dancing toward this moment all night, Charlie wasn’t prepared for the nerve ending flares, the current shocks and static zips that criss-crossed along rarely-traveled paths and lit him up from inside. The moment swelled and suspended; a soft-shuddered exhalation, a quiet question. They pulled back, eyes hungry and huge, and then the answer came as silently as it was asked as their lips met again: slippery slides and tentative tongues that turned into heavy breaths and fisted fabrics. 

Charlie had had enough kisses over the years to know that this wasn’t just a kiss; it was a first kiss, the kind that paved the way for the dozens that would follow. It was a kiss with layers, a kiss that blossomed and unfurled and ended with gasps.

Nick’s fingers were in Charlie’s hair, ten tiny points of contact pressing and positioning, tilting and turning, each angle more perfect than the last. Charlie slid his palm against the silky softness covering Nick’s chest and felt the bud of a hardening nipple beneath his thumb. He brushed it again, and then again, and when Nick inhaled sharply, again and again, it was Charlie’s breath he breathed. 

“Charlie,” Nick gasped, stilling Charlie’s hand with his own. “You can't keep doing that.”

“Don’t tell me it only took two minutes for me to find your sweet spot?” Charlie panted. 

Nick tore himself away, gulping for air, dark eyes and blush-blotched cheeks. “Seriously, if you keep doing that I’m not going to want to stop.” 

Charlie pressed into the spot again, grinning when Nick tipped his head back and groaned. “Who said anything about stopping?”

Nick didn't answer this question with another one. Instead, they had another silent conversation, an assessment of the situation and a reading of the signals. Nick unlocked his car, they climbed in, and they headed to their second location.

Chapter Text

Labels

Labels aren’t a particularly sexy concept. In many industries, labels are a technicality related to ingredient lists, government warnings, and basic descriptions. But in some industries, labels are a culminating event! Years of hard work, recipe testing, and brand development are all put to use to tell your story and help your cider stand out amidst a sea of competitors. By this point in our book, you’ve learned all about making great ciders and building a strong brand, but nothing feels better than when the two of them finally come together. 

On your label, we mean. 

The second Nick turned off his car’s ignition, he and Charlie lunged for each other. The kisses they had shared, pressed against Nick’s car in Shaw’s seedy parking lot, had done the opposite of satiating their hunger. It turned their fifteen minute drive back to Nick’s apartment into a never-ending false start, each interrupted caress and cut off kiss more torturous than the last. 

Nick’s hands were everywhere: threading through unruly curls, grasping for shoulders and gripping thighs. It was only when Charlie unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed into Nick’s lap that Nick broke away, panting. He opened the door and grabbed Charlie’s hand. “Come on, we’re not fucking in the front seat when my apartment is right around the corner.” 

They ascended the staircase until they reached the fourth floor, breathless from the winding journey, dizzy with anticipation. Though Charlie was desperate to pick up where they left off, he spun in a slow circle after he entered Nick’s apartment, wide eyes roaming over framed family photos and eclectic coffee mug collections, leafy houseplants and unopened mail. 

When he was done with his cursory inspection, Charlie returned his attention to Nick, who was watching him with a languid smile, arms crossed and leaning against the kitchen island. “Well, this is it.” 

Charlie did another sweep of the living area. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be.”

Nick sauntered over, his hands finding a home on Charlie’s slender waist.  “A lot smaller than you thought it would be? Not exactly what you want to hear when you bring someone back to your place.”

Charlie snickered and swatted at Nick’s chest. “Your apartment, you idiot.” 

Nick gave Charlie’s hips a gentle squeeze. “Charlie Spring, are you a size queen?”

“No,” Charlie giggled, tacking on a teasing “at least not when it comes to apartments,” before he tried to explain himself. “I guess I just thought…you know. You own a consulting company. I assumed your place would be all high-tech and fancy.”

Nick scanned the space like it was the first time he’d seen it. “I don’t spend a ton of time here, honestly. All I really need is a microwave and a bed to sleep in.” 

Charlie threaded his hands behind Nick’s neck and cocked his head playfully. “A bed, you say? Maybe you should tell me more about that?”

“I’d love to give you a tour,” Nick murmured, pressing a kiss onto the exposed skin of Charlie’s neck. Instead of tugging him into the bedroom, he nudged Charlie’s chin with his nose so they were both looking to the left. “So, obviously, this is the kitchen. It’s got pretty standard appliances—fridge, oven, the usual.”

“Mm, yes, very nice,” Charlie laughed, pressing onto his tiptoes and nipping at Nick’s ear lobe.

Nick took a couple of steps into the middle of the apartment, spinning Charlie and wrapping his arms around him from behind, swaying slightly. “And this is what I think they call an ‘open concept living space’. You’ll notice I’ve put a couch and a TV here, and then a table there. For eating.” 

Charlie rolled his eyes and craned his neck to look at Nick pointedly. “Yes, I’m familiar with the concept of tables, Nick.” His breath hitched when Nick's lips brushed across a particularly sensitive spot under his jaw. He pointed at a closed door at the end of the short hallway. “I’m actually really interested in seeing what’s in there, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh,” Nick mumbled against his skin, “You should’ve just asked.” 

He led Charlie into his bedroom and closed the door behind them with a soft click. They were immediately bathed in near total darkness save for indistinct electronic glows and a sliver of lamplight that stretched across the bed. Nick bent his head, his words tickling against Charlie’s ear. “And this is my bedroom.”

“I gathered,” Charlie breathed, once again linking his hands behind Nick’s shoulders. 

Nick tilted his head to the side and let out a soft sigh when Charlie ghosted his lips across his jaw. It seemed to take a lot of effort to get his next words out. “There’s a bed right over there. I-I mostly use it…I use it for—”

Charlie peppered feathery kisses along Nick's neck. “I know what the bed is for.”

The fire that had been lit days before, the slow-burn fuse fueled by every stolen glance and tantalizing touch exploded into a shower of phosphorescent sparks when their lips met again. There were no guardrails this time: no prying eyes to hide from or impatient honks when stop lights blinked from red back to green. Their kiss was instantly hungry. They gasped and tasted, lips sliding and tongues twirling. There was a flurry of motion: frantic fingers fumbled to undo shirt buttons; sweatshirts were lifted from arms raised overhead. Any hints of hesitation were shed as quickly as their clothes.

They paused, their eyes roaming greedily over newly exposed skin, both beautiful in such different ways: bundled muscles wrapped around lithe limbs, paint splatter freckles and unblemished olive expanses that glowed in the ivory moonlight. 

Nick trailed the pads of his fingers along Charlie’s collarbones, slid his palm across ridged ribs. “God, you’re so gorgeous.”

Charlie held his breath and forced himself not to give in to the last-second self-consciousness that always flared in moments like these, but Nick drank in every inch of his body like it was  an exquisitely crafted piece of art, created to be admired. The dark voices that whispered in his ear, saying that someone like Nick would never be attracted to someone like him, mocking him for wanting more than just one night—and Charlie wanted so much more than just one night—stilled to silence. 

Their lips met again, enhanced this time by the warmth of skin against skin. The barely-there fabric of Nick’s discarded shirt must have actually dulled his sensitivity before; now that there was nothing between them, Charlie was rewarded with an involuntary buck of Nick’s hips every time he rolled Nick’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Feeling Nick’s hardness pressing against his thigh, hearing the breathy moans and broken exhales, made Charlie’s own rapidly-swelling erection press uncomfortably against the cage of his jeans. He let out a shuddery sigh, his blood roaring in his ears, every part of him straining to be closer. 

Charlie dropped his hands to Nick’s belt. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Nick urged. “This okay?”

Charlie sucked in a sharp inhale when Nick reached for the button of his jeans. “Yeah,” he answered, breathless with anticipation. He slid Nick’s belt through the loops and tossed it into the corner. 

They were in a heads-bent, faces flushed race to unleash each other, the kind of race where they would both win. One of them would be the first to touch, one of them would be the first to be touched, neither would be left behind.

Charlie gasped when Nick tugged his jeans down over his hips. “Nick, what do you want?”

“Anything,” Nick replied without missing a beat.

Charlie grabbed Nick’s shoulder to steady himself as he stepped out of his jeans. “Anything? Really?” 

Nick’s gaze was heavy on Charlie’s skin, setting off a trail of tingles and warming him from the inside out. He licked his lips, blown-out pupils following the trail of dark hair that started below Charlie’s belly button and led to the outline of his cock, straining against his tight black boxer briefs. His answer came out like a prayer, reverent and awe-struck. “Anything. Anything.”

Charlie’s chest rose rapidly as he contemplated the implications of Nick’s words. He’d been with plenty of men over the years—high school sweethearts and bathroom hookups, men he thought he would marry and men he’d rather forget. And while several of them had claimed to be ‘up for anything’, when the time actually came, they rarely were. Charlie had learned that the only way to avoid an in-the-moment disappointment was being blunt ahead of time. “What if I said I wanted you to suck me off?”

Nick licked his lips. “Oh god, yes, I’ve been dying to get a taste of you.” 

Charlie’s breath caught in his throat as a vision of Nick on his knees—mouth stretched, eyes locked—filled his brain. He reached behind him to steady himself on the edge of Nick’s desk while Nick stepped out of his slacks, the muscles of his back moonlit and shadowed. He barely recognized his own voice when he spoke, it was so low and raspy. “What if I said I wanted to fuck you?” 

Nick nodded intently, splotches of red rising on his cheeks. “If that’s what you want to do then just tell me how you want me.”

Charlie folded his arms across his chest, eyes narrowed. “What if I said I’d rather watch a movie and fall asleep?”

Nick blinked, tilted his head. “I…I would say okay…? I mean, you may have to watch the first few minutes without me so I can take care of this,” he gestured at his obscenely tented boxer briefs. “But yeah, of course we could watch something if that’s what you want to do. Is…did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” Charlie rushed out, reaching for Nick and pulling him close. “No, you’re perfect. I’m just…I’m not used to guys actually meaning it when they say that. Usually they just want to get off and send me on my way.”

Nick sat down on the edge of the bed and tugged Charlie toward him. He opened his knees and wrapped his hands around Charlie’s waist, pressed the point of his chin into the hollow between Charlie’s ribs. They stared at each other for a moment, a gentle swaying powered by their inhalations. “I don’t intend to just get off and send you on your way.” 

Charlie brushed a lock of hair out of Nick’s eyes and cupped his upturned face. “What do you intend to do?”

Nick nuzzled his cheek against Charlie’s chest, pressed his lips into the center of his sternum, pulled him down by his neck to share a soft kiss. “I intend to get you off, in whatever way you want me to,” he mumbled against Charlie’s mouth. “Whatever happens after that is entirely up to you.”

“That sounds like a good place to start,” Charlie whispered as a flood of gratitude washed his anxieties away. He had never been handed the reins like this, never been offered control without having to fight for it first. He deepened the kiss and squeezed his eyes shut to halt the sting of tears threatening to escape. He wasn’t going to cry , but in moments like these, when he was overwhelmed with emotion, sometimes his body responded before his brain did.

Their lips slotted together, over and over, and all it took was a fingertip to Nick’s chest, the tiniest hint of a suggestion, to make him fall back onto the bed. He scrambled backwards while Charlie crawled over him. They settled, Nick propped against the headboard with Charlie straddling him, fingers intertwined overhead and lips crashing together. It only took a few seconds of rocking hips and probing tongues before their cocks stiffened again, dragging deliciously in between them.

Nick fingered the waistband of Charlie’s boxer briefs. “Can I take these off?” 

“Only if you take yours off first,” Charlie replied. 

Both pairs fell to the floor.

Nick pressed against the small of Charlie’s back to bring them closer. “Fuck,” he groaned, his breath was hot against Charlie’s ear, black-pupiled and sweat prickled. “You feel so fucking good right now. Please, just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” 

“I want you to fuck me,” Charlie gasped, not caring how needy he sounded, not caring that the whimpers he usually kept in the back of his throat were already breaking through. 

“I want that too.” Nick flipped Charlie onto his back so effortlessly Charlie almost came on the spot. He reached across the bed to grab lube and condoms from the bedside table and immediately started kissing a line down Charlie’s chest, twirling his tongue across brown-budded nipples and a shallow belly button. He pressed his nose into the crease of Charlie’s thigh and took a long, slow inhale like Charlie’s essence was something he wanted to identify and savor. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “I haven’t been able to focus on anything else since I laid eyes on you.”

“I hope that hasn’t been a problem,” Charlie whimpered just before Nick’s tongue circled the tip of his cock. “Oh my god, yes,” he hissed, throwing his forearm over his eyes and pressing his head back into the pillow. 

Nick licked a circle around Charlie’s leaking head, sucking softly while he opened the lube and spread some across his fingers. He popped off briefly. “By the way, I got tested last month and everything came back clear.”

“Oh, fuck, right,” Charlie gasped, stunned that sharing that important piece of information hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Me too, same, yes.”

Nick’s mouth closed around him again, swirling and sucking, his fingers teasing along Charlie’s entrance for a few agonizing seconds before he pressed in. Charlie couldn’t hold back his moan. He scooted down on the bed as Nick pushed in further, slow and steady at first and then increasing the pace and adding a second and third finger as Charlie relaxed into it.

“Oh my god, Nick,” Charlie cried, his eyes squeezed shut and toes curled. “How are you so good at this, fuck.”

“Yeah?” Nick grunted, a pretty pink blush spreading across his chest, “You like that?”

“Yes,” Charlie hissed. “So good, you're so fucking good for me.” Charlie threaded his fingers through Nick’s hair and felt the moan of pleasure that escaped from Nick’s throat vibrate around his cock. 

The trembling heat behind Charlie’s breastbone grew as Nick began bobbing his head and thrusting his fingers in a tempo so perfect it felt like a song written for them, their voices harmonizing as they reached a crescendo. Charlie clawed at Nick’s shoulders. “Stop, stop, I’m too close. I want to come when you’re inside me.” 

Nick lunged forward so their mouths met, sloppy tongues and breathy moans, his fingers buried inside of Charlie never slowing. “Are you ready?”

“Please Nick,” Charlie panted, finding Nick’s hand between them and stilling it. “Please fuck me. I want you so bad.”

Nick pulled his fingers out carefully and stood on his knees to rip open the condom, his cock heavy and hard between them. Once Nick was ready, he poured more lube into his hand, wrapping it around his own cock and tugging a few times.

Charlie swatted Nick’s hand away. “Let me.” Charlie reached out to touch Nick for the first time, circling his thumb over his head. 

Nick threw his head back, abs taut and shimmering in the quivering patch of lamplight. “Fuck, I’m gonna come before we even start,” he cried as Charlie fingers wrapped around him and began stroking. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Charlie warned, lifting his hips so Nick could slide a pillow beneath them. He draped his legs over Nick’s shoulders as Nick lined himself up. 

“Oh, god, you’re so tight,” Nick said, pressing in slowly, breath ragged. He grabbed Charlie’s shoulder with one hand and his waist with another, pushing in with shallow thrusts until he bottomed out. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his neck, and Charlie lifted onto his forearms to lick it away. 

“Move, Nick, please, fuck me harder,” Charlie begged. All of his coherent thoughts had been drowned out by the static-fuzz of desire and now all he could do was feel: thrusting hips and stretching slides, Nick’s hot breath against his ear and hands in his hair. 

“You feel so good,” Nick breathed. He wrapped his arms around Charlie’s low back and propped him up to adjust his angle, fucking into Charlie with deep, slow thrusts.

A shooting-star spark shot down Charlie’s spine, nerve-tingling shimmers that made Charlie cry out in surprise. 

“Found it,” Nick grunted, his lips grinning against where they had been pressed into the side of Charlie’s neck.

“Wha–what?” Charlie gasped.

Nick thrust again, sending another shuddering jolt through Charlie and another shout echoing through the room. “Your sweet spot.”

“Nick, I swear to—oh god!” Charlie cried, squirming in place. If he wasn’t on the verge of falling apart, he would’ve liked to have come back with a more clever retort, but as it was, all he could do was shout again, again, again as Nick pounded into him. 

“You’re so fucking hot like this, Charlie,” Nick groaned, his breaths labored. “I’m gonna make you scream.” 

“Yes, fuck, please, I want it,” Charlie moaned. When Nick wrapped his hands around Charlie’s cock, stripping it at a furious pace, Charlie lost all sense of where he was, who he was. Praise fell from his lips, each What are you doing to me? and Oh my god, right there spurring Nick on as if he was powered by it. Their broken pleas and ragged cries bounced from one side of the wall to the other, a surround-sound symphony of Nick’s name punched out of Charlie’s mouth, over and over again, growing louder until it reached a climax.

Waves of pleasure washed over Charlie as he came, splattering between his and Nick’s pressed-together bodies, head thrashing and legs trembling. He hung on for dear life as Nick chased his own pleasure with a hip-stuttering shout. 

Nick collapsed on top of Charlie, his cheek hot against Charlie’s chest. They lay gasping, whispered against each other’s skin, clung close until their scattered souls reassembled and their heartbeats slowed. 

“Wow,” Charlie said after he finally caught his breath, “you are really good at that, Jesus Christ.”  

“Charlieee,” Nick whined, trying to hide his bashful grin and rapidly blushing cheeks against Charlie’s chest. He stayed there for a second before letting out a happy sigh and lifting his head. “God, I’ve wanted this to happen for so long, you have no idea.”

A smile tugged at Charlie’s lips when he remembered how Nick’s shirt had clung to his skin, almost see-through and dripping wet seconds after they met. “I might have some idea...”

Nick groaned and pushed himself off the bed, wincing when he glanced at the mess smeared in between them. “Come on, let’s clean up and order Chinese.”

“Didn’t you just eat a burger?” Charlie giggled, taking Nick’s outstretched hand.

Nick kissed the back of Charlie’s hand and then helped him climb out of the bed. “What we just did required a lot of effort. If we ever deserve empty carbs drenched in soy sauce it’s now.”

Charlie hooked his chin over Nick’s shoulder, peering at the online menu. Once he’d given Nick his order, he pressed a kiss onto Nick's cheek and headed toward the bathroom for a quick rinse. He shut the door behind him and turned on the shower, fixing his hair in the mirror while he waited for the water to warm. 

It was the first time Charlie had a moment for self-reflection in hours. From the second he felt Nick’s hand on his knee at Shaw’s, he’d been consumed by getting the answers to the questions that had been circling his mind for weeks—what Nick tasted like and how he kissed (Guinness and enthusiastically); was his skin as soft as it looked and had those shirtless selfies over or under represented the definition of Nick’s abs (Yes, and, shockingly, under). 

Now that those pressing questions had been answered, Charlie had room to consider what they should have talked about before they fell into bed with each other: Did Nick actually like him or was this just a one-time itch-scratch? Would they be able to act normally at work and what, if anything, should they disclose to Elle and Sai? The questions curled around him like the steam from the shower, heavy and thick. Charlie turned the water off before he suffocated. 

After toweling dry, he pulled on his boxer briefs and sweatshirt, exchanging a shy smile with Nick as he headed toward the living room to await his fate. Nick wandered out a few minutes later, bare feet and chest, worn gray sweatpants slung low around his hips. 

He tossed his phone onto the coffee table and flopped down, stretching across the couch with his ankles crossed and his head on Charlie’s lap. “Alright, food should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” Charlie said, and because he still wasn’t exactly sure where they stood, he tacked on an uncertain, “Thanks for letting me hang out for a bit,” at the end.

Nick furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at Charlie’s face. “Are you going home after we eat?” He must have noticed the momentary hesitation, because within a second, he had scrambled off of Charlie’s lap so they were eye-level. “I mean, obviously that’s fine if you want to. I’ll drive you home. I guess…I just kind of thought you’d stay the night?” 

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! I mean…I–I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to? You know, etiquette and all that…”

They looked at each other, each of them trying to figure out what the other meant. Nick threaded their fingers together, his thumb rubbing along the bumpy knuckles on the back of Charlie’s hand. He drew a slow inhale before he spoke again. “You know I like you, right?”

Charlie had never been with someone who so easily silenced the swirling doubts in his mind. His chest squeezed, a relief-fueled heart-beat skip that left him temporarily breathless. “I hoped you might.” 

Nick cupped Charlie’s cheek with his free hand. “Charlie,” he said, voice soft, eyes gentle. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more clear with you up front—I blame it on our insane sexual chemistry—but…I properly like you, like I really like you. More than I probably should at this point, to be honest.” He huffed out an awkward laugh. “I’m not really someone who just ‘brings people home’,” he said, using finger quotes. “I would love to get to know you better, to try to see where this could go.”

“Yeah, I…I would like that,” Charlie whispered, losing himself in Nick’s toffee-colored eyes, the warm palm that returned to his cheek, the way their thighs were pressed together on the couch. Nick’s plain-spokenness made him feel bold enough to expose his desires in a way that felt far more vulnerable than what they had just shared in the bedroom. “I really like you too, Nick. Like, an embarrassing amount—just ask Isaac. There’s so much I want to know about you, and so many things I want to do together.” 

Nick’s smile grew, eyes dancing. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Like, like…I wanna meet Nellie and see where you like to hike. I want to watch your favorite movie and fall asleep cuddling on the couch.”

Nick stroked his thumb across Charlie’s cheekbone. “I would love to do all of that.” 

Charlie leaned forward and pressed his lips against Nick’s, their grins growing as they shared happy sighs. 

“Stay the night with me?” Nick whispered, his eyes still closed, hand cupping Charlie’s face.

Charlie’s mind swarmed with every possible affirmative response, a buzzing blood-rush of enthusiastic head nods and static-filled swirls of Yes! and Obviously! and I thought you’d never ask! But the word that came out was a barely-whispered, “Okay.”

Nick replaced his thumb with his lips, pressing a soft kiss onto Charlie’s cheek. “Okay then.” He laid back down, clasping his hands on his stomach and sighing happily when Charlie’s fingers started threading through his hair.

Charlie’s eyes washed over Nick. “You know, I’ve never seen you in anything other than your work wardrobe. I’m surprised you even own a pair of sweatpants.”

Nick laughed and smoothed his hands over his thighs. “I rarely wear them.” 

“No? Not even when you’re watching TV or running errands on the weekend?”

“Nah,” Nick flicked his wrist dismissively. “One thing I’ve learned is that you never know who you’ll run into. I went to the grocery store in a hoodie one time and ran into a former client. The next day, NVC lost a huge potential account I’d been working for months because that guy from the grocery store told his friend I wasn’t a ‘serious person.’”

“Jesus,” Charlie breathed.

“To be fair, I was hungover.” 

Charlie threw his hands in the air. “Like he wasn’t doing cocaine in an airplane hangar the previous night.”

Nick snorted. “Okay, first of all, this isn’t Wall Street in the 1980s. But it is wild out there, this world of running a business for businesses. Everyone knows everyone. I don’t even like golf but I spend every Saturday on the lake and every Sunday at the country club because they’re crawling with networking opportunities.”

“Honestly, that sounds kind of stifling. Always having to play a role? When do you just get to relax?”

An unreadable expression crossed Nick’s face, his shoulders shrugging against Charlie’s lap. “I relax when I’m here. Or at Shaws.”

Charlie frowned, his fingertips stilling in Nick’s hair. He spent his entire weekend doing things he didn’t want to do? When he spoke, his voice was soft around the edges, like a wish on an eyelash. “I hope you can relax around me.”

Nick caught one of Charlie’s hands and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in months.” He sighed and linked their fingers together, settling their hands against his chest. “I think I’ll really relax when we sign that client. Then we’ll be big enough to buy out our investors, which has always been the goal. We can focus on the clients we actually want to work with—smaller places, locally-owned mom and pops. Places like Appelle, where we can actually make a difference instead of helping millionaire CEOs become richer than they already are.”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Nick leapt up from his spot, grabbing his wallet on his way to the door. After he had paid, they sat on opposite sides of the table, giggling in between noodle slurps, exchanging stories and smiles with chopsticks in hand.

By the time they returned to Nick’s room to go to bed, they had declared the beef and broccoli a better dish than the orange chicken, composed and heard opposing arguments about whether running or weight lifting was a better form of exercise, and decided that they would keep this new facet of their relationship a secret until NVC’s contract with Appelle was officially completed in two weeks. 

They settled into the patch of moonlight—smiles stretching kiss-swollen lips, heavy heads resting on slowly rising chests—and slept. 

🥂🍾🥂

A pair of arms tightened around Charlie’s chest when he leaned forward to stop his phone alarm the next morning. 

“Not yet,” Nick said, his voice rough with sleep.

Charlie silenced his alarm and left it on the bedside table. He rolled over and snuggled into Nick’s warm chest, slid one of his thighs in between Nick’s knees, and let himself get dragged back into the darkness of slumber.

🥂🍾🥂

“Nick,” Charlie whispered.

Bright summer sunlight filtered through the dark yellow curtains and cast the entire room in a warm golden glow. Charlie smoothed his hand back and forth along Nick’s side, felt the soft skin above his hip, teased the trail of hair beneath his belly button. Nick’s hum of acknowledgement rumbled beneath Charlie’s palm before his breaths evened out again. 

Charlie squeezed Nick’s hip a couple times, no longer a soothing caress. “Nick, I have to get up. I still need to go home and I have to get filtration started before our meeting at 9:00.”

“What time is it?” Nick mumbled against Charlie’s hair. 

“Just after 7:00,” Charlie answered. 

Nick slipped his fingertips under the hem of Charlie’s sweatshirt and lazily stroked the skin along his lower back. Charlie let out a soft sigh. As much as he would love to luxuriate in a quiet morning of intimate whispers and easy laughs, now was about the worst possible time to start slacking off at work. Nick didn’t seem to have the same concerns. He pulled Charlie tighter against his chest, pressed his hips forward so Charlie could feel his growing hardness. “I can ask Sai to push it back.” 

Charlie closed his eyes lightly, felt his body start to respond. “Do you think he’ll suspect anything?”

Nick rolled over and pinned Charlie to the bed. He nuzzled his nose into the curls behind Charlie’s ear, let his lips rest against Charlie’s thrumming pulse. “Probably, yeah.”

Charlie tipped his head back against the pillow and swallowed thickly as Nick’s lips trailed down to his chest. He threaded his fingers through Nick’s hair. “Okay.”

🥂🍾🥂

An orgasm apiece and an hour later, Nick parked his car in front of Charlie’s front door. They shared another quiet kiss, twisted in their seats, engine still running. 

Nick rested his forehead against Charlie’s, eyes closed as if he wanted to prolong the morning more than they already had. “Have dinner with me tonight?” 

Charlie stroked his thumb across Nick’s cheekbone, eyes shining. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Investor Relations

Investors are a necessity for most new businesses. In addition to supplying much-needed funds, experienced investors can also provide fantastic insights about starting, growing, and running a profitable company. But don’t forget that no one knows your brand as well as you do. Don’t let a fear of blowback from your investors keep you from making the tough calls necessary to grow your company. Your customers can tell which decisions come from a place of authenticity and which are pandering to the people who write the checks.

For the first time since Charlie started at Appelle, he arrived for work after the sun was already shining in the sky. Given the absolute certainty that Elle would grill him about his tardiness the second she saw him, Charlie had spent his hour at home brainstorming potential excuses, including but not limited to a dentist appointment and a range of unexpected apartment-related service calls. Eventually, he decided to go with a half truth: he needed a couple extra hours of sleep to recover from his late-night celebrations. Elle, of all people, would understand just how much he deserved it.

Elle was on the phone when he walked into the office. She held up a finger to shush Charlie before he could jump into his explanation, so he thanked the cider gods for his good timing, set his bag on his office chair and headed into the production space to get started on his morning tasks.

It was almost noon when Nick and Sai arrived, bags slung over their shoulders and deep in conversation. Sai called out a friendly ‘Hello!’ as they passed by Charlie, who was perched on the top rung of a ladder, slowly pouring a five-gallon bucket of pureed blueberries into FV2. It was almost a relief, the fact that Charlie was in such a precarious position that he couldn’t divert his attention without risking his physical safety; even the briefest hint of eye contact with Nick would be an electric jolt, a millisecond soul connection that would cause him to break into the kind of dopey, lovesick smile that immediately gave them away.

Apparently Nick didn’t share Charlie’s concerns. Instead of avoiding an attention-drawing interaction, he had the gall to thank Charlie for his ‘unexpected demonstration of flexibility this morning’. When Sai gave Nick a curious look, Nick explained that he was referring to how quickly Charlie accepted the last-minute schedule change for their meeting.

Charlie could hear the smirk in Nick’s voice, could feel the spreading ripples of a silent challenge wafting toward him. “Oh, don’t mention it,” he said lightly, refusing to look down. “You’ve never rescheduled a meeting last-minute like this, so I can only assume that whatever you were dealing with popped up quickly and was really hard.”

Charlie grinned to himself when Nick tried to cover his surprised snort of laughter with a cough as he and Sai wandered off toward the office. He turned his bucket upside down and shook it a few times before climbing down the ladder and dunking it into his prepared rinse tub. Once he had sealed the tank and turned on the agitators, he made his way to the meeting. After a quick survey of the room, he dropped into the open seat next to Elle instead of Nick, internally patting himself on the back for making the difficult but correct decision. This was an important meeting, after all, and he had the feeling neither he nor Nick would be able to keep their hands to themselves.

Sai turned his laptop around so the screen was visible. “Alright, Isaac, can you see and hear everyone?”

Isaac smiled and waved through the computer screen. “Yep, all good on my end.”

“Great." Sai got out his notebook and flipped through a few pages. “Thanks again for letting us push this meeting back today, and I’m glad you were still able to join us, Isaac.”

“No worries,” Isaac answered, waving half of a sandwich in front of the screen. “It works out well for me because I’m on my lunch break now.”

Sai chuckled. “Yeah, when Nick first suggested it this morning, I thought it was too last-minute, but I actually used the time to do a bit of extra planning for our conversation. We should be able to get a lot done over the next hour.”

“Yeah, I had a few things I needed to get taken care of ahead of time too,” Elle agreed, turning her focus to Nick and Charlie. “Did you two help each other prep before you came this morning?”

Charlie whipped his head around to gawp at Elle, briefly catching Nick’s wide eyes and clamped lips on her other side. “Did we…sorry, what?” Charlie squeaked.

Elle smiled at Isaac on the screen. “How shocked were you when Charlie was still at home when you got up today? I bet you guys never see each other in the mornings with his early-bird schedule.”

Isaac flickered his eyes between Charlie and Elle, trying to work out the truth in real time. A delighted grin spread across his face when he noticed Nick’s reddening cheeks and got the message to shut the fuck up that Charlie was shooting telepathically through the screen. “I…yeah,” he said, smiling back at Elle. “Charlie was definitely still home when I woke up. We had a lovely morning together talking about the, uh…the latest news. And we ate eggs! Loads of scrambled eggs. It was…yeah, almost alarming, wasn’t it Charlie? How many scrambled eggs we ate this morning? Together?”

Elle shot Charlie a strange look while Sai agreed that having a protein-rich breakfast was a great way to start the day.

Nick cleared his throat. “Well, since we’re all, um, extra well-prepped this morning, shall we go ahead and get into it?”

“I bet you’re ready to get into it,” Isaac grinned.

“I sure am,” Nick said, a fake smile brightening his face. “So! Production capacity! Imogen has made some preliminary projections based on the feedback from our event last night, and we all agree that you guys are going to need to make a lot more cider, and fast.”

The conversation took off from there. Charlie explained what the bottlenecks would be: he’d need at least one additional fermentation vessel, which would mean upgrading the plumbing and electricity to the building and potentially even laying a new concrete slab.

Isaac ran calculations in the background, piping up with information about how much cider they would need to make per month to justify all those expenses while Elle reminded everyone that there was no way they had enough cash to make a dent in an expansion of that size. Nick rustled through his bag and handed a folder to Elle, explaining that there were several grant opportunities geared toward minority-owned manufacturing businesses that he could help her apply for. And if those fell through, they had good relationships with several nonprofit lenders in town, Sai added.

“What about labor?” Nick asked half an hour later.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely need help back there if we’re going to double our volume,” Charlie mused, already composing the job description in his head. He’d need someone who was meticulous and careful about cleaning, who had at least some mechanical aptitude and, ideally, a good palate and a love of experimentation. And if he was being really picky, it would be nice—.

Darcy poked their head through the office door. “Sorry to interrupt, but this gentleman said he was here to see Nick and Sai?”

The excited smiles and energetic chatter that had filled the room stilled as Darcy stepped aside and held the door open wider. The man who entered behind them was vaguely familiar, an imposing figure with salt-and-pepper hair and a beakish nose. He took in his surroundings while Sai and Nick shared a surprised look, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and confusion.

Sai was the first to recover. He scrambled out of his seat, the scrape of metal chair legs against the concrete floor breaking the sudden silence, and greeted the man with an outstretched hand. They shook, firm and familiar, and then Sai ushered him further into the room.

“My apologies, I didn’t realize you would be in a meeting,” the man said, his gaze settling on Nick. “I went to the office first, but the girl with the camera told me you were here. Combien de fois je vais devoir te dire de mettre ton agenda à jour?"

“Something came up this morning so we had to push the meeting back,” Nick replied, arms folded across his chest. “And her name is Sophie.”

Sai made a subtle ‘easy does it’ motion toward Nick. “Elle, Charlie, this is our business partner, Stéphane Fournier. Stéphane, Elle and Charlie are one half of the Appelle team that we’ve been working with over the last month, and Isaac is joining us on Zoom.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot into his hairline when the penny finally dropped. This wasn’t any old business partner, it was Nick’s dad. Who was apparently French? And spoke to Nick in French as if Nick would understand it? Wait—could Nick speak French!? Because that…that was an unexpected tidbit of information that he wished he had known the night before.

Charlie kicked himself for his mini horny spiral when he saw Nick’s closed-off expression and clenched jaw. A flood of memories filled his mind—groans of frustration about Stéphane fucking things up without even trying, last night’s mention of how NVC took on clients they didn’t even want so they could afford to buy out their investors. Nothing Nick had ever said about Stephane indicated he was actively engaged with NVC’s work, so why was he here? His abrupt appearance had obviously taken Nick and Sai by surprise. A heavy dread pooled in the pit of Charlie’s stomach. He tried to send a subliminal Are you okay? in Nick’s direction, but Nick stared ahead, ramrod-straight spine and eerily still.

Sai gestured at the table, littered with back-of-the-envelope calculations and grant application packets. “We were actually right in the middle of a meeting; was there something you needed, Stéphane?”

“I can wait until your meeting is over. It would be good to see how things are going with the clients who have been taking all of your time these days.” He swept his eyes over the concrete floors and folding chairs with an air of dissatisfaction before spotting the large desk in the corner. He pulled out the padded office chair and turned to address Charlie. “May I?”

Elle sat up straighter and cleared her throat. “Yes, you may sit at my desk.”

If Stéphane was embarrassed by his mistake, he didn’t show it. Instead, he settled into Elle’s chair, tented his hands in front of his mouth, and bent his head toward Nick, silently instructing him to carry on with the meeting.

Nick and Sai tried to pick the meeting up where they had left it off, but Stéphane's ominous presence in the corner had introduced a thick layer of tension into the room, made heavier with each disappointed click of his tongue and unintelligible mutter under his breath.

After several false starts, Elle closed her laptop and folded her hands on top of it. “You know what, I’m not sure working on this next part together is the best use of our time. Charlie, Isaac, and I will start collecting quotes for our equipment wish list. Can you two get the ball rolling on some of those funding leads you mentioned? We can reconvene next week.”

Everyone rushed to agree with Elle’s proposed plan, relieved that the performative portion of the meeting was over, when Stéphane spoke again. “C'est comme ça que tu diriges toutes tes réunions? C'est ton client qui est en charge et pas toi?”

“On faisait de grands progrès avant d'être interrompus,” Nick shot back, clearly agitated. Charlie kept his gaze lowered, aching with regret that he’d chosen the wrong seat after all. Even if it meant broadcasting the depth of his affection across the room, all he wanted to do was press his palm onto Nick’s bouncing knee and whisper that everything was going to be okay.

Stéphane made a dismissive flick of his wrist before speaking to Elle and Charlie. “I’ve heard you are in the process of changing your products; not a small endeavor to undertake in such a short amount of time. Have you been pleased by the support NVC has provided you during such a pivotal moment?”

“Absolutely,” Elle said firmly, clearly dialed into the fact that her answer carried weight even though she didn’t understand the context. “I will admit that the suggestion caught us off guard, but Nick and Sai had well-reasoned arguments and convincing data. Based on the feedback we got at our customer event last night, I’m certain it was exactly what we needed to do. I wouldn’t have been able to make such a drastic change without their support.”

“That’s good to hear.” Stéphane turned his focus to Charlie with a smile like a shark, beady-eyed and calculated. “And you? Are you happy with the service you’ve received from NVC?”

A series of images swirled through Charlie’s mind—the tense early conversations and the way Sai lit up when he first heard about crapple juice; shared spreadsheets and texted photos of bottle shop cider displays. There were days spent filling kegs and silently offered cups of coffee, packed taprooms and celebratory shots at Shaw's. Nick, Sai, Imogen, and Sophie had been behind all of it.

“I…” Charlie faltered. He glanced nervously at Nick, hoping for some context, a hint about what Stéphane wanted and why his question felt like a test, but Nick just gave him a gentle nod.

Charlie sucked in a deep breath, his gaze never faltering from Nick’s, and told the truth. “Honestly, NVC is saving so much more than just this company. Closing Appelle wouldn’t just have been a personal loss—and trust me, it would have been a huge, devastating personal loss—but it would have been a loss for the community, too. To the people who call this place home. We started out with a goal of making and sharing cider, but you made me realize that our brand means so much more than that to the people who love it. And I—” Charlie paused, battling to keep his voice steady. He gave Nick a tiny smile and then continued, softer. “I don’t think I really understood that before.”

Stéphane's narrowed eyes darted between Nick and Charlie before they flicked up momentarily to the Pride flag billowing from the rafters. “Ah je vois,” he said, nodding slowly. “C'est lui la raison pour laquelle tu as été aussi distrait? Je te pensais plus intelligent que ça.”

“Je n'ai pas été distrait,” Nick said through gritted teeth. “Appelle is my client and they deserve my attention.”

Stéphane stood up suddenly, his professional demeanor transforming into anger. “Si tu n’as pas été distrait, alors pourquoi tes clients m'appellent, hein?”

Even though Charlie didn’t understand French, Nick’s reaction—a sudden inhale, a tightened fist, a visible flinch as if he’d been punched—told him that whatever Stéphane had just said had come as a total shock. Charlie had to sit on his hands to keep from running over to Nick and pulling him into a hug.

“I don’t believe you,” Nick said, a defensive edge to his voice. “Our clients would reach out to me or Sai if they needed something.”

Stéphane smacked his hand on top of the desk, causing Elle to jump and Sai’s head to shoot up, the color draining from his face as quickly as the oxygen was sucked out of the room. Charlie found Elle’s hand under the table and squeezed it.

“You think I would come here for no good reason?” Stéphane barked.

Sai jumped in between Elle’s desk and the conference table, effectively cutting off Nick and Stéphane's quickly escalating argument in a way that seemed far too practiced to be the first time it had happened. “Elle, Charlie, Isaac, we’ll reconnect tomorrow. Stéphane and Nick, we’ll finish this conversation back at the office.”

The room emptied quickly: Stéphane stalked out, his navy-blazered form disappearing through the taproom door before Nick and Sai had even closed their laptops. Sai headed out with Elle, quietly exchanging apologies and confirming the time of their next meeting.

Nick covered his face with his hands and tilted his head toward the ceiling, taking long, slow inhales while Charlie hovered by the doorway, his impulse to give comfort in direct opposition to his suspicion that Nick needed space.

The silence was finally broken when Nick dropped his hands and scooted his chair back to stand up. “So, that was my dad,” he said with a humorless chuckle. “Charlie, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he just showed up here like that.”

“Hey, no, you’re not the one who should be apologizing for that,” Charlie said, shaking his head firmly. “Offense fully intended, but your dad seems like a total dick.”

Nick’s laugh was genuine this time, the tension in his shoulders finally lifting. “God, if only you knew.” He slid his laptop into his bag and lifted the strap over his shoulder. “Anyway, I have to go. If he’s telling the truth, Sai and I have a really long afternoon ahead of us.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

They walked side by side through production and paused at the back door. If they were actually alone—sure that Elle or Darcy wouldn’t wander in at any given second—Charlie would have wrapped Nick into a hug, pressed a kiss to his temple, cradled his face and asked if everything was going to be okay.

Instead, Charlie reached for Nick’s hand, unsure whether the physical contact was more for Nick’s comfort or his own. “Will I still see you later?”

Nick darted his eyes briefly around the warehouse before he took a step closer. He rested his forehead against Charlie’s and sent Charlie’s inner demons scattering with a gentle press of his lips and a crooked smile. “Stéphane couldn’t even keep me away.”

🥂🍾🥂

It only took five minutes before Charlie’s phone was buzzing in his pocket. He assumed it was Nick—maybe he’d left something behind or wanted to solidify their dinner plans—but it was Isaac’s face that scrolled across the screen.

“Isaac, hey, what’s up?” Charlie answered as he walked toward the office.

“Hey,” Isaac replied. “Um, so, okay. Several things.”

Charlie dropped onto the couch, tipping his head back on the cushion behind him. “Can one of them be about what the fuck just happened in that meeting?”

“Yes!” Isaac screeched. “Why did no one warn me that Nick’s dad resides in the bowels of hell?”

Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Right? Like, Nick vaguely referenced that they didn’t get along, but I was not prepared! God, I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack that entire time.”

“Do you think everything is okay? I mean, with NVC?”

Charlie’s stomach roiled when he considered that Stéphane's presence could have something to do with the big client Nick had been so desperate to hear back from. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

There was a brief pause before Isaac spoke again, his tone laced with mischief rather than concern. “Well, if anyone is going to be able to get the truth out of him, it’s you.”

“Shut up,” Charlie muttered, his cheeks already stretching into a smile.

“Don’t play coy with me, Charles. You and I both know it wasn’t scrambled eggs you were gagging on this morning.”

“Isaac!” Charlie hissed, slapping his hand over his mouth to contain his giggles.

“Seriously though, good for you. Nick’s hot.”

“Oh god, Isaac, I know,” Charlie moaned. “Some might say I know intimately just how hot he is.” Visions of Nick with his head thrown back, rivulets of water streaming down his chest, his hand grasping for something to hold onto as he fell apart in the shower filled Charlie’s brain and made his cheeks flame hot.

“Alright alright, enough of that,” Isaac said when Charlie’s breaths grew noticeably heavier.

“You’re the one who started it!” Charlie shot back.

“Anyway, when will you see him again? I need to know if Elle and I should be working on a contingency plan. If NVC goes belly-up right now, Appelle is screwed.”

Charlie nodded, forgetting that Isaac couldn’t see him. “Yeah, we’re supposed to get dinner tonight after work.”

“Ooooh, so it’s not just fucking then?”

“No, not just fucking,” Charlie admitted. Nick’s gaze the night before had been so warm, so full of desire that Charlie swore he could still feel it on his skin. “We talked about it last night, Isaac. We both…yeah. I’m getting the impression that he’s almost as far gone for me as I am for him. I can barely believe it.”

“Aw, Charlie, I’m so pleased for you,” Isaac said. “For real. You’re a real catch, and you deserve to be with someone who knows that.”

Charlie let out a dreamy sigh. “Thanks, I’m really happy too.”

“Will I see you tonight or will you be strolling in sometime tomorrow morning in those same clothes?”

“As if I didn't pack an overnight bag.”

🥂🍾🥂

For once, Charlie was grateful to have more work than was possible to complete that afternoon—it kept him from replaying the moment when Stéphane snarled something in French and the gut-punch heartbreak that crossed Nick’s face immediately afterward.

He and Nick exchanged a few messages throughout the day, but it was clear that Nick was busy. His responses came minutes—sometimes hours—later and were completely out of character: terse one-word answers, no hints of cheekiness or flirtatious innuendos to be found.

If it were any other day, Charlie’s anxiety would have spiraled out of control long ago, but he reminded himself of what he knew: Nick had what seemed like a crisis at work and his dad, who he clearly had a difficult relationship with, was a big part of it. It wasn’t about Charlie; in fact, the only time Nick had smiled all afternoon was when he and Charlie confirmed their date in the doorway.

But Charlie would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved when Nick finally texted to let him know he’d be in the parking lot in five minutes. He leapt up from his desk in a frenzy of pent up anticipation and sprinted to the back door, unsure whether he hoped to be greeted with a long, dizzying kiss or a soul-baring conversation.

Maybe it could be both.

Nick was perched on the front of his car, head bent, face partially obscured by his hair. It was just after sunset, the light-dimming shadow-stretching hour that made everything look gold-tinted. He looked up when he heard Charlie’s footsteps crunching through the gravel, but he didn’t stand.

That should have been the first sign.

Charlie settled next to Nick, mirroring his position. “Hey,” he said softly, his eyebrows furrowing when Nick kept his gaze on the ground in front of him. He waited a beat and then tried again. “Hey. Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

Nick shook his head, rubbed his hand over his face, glanced at Charlie and then away again. It was the first time their gazes didn’t catch, the first time they didn’t hold steady.

That should have been the second sign.

“Nick, what happened?” Charlie asked, eyes searching, heart racing. When Nick still didn't say anything, didn’t even move, Charlie sprang to action. He stood up, pushed himself in between Nick’s knees and reached forward to cup his cheek, to break Nick out of whatever stupor had a hold on him.

Finally, finally, their eyes met, but Nick’s were glassy and dull instead of bright with mischief, red-rimmed as if he’d spent the afternoon crying.

“Nick,” Charlie begged. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” He leaned forward to kiss Nick on the cheek, but Nick ducked his head out of the way at the last second and pushed himself off the hood of the car, skittering backward like a spooked animal.

It was the third sign.

Nick held his hand out, as if he was trying to put more than just a few steps of physical distance between them. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I can’t do this.”

Charlie stood there, stunned, the racing heart from a few seconds ago stuttering to silence. “What? You can’t do what?”

Nick stood, ramrod straight spine and eerily still, just like he had when Stéphane was talking to him. “This. With you. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean? Just last night you said—”

“I said I’m sorry, okay?” The words exploded out of Nick like he hadn’t expected them. He huffed out a breath, ran his hands through his hair, continued a bit quieter but no less deadly. “Last night was a mistake. We… I got carried away. I shouldn’t have done any of that. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

Charlie shook his head like the words were spoken in another language. What he and Nick had shared the night before was a whole lot more than getting carried away and they both fucking knew it. The only thing that had happened between when they said goodbye a few hours ago and now was—Charlie stopped, the answer to his questions suddenly obvious.

Of course. Of fucking course.

“Did your dad find out about us?” Charlie asked, incredulous. “How could he even know?”

“Please,” Nick said, his voice coming out in a broken sob. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head like he was trying to erase his memories. When he spoke again, his voice was devoid of emotion, like he was just another fucking business consultant instead of someone who Charlie had made cry out in ecstasy that very morning.

“I’m really sorry, Charlie, but this isn’t just about my dad. It’s my choice, and this is what I need right now,” he said, level and steady. “I hope that someday, you'll be able to understand that I never meant to hurt you.”

Nick avoided eye contact as he brushed past Charlie to climb into his car. Charlie winced when the door slammed shut, loud and final, the blood throbbing behind his eyes the only sign that his heart was still beating.

What the fuck had just happened?

Chapter Text

Mission, Vision, Values

Every business is affected by external factors. Economies tank, apple crops fluctuate, national trends come and go. When it feels like the odds are stacked against you and things are spinning out of control, it’s important to return to your founding principles. Who do you care about and why do they matter? What are your goals and how will your life change when you accomplish them? Well-defined mission, vision, and values statements are an anchor when the storms hit. Return to them when you need to remember your purpose. 

Charlie Spring had had his share of disappointments in life. 

Like every child, he’d been rendered temporarily speechless by a packet of plain white socks on Christmas morning. 

Back then, he met his disappointments with tantrums and tears, slammed doors and sulking, but as Charlie grew up, he came to view them as painful moments of self-realization. Visions of five-minute standing ovations and Oscars acceptance speeches couldn’t withstand getting cut from the school play three years in a row. Confessions of love were tearfully ripped from his journal when pined-after crushes walked down the hallway holding someone else’s hand.

Yes, Charlie had been disappointed before. He was familiar with that moment of horror when his heart—thumping with eager anticipation, prepared to burst with joy—stuttered and stopped like a lawn mower whose motor didn’t catch. He recognized the dull ache of missing things he never got to have. 

But this. 

This one felt different. 

🥂🍾🥂

“Oh! I didn’t expect you home!” Isaac lunged for the remote and jabbed it toward the television until the screen froze. “I was just—wait, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Charlie couldn’t bring himself to speak. He hurried toward the couch, leaving a trail of shed shoes, a discarded laptop bag and a crumpled jacket in his path. Isaac opened his arms just in time for Charlie to fall into them.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He rubbed his hands up and down Charlie’s back, rocking him side to side while he waited for Charlie’s hitched breaths to even out. “What do you need, love? Water? Tea? Something stronger?”

Charlie just nodded, so Isaac made a nest of pillows on one corner of the couch for him to snuggle into. He draped a blanket across Charlie’s shoulders and scurried off to the kitchen, appearing a few minutes later with a steaming mug.

When Charlie was sure he could speak without bursting into tears, he took a fortifying sip and proceeded to tell Isaac everything: how Nick claimed the previous night was a mistake; the hard set of his jaw and how he barely made eye contact as he delivered blow after blow; the way he had dodged Charlie’s touch like Charlie was a venomous snake.

“What in the world?” Isaac wondered after Charlie had finished. “He didn’t give you any explanation?”

“No!” Charlie wailed. “He just said he couldn’t do it anymore.”

Isaac stared into the middle distance like he was trying to work out a complicated equation, a frown tugging down the corners of his lips. “It’s gotta have something to do with that meeting with Stéphane, right? That’s the only thing I can think of…”

Charlie searched his memory for missed warning signs, but Nick had only set him at ease during their limited interactions earlier that day: instead of avoidance, he had pressed closer. Instead of hesitance, he affirmed. Instead of guarded expressions and averted gazes, he had been as open and earnest as he always was, eyes twinkling with subtext, smiles barely contained. 

Charlie sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “That’s what I thought, too, but when I asked him about it, he made it clear that it was his choice, not that he was being…I dunno, forced to cut things off with me against his will.” 

Isaac stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Okay so maybe Stéphane didn’t give him an ultimatum, but there was a very clear change of heart that happened during their meeting, right? They have to be related.”

“But why would something related to NVC have any impact on who Nick chooses to date?”

Isaac pointed at Charlie like he was onto something. “What if it’s not about who Nick chooses to date and more about Nick choosing to date at all? Maybe Stéphane’s bad news was really bad? What if NVC is in critical danger and Nick and Sai have to focus on work in a way that makes it impossible to have a personal life?”

“Then he should have just told me that!” Charlie cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Of all people, I understand how stressful it can be when the shit hits the fan at work! Besides, it’s not like we were going to drop everything and run away together. We’re both practically married to our jobs.”

“Did you guys talk about that last night? About your schedules and making time to see each other or anything?”

“Not in any kind of detail, no, but that’s not a good enough reason to cut off contact with someone you really like. We could have tried to figure it out together.” Charlie paused to blow on his tea, trying to make sense of the situation but coming up short. He shook his head. “Unless he’s the world’s greatest liar, his feelings for me were genuine. Whatever caused him to change his mind had to be bigger than just a scheduling conflict.” 

“Maybe he got cold feet? Scared of how much he likes you?”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “That only happens in movies."

Isaac chewed on his bottom lip. “Well, whatever his reason, I think your best bet is to give him some time to cool down. He was obviously upset when Stéphane showed up—even I could see that and I was in an office on the other side of the city—he was probably in a heightened emotional state after spending the whole afternoon with him. Maybe he’ll realize he overreacted and come crawling back, begging you to give him a second chance.”

“Ugh, you can’t say things like that,” Charlie groaned, covering his face with his hands. “All it’s going to do is keep my hope alive.”

Isaac scooted closer to Charlie and pulled him into a hug. “I swear I’m not trying to give you false hope, I just want to believe in romance! I haven’t seen you this excited about someone in years—maybe even ever—and I saw the way Nick looked at you, too.”

Charlie sighed into the hug, grateful that he wasn’t alone, grateful for his friendship with Isaac. They settled into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, under the watchful eyes of a frozen-in-place (and very wet) Colin Firth.

“Alright, this is what we’re gonna do,” Isaac said finally. “You’re gonna see Nick on Monday whether you spend all weekend wallowing or not, so why don’t you let that big beautiful brain of yours sort things out in the background while we try to enjoy ourselves. You can go for a run, we’ll visit Seema at Dhaba House, maybe Tao and Elle want to have a movie night tonight…what do you say?”

After thinking about it for a minute, Charlie agreed to Isaac’s plan, reluctantly admitting that spending 48 hours trying to parse a five minute conversation was far more likely to drive him crazy than to reveal some kind of hidden answer. They scrounged the kitchen for snacks and finished the episode of Pride and Prejudice, went on a meandering walk through their neighborhood and exchanged a long, comforting hug in the hallway between their two bedrooms.  

Charlie laid in his bed, watching night swallow the shadows in his room. The shroud of darkness gave his thoughts more room, a chance to escape from where they usually hid in the corners of his mind. 

If he was honest with himself, he wanted to believe in romance too. As scary as it was to admit, especially in light of what just happened, he knew that his and Nick’s connection ran far deeper than their one night together suggested. So many relationships began with a series of tiny revelations, each personality quirk and rough edge tentatively offered to determine how much of one’s true self was tolerable.

But Nick had already seen the sharper parts of Charlie’s personality—his penchant for snobbery and the deep-seated trauma, his need for reassurance and the spikes of anxiety. It almost seemed like Nick had fallen for Charlie because of instead of in spite of his true self, like he thought the cracks in Charlie's exterior revealed a beautiful inner light instead of his fragility.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie did exactly what Isaac had suggested the next morning: he woke up early, laced up his running shoes, and disappeared into the sanctuary of the forest. He ran through the wind-rustled branches and grieved the memories he’d never get to make. As he’d learned during his many years of ducking under reaching limbs and crunching over decayed leaves, the trail was a see-saw, each step taking him further from his anger and tipping him toward worry. Who—or what—had the power to turn Nick into a stranger, a cornered animal that lashed out at someone who didn’t deserve it?

The fact of the matter was, Charlie didn’t deserve it, and he told Isaac as much as they drove to Dhaba House later that afternoon. If Nick was serious—if he really meant the things he’d said last night—it wasn’t fair of him to leave Charlie in the dark, fumbling to solve a puzzle when he couldn't even see how many pieces were missing. Charlie had made enough excuses for his poor treatment in the past; he wasn’t about to do it in the present.

“Well, personally, I think you're well within your rights to demand an explanation,” Isaac agreed as they pushed through the front door.

“If he doesn’t reach out over the weekend, I’m going to try to talk to him on Monday,” Charlie said with a resolute nod. “I don’t want to look back on my life in five years and regret not doing more to keep Nick from becoming ‘the one that got away’.”

“Welcome in,” a tired voice called from the front of the shop. Charlie and Isaac were so accustomed to being greeted by one of Seema’s warm hugs that they both snapped their heads up to see who had spoken. They were surprised to find a frazzled-looking young woman in Seema’s normal place behind the register.

Isaac approached the counter. “Hi, ummm…not to sound rude, but where’s Seema?”

The girl gave him a tight smile and blew a strand of hair that had escaped her messy bun out of her eyes. “I’m Seema’s daughter; I’m helping her out for the day.”

Isaac and Charlie exchanged a concerned glance. “Is everything okay?” Charlie asked. “We’ve been here like, every Saturday for going on five years and never once has anyone but Seema taken our order.”

The girl rolled her eyes, muttering that everyone who had walked through the door that day had said the same thing. Her parents had just decided to take the day off, she explained. Unfortunately for her, suggesting that Seema and Anil—the very Seema and Anil who had worked through broken wrists and bouts of kidney stones—had chosen to take the day off wasn’t going to fly with Charlie or Isaac, and they told her so, as politely as they possibly could. 

“I suppose if you know all the gory details about my dad’s kidney stones you’re probably part of their inner circle,” she sighed, leaning on the counter and rubbing her forehead with one of her hands. “Mom’s in the hospital. Dad’s with her.” 

Charlie’s heart dropped into his stomach as visions of car accidents and heart attacks forced themselves into his mind. “Oh my god, what happened? Is she okay?”

The girl shook her head, seeming more irritated than concerned. “She’s had high blood pressure for years but refuses to do anything about it. She’s always stressed out—worrying about money, the restaurant, her imaginary grandkids—but when dad called me yesterday afternoon to tell me she couldn’t catch her breath, I told him in no uncertain terms that if they didn’t close early, I was going to drive them to the hospital myself.” 

Isaac’s hand found Charlie’s and gripped it like it was the only thing that could keep him steady. “Please tell me you being here right now means everything is alright, please.” 

Her eyes widened. “Oh god, sorry! Yeah, she’s fine. She’s fine,” she assured, giving them each an apologetic smile. “They wanted to monitor her overnight, but it sounds like all she’ll need is medication and some lifestyle changes.”

Charlie slumped against Isaac, pressing his hand against his chest and letting out a relieved burst of air. Lifestyle changes; that didn’t seem so bad. Maybe now Seema would accept his and Isaac’s repeated offers to help out on busy Saturday afternoons. Hell, maybe she and Anil would actually take a vaca—

“Rahmi!” a sharp voice called out from the kitchen, “is it half and half or heavy whipping cream in the murgh makhani?” 

Before Charlie had a chance to place it, the door between the kitchen and the dining room swung open, revealing Sai—yes, that Sai—in a stain-spotted apron, his sweaty hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes almost popped out of his skull when he saw Charlie and Isaac on the other side of the counter. 

“Oh! Hey!” He darted his eyes toward Rahmi and pulled the door shut tightly behind him. “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We come here every Saturday,” Isaac began.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Charlie held up his hand, halting the conversation in its tracks. He studied Sai and Rahmi’s faces—the big brown eyes, the glossy black hair, the thick glasses. “Are you guys siblings?” 

“Unfortunately,” Rahmi smirked, earning a withering eye roll from Sai.

Charlie tried to stay engaged—he smiled and shook Rahmi’s hand, exchanged pleasantries as Sai introduced him as ‘the Charlie from Appelle,’—but their conversation barely registered over the static drone inside his brain. The woman behind the counter—the one giving him an appraising look and an impressed nod—wasn’t just anyone. She was Rahmi. The Rahmi. The one Nick had spoken of with such warmth during family dinner at Tao and Elle’s. The one who had been so affected by Drag Bingo at Appelle that she had driven straight to Nick’s apartment and told him she was ready to come out. The reason Nick immediately responded to Elle’s online inquiry.

Almost more shocking than coming face to face with Rahmi was finding out that Sai’s parents were Seema and Anil. They talked about their son so frequently—had they really never said his name? And why the hell hadn’t Sai ever mentioned that his parents owned a successful restaurant during one of their many taproom operation meetings over the last month? 

And, like everything in Charlie’s life these days, there was the Nick of it all. Seema and Anil being Sai’s parents meant that they knew Nick, too, since he was a child. The same couple who had been so generous with their attention, so willing to listen and share their wisdom with Charlie and Isaac every Saturday, had spent years doing the exact same with Nick. They’d practically raised him. 

Each piece of information felt like a cosmic sign, like the universe had been so determined to bring Charlie and Nick together that it had gone back to cover its bases. 

So two seconds later, when Nick backed through the kitchen door with a plate in each hand, calling over his shoulder that he had the orders for table five ready to go, Charlie couldn’t help but believe this was another one.

Rahmi’s sing-songed teasing began before Nick was even through the doorway. “Oh Ni-ick, guess which ebony-curled and dimple-cheeked client loves mom’s samosas as much as you do?” 

The world stilled to slow motion as Nick turned around: Rahmi’s voice faded into background noise as Sai grimaced and raised his hand to his forehead; Nick chuckled and asked ‘What?’ and Isaac’s spine stiffened. When Nick and Charlie’s gazes locked, everything stopped—the clinking forks and customer chatter, the tinkling chime over the entrance and the faint beeping of a faraway timer. 

At first, Nick’s eyes flared with familiarity—a millisecond of a genuine reaction, of amber sparks and magnetic snaps—but then he blinked and turned away, stumbling on his feet. 

Sai lunged forward to grab the plates from Nick’s hands before they fell to the floor. “Why don’t we set those right here. No spilled plates for the Verma kids!” He placed them on the counter and plastered on a grin even as his eyes darted frantically between Nick and Charlie.

Rahmi launched into a story about the origination of the Verma family catchphrase, completely oblivious to the silent four-way conversation happening between the people around her. Sai raised his eyebrows and looked significantly at Nick; Nick bit his lip and shook his head. Isaac grabbed Charlie’s forearm and squeezed it. Charlie watched Sai nudge Nick repeatedly with his elbow. 

“And that’s why arrowroot powder is banned in Dhaba House,” Rahmi finished with a shrug. When no one reacted to her story, she snapped her gum and picked up the plates from the counter, muttering something about being bored as she walked away. 

“Hey Nick, weren’t you just telling me you really needed to talk to Charlie?” Sai asked, raising an eyebrow and jerking his head in Charlie’s direction a few times. 

Isaac peeked at Charlie, silently asking for permission to speak. Once he saw Charlie’s miniscule nod, he returned his attention to Sai, appraising him through narrowed eyes. “Charlie agrees that Nick really needs to talk to him,” he said coolly.

Nick stared at the floor like a guilty kid in the principal’s office. Charlie shuffled his feet.

Sai let out a frustrated breath and snapped his fingers in front of Nick’s face. “Nick, hey. Look alive, man. All you’ve been able to talk about is how you needed to do this, and here’s your chance.”

Nick sucked in a deep breath like he was steeling himself for battle. “I…,” he immediately deflated, shooting a helpless look in Sai’s direction. “I don't know,” he said quietly. “Now probably isn’t the best time…and it should be up to him, right? What if he doesn’t want to—”

“He does,” Isaac cut in. He turned to Charlie, nodding impatiently. “Right Charlie, you want to? Because I don’t know what chance they’re talking about, but this is your chance, too.” 

Charlie finally allowed himself to look at Nick, taking in the purple-blue bags under his eyes, the nervous scrape of his teeth across his bottom lip. He honestly couldn’t tell whether Nick was about to walk everything back or deliver a fatal blow, but at the very least, Charlie wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his weekend driving himself insane over questions that didn’t have any answers. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and locked eyes with Nick. “I want to.” 

“Okay,” Nick breathed, searching Charlie’s face for signs of hesitance. “There’s a coffee shop next door. Let me just…” he held out a finger and spun around, untying his apron and disappearing into the kitchen.

Sai and Isaac exchanged a grim look. “I feel like I’m sending my only son into battle.” Isaac said.

Sai pressed his lips together, watching as Nick emerged from the kitchen and followed Charlie out the door of Dhaba House. “I hope they both make it out alive.”

🥂🍾🥂

The coffee shop was Saturday-afternoon slow, empty aside from an occasional preteen trio picking up frothy smoothies, frazzled moms sharing parenting tips and giggling couples on day-dates.

Nick handed Charlie a mug, careful not to spill, and slid into the seat across from him. Charlie had a million questions on the tip of his tongue—Why did Stéphane show up and what did he say? Why did you break things off and are you sure you’re okay?—but he didn’t start the conversation. After all, he wasn’t the one whose words the night before directly contradicted the ones he’d said that morning. He wasn’t the one whose actions required an explanation.

Nick blew on his coffee, his eyes skittering across the cafe like the right words might be scrawled on the chalkboard menu. When the silence stretched past the point of comfort, he set his mug on the table with a soft thud. “I’m really sorry for how I behaved last night. I, well, you saw how upset I was when my dad showed up yesterday. At first I thought it was just some kind of power play, but…” He shook his head and frowned. “It was worse than I expected. And then Rahmi called to tell us Seema was on her way to the hospital.”

A wave of empathy washed over Charlie. No wonder Nick seemed so upset last night; if Charlie had gotten a call like that, he would’ve struggled to hold himself together too.

“In the moment, it felt like the right choice, stopping to tell you on my way to the hospital,” Nick continued. He let out a humorless chuckle. “Obviously, I should’ve waited until I knew that Seema was okay. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been so…” he paused, lifting his gaze to Charlie for a moment before he returned it to the table, “I was so cold to you, and so mean. I said I regretted what we’d done, but it wasn’t true. And then I just rushed off without an explanation and god, you must have been so confused about what happened…”

Charlie stayed frozen in place—his mug against his lips, his breath held—as he tried to find the subtext beneath Nick’s words, to figure out which of the many potential paths laid out before them he was being led toward. His brain figured it out before his heart did: Nick didn’t regret what he had said the night before, just how he’d said it.

Charlie was certain that Nick saw the moment his hope died—the slow deflation, the dimming light, the mug that trembled in his hands. But Nick pressed forward even as Charlie receded. He grabbed Charlie’s forearm, swore his feelings had been real—still were real—and promised he was only breaking things off because he had to.

“I get that you were stressed about Seema last night, Nick. I really, truly do. And you’re absolutely right, you should have calmed down before you talked to me, but what I need to know—what I deserve to know—is why. If you really meant everything you said that night, if you really didn’t regret it, then what could your dad have possibly said during that meeting to make you change your mind about me?”

Nick tilted his head to the side. “My dad? He’s the reason I’m in this shitty situation in the first place, but our meeting had nothing to do with you.”

“But I thought—he showed up, and like, that moment with the Pride flag? Didn’t he figure out we were together?”

“He might have suspected there was something going on but honestly,” Nick let out a sigh and shrugged one of his shoulders, “he couldn’t care less about my personal life.” 

The resignation behind Nick’s eyes hinted at a sadness that had been calloused over long ago. If Charlie wasn’t so desperate for answers, he’d take a moment to remind Nick that he deserved a dad who gave a shit, but he was more confused now than he’d been before. “Please just tell me what is going on then, please. I’m so lost.”

Nick swallowed his coffee, swearing that he never intended to be cagey about his reasons. “Everything hinged on that client I’ve been so stressed about,” he started, staring at his folded hands on top of the table. “I knew something was off the minute they said they wanted to check our references, but Sai convinced me it was all in my head.”

“It wasn’t?” Charlie guessed.

“No, and to make matters worse, they called my dad with the news instead of me or Sai,” Nick spat out bitterly. “My dad has had literally zero involvement in this deal, but he and the CEO have known each other for years.” 

“I get that they were a big account, but surely you’ve lost out on clients before. What was so special about this one?”

Nick made no indication that he heard Charlie. “Did you know that the whole reason we started NVC in the first place was to help Seema and Anil retire?”

Charlie was caught off guard by the abrupt change of conversation. “What?”

Nick nodded, tapping his thin wooden stick absently against the table. “Yeah. We came up with the idea way back in high school. It was supposed to be a way to repay them for giving us—Sai and Rahmi, obviously, but me too—the kind of lives they only ever got to live in their dreams.”

“That’s a really beautiful sentiment,” Charlie said softly. If anyone deserved to kick their feet up after years of selfless work, it was Seema and Anil. 

Nick slid his eyes across the table until they met Charlie’s, an unreadable expression on his face. “But…my dad owns 48% of NVC.” 

Charlie tilted his head to the side. “Okay…?”  

Nick pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a quiet groan. “As it stands now, he gets almost half of our profits,” he explained. “If we can buy him out, which would take a big fucking client to afford, we’d have so much more breathing room. We could give ourselves raises—I pay myself less than Elle pays you, you know. We could work with the clients we actually want to, clients like Appelle, and we could still put thousands into Seema and Anil’s retirement account.” 

Charlie began to understand why losing the client yesterday had hit Nick so hard. It wasn’t just a client; it was an exit ramp toward a new life, one with less pressure to perform, one with a fulfilled purpose. And while it would have been wonderful, Charlie still didn’t get how any of it related to him. He leaned forward and ducked his head to make Nick look him in the eye. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I can only imagine how hard all of this is for you. But…but I just don’t get what any of that has to do with me—with us.”

When Nick didn’t answer, Charlie reached across the table to ghost his fingertips along the back of his hand. Nick returned the touch with a brush of his thumb, peeking through his hair with melty amber eyes. 

“Nick,” Charlie murmured, “I meant everything I said two nights ago. There’s something special between us, something worth fighting for. If you feel it too—”

“I do.” Nick interrupted.

“Okay,” Charlie answered, a glimmer of hope flickering back to life. “Then please tell me the problem.”

Nick stared at his hands folded on the table, eyebrows knit together. “Charlie, I-I’m…I’ve been out in my personal life for years, but I’m not out in my professional one.” He saw Charlie’s eyes widen across the table and rushed to continue. “It’s not because I don’t want to be. I’ve never wanted to be out more than I do right now,” he caught Charlie’s hand again and squeezed it. “I’m not out because I can’t be.”

Charlie was temporarily shocked into silence. In all of the scenarios he’d imagined, Nick not being out at work had never once crossed his mind. “Wh—but what do you mean ‘can’t be’?”

Nick took a deep breath and explained that the world he lived in—the one that spanned hilly green golf courses and happened behind ornately carved board room doors—was filled with men just like his dad, men whose entire lives revolved around maintaining their money and their privilege. He spent his weekends with salt-and-pepper CEOs and their smarmy successor sons, eating steaks he couldn’t afford and laughing at jokes that they didn’t realize were at his expense.

“I never planned to go back in the closet, you know. I just wasn’t dating anyone so it never came up. I assumed that by the time I had a personal life worth sharing, NVC’s work would speak for itself so it wouldn’t even matter. But when I started targeting the really big accounts, I realized that it absolutely does.” 

With quiet tones and tensed shoulders, Nick recalled the night his eyes were opened to the reality of his situation. He had scored an invite to an exclusive event, one swarming with people who owned sports teams and national restaurant chains. He was so excited—it was exactly where he needed to be to put his and Sai’s plan into motion. Maybe he’d leave with an email address or a meeting on the calendar. Everything changed when Steve, a man who had been a part of those rarefied circles for years, walked in with another man on his arm, clearly nervous and clearly together.  

“The things people said after they left that night…” Nick said, his words sharp with anger. “It wasn’t just homophobic jokes, Charlie. It was a coordinated whisper campaign. Customers he’d had for years laughed about how they’d switch to a new vendor the next day. They talked openly about how they could sink him in weeks, and then they actually did it. He lost everything that night, just because he dared to show up as his authentic self.”

The story set off a bomb inside Charlie’s chest, images shooting through his brain like shrapnel slices: Ben’s snarling face when he warned Charlie to keep his distance at the office Christmas party; middle school boys taunting him while they changed for gym class; hate-filled stares when he held his boyfriend’s hand in public. The thought of Nick suffering through those same panic surges was painful.

“If I could go back in time, I never would have taken my dad’s money,” Nick said darkly. “Sai and I were young and naive. We needed the cash to get NVC off the ground and thought it would be easy enough to buy him out after a couple of years, but we had no idea what we were signing. I swear to you, if there was any way to get him out without needing those homophobic assholes, I would walk off the golf course tomorrow and never look back. The only thing I need is one big client, and I really thought we had it.” He blinked, seeming surprised when a tear fell from his eye without any warning. He swiped angrily at his face when another tear dripped down his cheek. “When I heard that Seema was on her way to the hospital last night, I really thought we would lose her, and…and everything just feels so urgent now.”

Charlie jumped up to grab a napkin from the counter and watched Nick press it into his face with worried eyes. “So you need a big client to buy out your dad, but you’re afraid you won’t get hired if they know you’re bi. And when your dad is out of the picture, you can work with whoever you want and help Seema and Anil retire?”

“Yeah,” Nick sniffled. “And since we’re talking about ideal scenarios here, I’d also be dating you.”

Charlie smiled softly. “That sounds pretty damn ideal.” 

They fell silent, trying to untangle the knot of Nick’s life. Charlie was convinced that what they had wasn’t just a fling—for either of them. He might not have money, and he’d never even met a CEO aside from Elle, but the last thing he was going to do was leave Nick to solve his problems on his own. He knew how to lay low. He could provide support in the background. If that’s what it took to—

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no.”

Charlie snapped his head up to find Nick already shaking his head, eyes boring into his. “But I haven’t even said anyth—”

“I’m not keeping you a secret, Charlie,” he said firmly, arms folded across his chest. “You’ve done that before and you swore you’d never do it again. And even if you would, I wouldn’t. You deserve to be with someone who loves you loudly, someone who shows you off instead of hiding you away.”  

“But this is different! We both know it would be temporary.”

“Do we both know that?” Nick asked incredulously. “Because I sure as hell don’t! I’ve been trying to get out of this situation almost as long as I’ve been in it. It will take months, at the very least, but it’s a lot more likely to take years.”

“So I’ll wait!” Charlie cried. “It’s not like there’s a line of men beating down my door.”

“Well that’s because men are idiots.”

Charlie pressed his lips together. He felt like he was about to lose an argument he didn’t even know he’d been having. He reached across the table for Nick’s hands, begging him to understand just how serious he was. “Nick, please. People like you don’t come along very often for guys like me.”

“What if someone does, though?” Nick asked, his voice catching on the words. “I would hate watching you fall in love with someone else, but I would never keep that from you if it finds you.” 

At the mention of love, tears sprang into Charlie’s eyes. He knew he wasn’t in love with Nick, not yet, but god, he would have relished getting the chance to fall. “So then where does that leave us, then?” he asked, afraid of the answer. “Where do we go from here?”

A sad smile tugged at the corner of Nick’s lips. “It’s going to sound like I’m talking out of both sides of my mouth, but the only way we can be together is if I bring in a big client, and to do that, I have to give everything—all of my nights, all of my weekends, all of my focus—to work. I can’t let myself get distracted like I did over the last month. If I hadn’t been so enamored with you—with your safety, with your cider, with all of you—maybe things would’ve turned out differently.” He squeezed Charlie’s hand, looked at him with soft eyes. “You can’t wait for me, Charlie. If I know you’re waiting out there, a part of me will always be trying to get back to you.” 

The truth spread through Charlie like a sedative, a slow-seeping quiet that crept through his veins like lead. His eyes wandered even as his body stilled, noticing that the cafe had grown crowded over the past hour, full of companions trading smiles and couples who gazed at each other with eyes full of stars. 

Nick stood and tilted his head toward the back door of the cafe and Charlie floated after him into the parking lot, wondering if lambs always knew they were being led to the slaughter. They leaned against the side of the building, closer than friends but farther than lovers, as Nick explained that he would stay as engaged with Appelle as was appropriate, but that their early mornings and glued-to-the-hip days would need to stop. 

Charlie wasn’t sure which side of the bullet would hurt worse, being shot or being the one left holding the gun. In the end he chose mercy and asked the question they already knew the answer to. His breath hitched before he spoke, a sharp inhale that precedes a full submersion. “And what happens after two weeks?”

Nick squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, a broken Please falling from his lips. 

“Just say it,” Charlie begged, clumped lashes and shining cheeks.

So Nick looked him dead in the eye and pulled the trigger. “You won’t see me again after the contract ends.”

It was quick. Direct, straight to the heart, just like a mercy kill should be, but it still left Charlie gasping for air. 

“You know this isn’t what I want either, right?” Nick asked, his voice thick and wobbly. “I lost everything yesterday. It wasn’t just a client, it was an opportunity to repay the Vermas for everything they’ve given me, a chance to be who I really am, and it,” his voice broke. “It was a chance to have you.” 

Charlie nodded, his tears falling freely now. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I said you shouldn’t wait for me,” Nick choked out, “but if I ever find a way out of this, if we get a chance to see if what we have is real—” 

Charlie couldn’t watch Nick fall apart a moment longer. He pressed onto his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around Nick’s broad shoulders. “It is real, it is.”

Nick buried his face into Charlie’s neck, his shoulders shaking with each uneven breath. “I’m so sorry for hurting you. I should have, I couldn’t have just…I’m just so, so sorry.”

Charlie squeezed Nick as tightly as he’d ever held anything. “I’m not sorry. I’m not.” He was more certain than he’d been all day. “Because now I know what to look for. Now I know what you feel like.”

They held onto each other until their tears dried and their breaths smoothed, giving into the grace of the moment—cracked hearts that still beat, punctured lungs that fought to fill. The seconds stretched into minutes, hands rubbing comforting circles and settling onto hips, bloodshot eyes that searched and then sparked until their heads bent and their lips met. It was a movement that they had only gotten to rehearse a few times but it was already seared into muscle memory. It was a kiss of suspended disbelief. They paused to breathe, to wipe each other’s tears away, to solemnly swear that this had to be the last time before they pressed together again, closer than before. 

When Nick walked back into Dhaba House a few minutes later, Charlie finally understood why this particular disappointment seared his skin and settled into his bones so much deeper than the ones he’d struggled through before. It was because it wasn’t disappointment he was feeling, not at all.

It was heartbreak.

Chapter Text

Troubleshooting

Cider is susceptible to a variety of infections. An important trait of a good cidermaker is the ability to troubleshoot: to identify potential issues and to know how to correct them. Infections that are left to linger can grow out of control and will spoil an entire batch, so the second you notice something is off, you must use every tool in your arsenal to eliminate the threat. Take quick, decisive action to kill the infection so that it never rears its ugly head again.

The next week was one of the hardest of Charlie’s life. 

He barely spoke on Sunday, save for the occasional murmur of thanks when Isaac delivered another cup of tea that cooled before he drank it, another piece of toast that grew stale and got scraped into the trash. He floated in and out of consciousness, numbly watching the light change behind his linen curtains like a time lapse video. 

One breath in, another breath out, the first day.

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie didn’t expect to find Nick waiting in the parking lot on Monday morning. They stared at each other from their cars, luminescent eyes and gripped steering wheels obscured by dirt-smudged, droplet-dried windows. The silence swelled with potential, but it receded when neither of them moved to fill it. Instead they exchanged gruff good mornings, stuffed their hands in pockets and buried their thudding hearts deeper into their chests. Once they were inside, Nick gave Charlie a tight smile and excused himself, his rushed footsteps fading into the cavernous warehouse before Charlie disarmed the alarm. 

Charlie didn’t even know Nick was still there that evening, but within seconds of clicking off the lights and setting the machines to hibernate, Nick appeared as if he’d been beckoned. He followed Charlie out the back door and through the parking lot, climbing into his car without a word. 

He waited until Charlie left before he started his engine. 

🥂🍾🥂

Nick was there on Tuesday, too, even though he had appointments with other clients all day. He stayed in his idling car, his stretching headlights illuminating the path, and when Charlie turned, his hand still on the doorknob, Nick just bowed his head and drove away. 

Charlie flicked on the lights and checked the thermostats, trying to remember if his mornings had always felt so lonely. He disappeared into his day, grateful for the distraction of fine-tuning flavors and ordering labels, writing job descriptions and installing shelves.

But he still texted ‘got home safe’ when he fell onto his couch that evening. 

And Nick still replied with his usual ‘Thanks’. 

🥂🍾🥂

It was Wednesday when Elle and Darcy stopped pretending they hadn’t noticed something was wrong. They wrapped their arms around Charlie’s waist and pressed his favorite sandwich into his hands, asked him with worried eyes if the stress was too much and what they could do to help.

But how could Charlie explain that being met by Sai in the parking lot that morning—his cheery Hello! directly contradicted by his somber remorse at having to say it—made him want to tear his shirt from his body and scream at the sky? Or that when he overheard Nick confirming the streetlamp installation was scheduled for the next day, Charlie fled to the bathroom so he wouldn’t crumple into a heap on the concrete floor?

How could Charlie tell Elle that her astonished realization that their time with NVC was almost over—just a week and a half left guys, can you believe it?—was a death knell? Charlie’s and Nick’s gazes had tangled across the table, silent and solemn, before Nick pushed his chair back, muttering an excuse about accidentally leaving his wallet in his car, and rushed from the room.

He didn’t return for twenty minutes. 

When their meeting ended, Nick jogged after Sai, telling him to wait up, that he was heading back to the office for the afternoon, too. Sai wrapped his arm around Nick’s shoulders and led him toward the back door. He started up a serious conversation, giving Nick a credible reason for not turning back. If he had, he would’ve seen Charlie watching him, alone in the middle of the warehouse, gripping a coil of hose tight to his chest while he unspooled on the inside.  

That night, Charlie lay in bed, blinking back his tears as he checked his phone for the hundredth time. It had been three hours since he’d sent his ‘home safe’ text, two hours and 57 minutes since Nick had seen it. 

He wasn’t going to respond. 

🥂🍾🥂

The parking lot was crowded with utility vehicles on Thursday morning, orange cones blocking the alley, men milling about in reflective vests and hard hats. I should be grateful, Charlie thought as his hope dried like a stream in the desert, leaving nothing but arid earth and cracked clay. 

Charlie shuffled to his car that night, mentally and physically exhausted. His days of clutched keys and nervous footsteps were over. The shadowy figures wouldn’t be able to escape his nightmares and follow him through the darkness anymore. 

Light was supposed to give life. It was supposed to be a metaphor for freedom. So why did this one make him feel like he was dying?

🥂🍾🥂

Nick, Sai, Imogen and Sophie strolled in on Friday afternoon, pencil skirts and clicking heels, briefcases and set jaws. They were on a mission, walking in formation. They meant business.  

Imogen stepped in front of the white board and squared her shoulders. “Alright, friends, we have exactly eight days until the relaunch. The purpose of today’s meeting is to finalize the invite list, talk through day-of logistics, and make sure we have everything—and I mean everything—figured out. So, that being said, Charlie? Give us an update on the cider, please.”

“Everything is on track,” Charlie said, sitting up straighter in his folding chair. Three of the four ciders were completely finished, and the last one would be done by Monday. Their fancy digitally printed cans were scheduled to arrive early next week, and canning would happen on Wednesday.  

“Oooh, I see what you did there.” Sophie tapped her temple and flashed him a thumbs up. “You’ve built in some extra days in case something goes wrong—it’s called a contingency planning, if you’ve never heard of it. Great instincts, Charlie, really smart.”

Charlie’s brows rose in amusement as Elle tittered into her hand.

Nick pressed his lips together, eyes dancing. “Gee, Charlie, they must’ve taught you that at your fancy cider college.” 

Charlie stuck out his tongue. “That’s cider university to you.” 

Nick’s laugh—a burst that bubbled from his lips before he could stop it—filled Charlie with the kind of nostalgic ache that usually accompanied faded photographs in dusty albums. 

His smile fell from his face at the same time Nick’s did. 

“And the taproom?” Imogen asked, turning her attention to Darcy.

Darcy nodded and shared their update, as did everyone else at the table, one by one. Darcy had called in reinforcements for the taproom and Elle had ordered a bunch of cocktail tables from the party rental store. Sai, whose attention was always focused on internal operations, had invited several potential lenders, and one of Nick’s contacts had shared a list of grocery and liquor store buyers, several of whom planned to stop by. 

“Alright, so ideally, we walk out of next weekend with some warm leads on the funding and distribution side of things, yeah?” Nick asked, and if Charlie wasn’t quite so preoccupied by his broken heart, he would’ve ripped Nick a new one for using the World’s Most Disgusting Phrase—‘Warm Leads’ (blech)—unironically.

“Plus some earned media,” Imogen piped up. “I already know Clara from the Gazette is coming, and possibly Tyler from What’s Happening on the Weekend, too.” 

“Tyler’s coming?” Sophie squeaked, her eyes wide. When Imogen nodded, Sophie visibly shuddered. “Take it from me—do not mention his hair plugs.”

Isaac spoke for the first time since the meeting began. “I know this isn’t really my usual role here, but would it be possible to use this event to promote NVC as well as Appelle’s new ciders?”

Imogen tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Well, maybe it’s the book editor in me, but the way I see it, there are two sides to this story: the Appelle side and the NVC side. The ‘what’ is that Appelle has changed its style of cider—from traditional to modern, heirloom juice to crapple, fun fruity flavors, et cetera—but the ‘how’ and the ‘why’—the NVC parts—make it a much more compelling story, and people love a good story.” 

Seven pairs of eyes blinked back at Isaac. He let out a frustrated ‘Must I spell it out for you?’ groan and gestured between Nick and Sai. “You guys are always looking for new clients, right? Big ones, in particular? I’m no fancy business consultant, but,” he gave Nick a pointed look, “I doubt you’ll find them at the same golf course you’ve been going to every Saturday for years. If you’re not getting the results you very much need, for multiple very important reasons, then maybe you should vary your methods.” 

The conversation continued in the background, but Charlie’s whirring thoughts drowned it out. All week he’d been running scenarios in the back of his mind, trying to solve the paradox of Nick’s life. Like Nick, he’d assumed that the opportunities presented by the members of the clubhouse were too good to pass up. It was such an elite space, teeming with CEOs of hotel chains and tech startups, hospital networks and luxury brands. Nick only had access to it because of Stephane’s connections; it seemed almost irresponsible not to use that privilege—one that Sai didn’t have—to NVC’s advantage.  

But maybe their premise had been flawed the whole time. Maybe they had been so dazzled by their proximity to such powerful clients that they missed the fundamental fact that those weren’t the right clients for a young, progressive consulting company like NVC. Maybe, this whole time, NVC had misunderstood their own market. 

Maybe…

Charlie’s heart flipped in his chest. “Oh my god, I’ve found NVC’s Crapple Juice!” 

The ridiculousness of Charlie’s words were enough to halt the conversation that had continued without him. “I’m sorry, what now?” Elle asked, an amused smile tugging at her lips.

Charlie’s excitement about his revelation overpowered his need for self-protection, and he allowed himself to speak directly to Nick for the first time all week. “NVC is making the exact same mistake that Appelle was making when we met. What was it you said to me in that first meeting? Appelle was a Gen Z brand making a Boomer product?” 

A ghost of a smile crossed Nick’s face at the memory. He nodded.

“Well NVC is a Gen Z consulting company going after Boomer clients. There’s a fundamental mismatch between your product and your customers.”

Sai opened his mouth to protest but snapped it shut when Nick held up his hand. He bent his head toward Charlie, silently encouraging him to continue. 

Charlie prayed that his simple words would make Nick reconsider what he needed to trade in the present in order to gain freedom in the future. If it had been a week before, he would have reached for Nick’s hands and squeezed them for emphasis, but halting eye contact and trembling honesty was all he could offer now. “You’re hurting yourself by chasing after customers who aren’t even right for you. You need clients that appreciate dynamic, exciting, out of the box thinking, and you’re not going to find them at the clubhouse.” 

Imogen shook her head, confused. “No offense, but we’re supposed to be brainstorming ways to promote Appelle’s relaunch. Why are we talking about NVC’s client acquisition strategy right now?”

Charlie pressed his lips together and peeked at Nick, whose brows were furrowed as he contemplated Charlie’s words.

Luckily, Isaac, who was keenly aware of the subtext, swooped in. “What Charlie and I are trying to say is that we can leverage Appelle’s relaunch to do both.”

Sai shrugged. “If it makes sense from a marketing perspective, I don’t see why not.”

Imogen nodded. “What do you suggest?”

Isaac leaned forward in his seat with a glint in his eye. “I say we pull a Seema Verma and start lying through our teeth.”

Sai blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, is it ‘Insult Sai Day’ and no one told me? First, you accuse me of not knowing my own company’s target customer and then you call my mom a liar?” 

Isaac rolled his eyes at Sai’s dramatics and barreled on. “I’m saying that you should tell everyone what your story is instead of waiting for them to tell a story about you! Control the narrative! It’s not just, ‘Appelle Launches New Flavors’, it’s ‘How Hot-Shot, Up-and-Coming Consulting Company NVC Pulled Appelle from the Gaping Maw of Bankruptcy and Turned them into the Nation’s Hottest Cider Brand!’” 

“Okay, Walt Whitman, go off,” Elle giggled.

Imogen reached over and patted Sai on his cheek. “I’ll translate for you, babe: he’s telling us to speak our success into existence.”

“Oh, okay.” Sai visibly unclenched. “I usually just call that ‘manifesting’.”

“But don’t we already do that?” Sophie asked. “There’s an entire section of NVC’s website dedicated to customer testimonials—I just added Appelle’s last week.” 

“The people going on your website have already heard about you; they’re searching for you,” Isaac explained. “I’m talking about using Appelle’s rebrand as a way to share NVC’s story with a wider audience.”

Imogen tapped her hot pink fingertips in front of her face like an evil genius. “Oh, I can see it now…I bet Hair Plug Tyler is sick to death of the puff pieces he usually writes. He would go feral for a story like—” She stopped mid-sentence and whipped around to face Sophie. “I swear to god, if you tell him I called him that...”

“Psh,” Sophie rolled her eyes. “Like I would make that mistake a second time.”

“Shoot, I only invited local food and beverage media, but if we’re going to take more of a long-form journalism angle, I should be thinking regionally, maybe even nationally…” Imogen opened her laptop.

Nick gestured between Elle and Charlie. “You guys are a lot more familiar with your industry than we are. Are there national cider publications out there, or better yet, something more generic like, I dunno…Craft Beverage Quarterly?” 

Charlie wracked his brain, trying to recall the different industry publications he’d browsed over the years while Elle placed her chin in her hand and stared off into the distance. 

And then it hit him. It hit him like a shot of adrenaline. “Oh my god!” Charlie leapt from his seat, his chair crashing to the ground with the sudden movement. “I mean, this is probably crazy, plus…right. Of course he’s busy. But what if he wasn’t?” He paced back and forth, careening thoughts crashing like bumper cars in his brain. 

“Is he having a stroke?” Darcy asked seriously.

“I…I’m actually not sure,” Elle responded. 

Charlie whirled to face the table with a manic glint in his eye. “We have to invite François Gaudel.”

Elle gasped. Charlie was definitely in the middle of a medical emergency. “But you’d rather die than let François Gaudel know you’ve gone over to the crapple side!”

Charlie held up his hands, energy zipping through his veins. “I know it’s hard to believe, but there are actually a handful of things I care more about than my reputation in the cider world.” And then, because even broken hearts still enjoyed being a menace from time to time, he grinned and looked right at Nick. “Most of whom are sitting around this table.”

Their meeting descended into disarray after that. Sophie pitched Elle on her wild TikTok idea while Nick, Sai, and Isaac brainstormed a list of national media outlets. Imogen hovered over Charlie’s shoulder as he composed his email to François Gaudel. He recklessly offered to cover the cost of the trip and hit send before confirming under his breath that NVC would actually foot the bill, right? Sai rolled his eyes and pressed his credit card into Imogen’s outstretched hand, telling her to just keep it if she was going to keep promising to pay for things without running them by him first. 

“Perfect timing!” she chirped, looping her arm through the crook of Sai’s elbow. “Not to sound like an alcoholic or anything, but it’s five o’clock somewhere! Anyone want to join us for Happy Hour? Sai’s buying.” 

“It’s actually 4:45 right now, so technically it isn’t 5:00 anywhere—”

“It’s an expression, Sophie!” Imogen snapped.

Sophie held up her hands. “Okay, okay!”

“Well if you’re buying…” Isaac grinned, pushing away from the table as Sai shook his head in dismay and muttered something about expense reports and fiscal responsibility under his breath.

Charlie held open the door as everyone filtered through, excited chatter about the party and François Gaudel and bank loans floating behind them. Nick hovered in the office like he wasn’t sure whether to approach. “Are you coming?”

Nick grimaced, his eyes darting between Charlie and the open door. “Um…well, I guess that depends. Are you?”

Charlie let the door fall closed and walked hesitantly back into the office, torn between what he wanted—to squeeze every second out of his last week in Nick’s presence—and protecting his stupid heart. He put on a brave face and shook his head. “Nah, I still have some stuff to do before I go home and I don’t…” he swallowed the tightness in his throat and let out a dry chuckle. Neither of them were any good at pretending. “I’m not sure it's the best idea,” he offered quietly. “For me. Or for you.”

Nick let out a heavy sigh. “I hate this.”

Their eyes met. 

“So do I,” Charlie said softly. 

Neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. They just watched each other from across the room, sad smiles counteracted by hope-flickered gazes. The spell was broken when Nick blinked. He turned and reached for the door. 

“Nick, wait.” 

Charlie knew that Nick had put years of his life into building his network. He knew that giving all of that up on the off-chance that an article in Food and Wine magazine would lead to a huge client was not a good business strategy—he had employees who depended on him, for fuck’s sake! 

But Charlie still hoped he’d consider it. He stepped forward, snatching back his traitorous fingers just before they closed around Nick’s arm. “Please just think about what I said—what if you don’t even need those guys?”

Nick’s gaze softened. “Charlie, that's all I’m going to be thinking about. Like, I know it’s unlikely, but I still can't help but hope…” He trailed off and sighed again. “Well. You know.”  

Charlie nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

🥂🍾🥂

Two hours later, Charlie was finally ready to go home and start his weekend. He’d gotten everything prepped for Monday, tidied his desk, and spent twenty minutes compulsively refreshing his inbox. He hated feeling helpless, like a passenger with his nose pressed against the window while his life spun out of control. Reaching out to François Gaudel felt like he was actually doing something about Nick’s—and therefore his—predicament. 

Charlie poked his head into the taproom to say goodnight to Darcy. It was Friday-night full, crowded with couples on dates and coworkers whose happy hours had stretched into dinner, the NVC team and Isaac still nursing their ciders. He gave Darcy a quick hug and told them he was setting the alarm in the back, ducking through the door before they could choose chaos and scream something like ‘Hey Nick, Charlie’s here but he doesn’t want you to see him!’

It was just after dusk, an early summer evening that provided a pleasant contrast to the clammy heaviness of the warehouse. The new streetlamp had its intended effect: for one of the first times he could remember, Charlie didn’t sweep his eyes across the parking lot, didn’t brace himself for an altercation that never happened. He wove through the lines of customer cars, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. 

A near-silent movement—fabric rustles and crunched gravel—caught Charlie’s attention. He whirled around, the thought that Nick might have followed him causing a thrill to zip up his spine.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Charlie searched for the source, his gaze snagging on a fluttering shadow behind the SUV next to him. Just as he stepped forward, he realized that the voice he’d heard wasn’t Nick’s. Nick’s voice was low-rumbled and honey-dipped. It seeped into cracks and softened sharp edges. This one...this was. Charlie’s eyes widened. Oh my god.

The second Ben stepped out from the shadows, the ground disappeared beneath Charlie’s feet and sent him into free-falling panic. He shrank back, the hot metal of his driver’s side door seeping through his thin tee shirt. His car keys clattered to the ground.

Ben held up his hands like people do when they’re trying to convince you that they’re innocent. “Relax, Charlie, I come in peace.” He stepped closer, his distaste obvious as he took in Charlie’s sweat-dampened shirt and steel-toed boots. “God, locking yourself in a warehouse and doing manual labor all day has got to be killing you.”

Charlie squirmed under Ben’s unrelenting examination, clenching his fists beside him. Why, after so many years of dark, silent, treks across this parking lot, did this have to happen now, when he was completely unprepared? His words felt like foreign objects in his throat, too large and irregularly shaped. “What do you want from me? Why are you here?”

“Come on, Charlie. You’ve been cosplaying as a blue-collar laborer long enough. It’s time to hang up your…your…” Ben gestured vaguely and shuddered, “denim slacks, or whatever the hell you people call those.”

Even though adrenaline roared through his veins, Charlie forced himself to remain calm. The only weapons Ben carried were his words; the worst he could do was hiss and snarl while he said them. Charlie pushed off the car and raised his chin, ready to vanquish his demons, once and for all. “I said, ‘What. Do. You. Want?’” 

Ben was unhurried and nonchalant, as if he cornered his exes every other day. “I know it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, but you can’t have changed that much. You love living in the lap of luxury, and I’m here to make your champagne dreams come true. Again.” 

“I prefer cider these days,” Charlie gritted out, “and I don’t need you to make my dreams come true.” 

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed out a breath like he was trying to control himself. “Look, Charlie, it’s sad to see you wasting your potential here. Just come back to Sunny Skies. I’ll give you any title you want—any role. Name your price and the job is yours.”

Charlie gaped at Ben. Of all the directions this nightmare scenario had taken over the years, a blank-check job offer had not been one of them. “Come back…come back? Are you kidding me?” 

Instead of ending their conversation, Charlie’s shocked disbelief—the kind that usually accompanied absurd statements like the one Ben had just made—inflamed it. 

Ben lunged forward, his cool exterior cracking to reveal a frightening desperation buried beneath. Charlie stumbled backwards when Ben grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him against the side of his car. “I know I was shitty before but you don’t understand the kind of pressure I’m under. It could fall apart, we’d lose everyth—”

“Get the FUCK off of him!” 

Ben was yanked backwards, thrown onto the ground in a dizzying flurry of grunts and gravel dust. A broken sob escaped Charlie’s lips as he slid away from his car and ran to stand behind a fuming Nick Nelson. 

Nick loomed overhead—flaming eyes and nostrils flared—but his anger transformed into utter confusion when Ben pushed the hair out of his face and returned his stare. Nick swiveled around to look at Charlie like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Is this Ben? Your Ben?”

Charlie nodded, his pulse pounding loud in his ears. Something was happening, something between Ben and Nick, something that he didn’t understand. They were staring at each other like they’d known each other for years. 

Nick reached behind him for Charlie’s hand and swallowed hard, his breath coming out in spurts. “What are you doing here? Why now?”

Ben skittered to the other side of his car so he was safely out of Nick’s reach. “I don’t know why it’s such a surprise,” he huffed, anger radiating off of him in waves and twisting his face into a snarl. “I’m very thorough; obviously I’d find out about Appelle.” 

Charlie shook his head in an attempt to clear the soupy fog from his brain. “How did you know I worked here? I’m not listed on our website anywhere.”

“I may not be able to pick a best-selling book out of a line-up, but I do know how to Google things, Charlie,” Ben scoffed. “I saw that friend of yours and read her glowing review on the website. It only took me a few minutes to find that article from last year. Most exciting cidermaker on this side of the Mississippi in Food and Wine magazine? Pretty impressive, especially for someone like you.”

“What friend? What review?” Charlie cried. 

Ben threw his hands in the air. “On NVC’s website, you idiot! Are you always this dense?”

NVC’s website? What did NVC have to do with—the realization hit him like a kick to the solar plexus. “Nick,” Charlie said, feeling like he was speaking underwater. “Was Sunny Skies Publishing the big client you lost?”

Nick nodded, eyes still fixed on Ben, coiled tight like he was prepared to pounce. 

“My dad wanted to go with you guys, you know,” Ben sniffed, leaning against his car like he was bored. “He’s been playing golf with your dad since we were toddlers. He didn’t even interview anyone else. But he’s also been shitting bricks for two years waiting for Charlie to sue him for discrimination. Once I found out that Charlie worked for Appelle and that we’d be sharing the same business consultant, there was no way in hell we were going to sign that contract.” 

Charlie revisited all of Nick’s rushed goodbyes and Zoom calls, the client meetings and presentation prep. Had Ben and Warren Hope—the people who had ruined his life two years before—been on the other side of all of them? Did Charlie’s history with Ben keep NVC from getting the client that would have changed Nick’s life?

Nick’s arm wound around Charlie’s waist before he realized that his knees had buckled. 

“Obviously, it was the right choice,” Ben sneered. “You’ve been dead-set on poisoning everyone you meet against me for years now. Who tells their business consultant they were fired for fucking the boss’s son at their last job? Are you stupid or something?”

Nick took a step forward, hands clenched. “Don’t speak to him that way.”

Ben, who obviously had an overinflated sense of his own strength, pushed his hand against Nick’s chest. “This conversation is between me and Charlie.”

“Nothing is between you and Charlie,” Nick growled, pressing forward again. 

Ben narrowed his eyes, Nick and Charlie’s gripped hands and closely-huddled bodies finally drawing his attention. “Oh, of course,” he spat, eyes wild. “Why didn’t I see this before now? You’re pitiful! Did you not learn anything the last time you tried to fuck your way to the top? And you!” He held his finger up to Nick’s face. “Sleeping with a client like a fucking novice? He’s a disease. He’ll ruin your—”

Nick lurched forward and punched the words right out of Ben’s mouth. Chaos erupted, a stop-motion scramble spotlighted in golden lamplight glows: scuffling feet and sharp elbows, flying gravel and gritted teeth. Ben got a hit in, but he was obviously outmatched. With a sickening crack, he crumpled to the ground, forearms raised to cover his face, drips of dark red blood falling from his nose. 

“Nick!” Charlie grasped at Nick’s heaving shoulders. 

Nick raised himself to his full height and shrouded Ben’s curled body in his long shadow. He took in a sharp breath and spit onto the blood-splattered gravel beside Ben’s face, watching with narrowed eyes and clenched fists as Ben scrambled to his feet and staggered away.  

It was as if a director called ‘cut’ and the pointless playacting of the last week had never even happened. Charlie rushed to Nick’s side, his hands fluttering across blotched cheeks and smoothing along his tensed jaw. “Baby, are you hurt?”

“No.” Nick pressed his fingertips to his cheek and winced. “Okay, maybe a little bit.”

“There’s a first aid kit inside,” Charlie said, already turning to cross the parking lot. “Let me just—”

“Stop.” Nick grabbed Charlie’s wrist and pulled him back, leaving no room for argument. “You are not leaving my sight until you’re home safe. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Text

The Art of the Pivot

It’s become a buzz-word in the business world, but there’s something to be said about making a big, unexpected change. When you can’t make sense of how to get where you need to go if you stay on the same path, it might just be time to pivot. It’s scary—of course it is—but you’re a business owner. You’ve blazed trails before and you can certainly do it again.

The drive to Charlie’s apartment was silent. Tomorrow’s bruise bloomed on Nick’s cheek, angry and red, but his eyes were intent, fixed on the road. Once he pulled into the vacant spot on a side street near Charlie’s apartment, he turned off the engine and tipped his head back, blowing out a long, slow exhale. 

Charlie gently pried Nick’s hand off the steering wheel and brought it to his lips. He pressed soft kisses into the capillary cracks along Nick’s knuckles, butterfly-wing flutters that soothed them both.

“Come on,” Charlie said, once his heart had steadied and Nick’s breaths had slowed. “Let’s get you an ice pack.”

They walked into Charlie’s apartment, slipping off shoes and shrugging out of jackets. Nick sat on the couch while Charlie flitted around to gather supplies.

Nick swallowed the painkillers Charlie offered and set his glass onto the coffee table. “I’ve never punched someone before,” he admitted. 

“Really?” Charlie glanced up from wrapping an ice pack with a tea towel. “You definitely looked like you knew what you were doing.”

Nick stared unseeingly across the apartment. “No, I…I just. I came outside and it took me a second—at first I thought you were like, hugging someone you knew, but when I got closer…”

“Here, turn to the side,” Charlie murmured, tilting Nick’s chin to examine the swelling on his cheek bone. 

“I’ve—I’ve never…” Nick grimaced when he pressed the ice pack against his cheek. 

“Never what?” Charlie asked after the silence lingered too long.

The half of Nick’s mouth that wasn’t obscured twisted into a frown. “The minute I saw him on you, I just…I lost it. I’ve never been that angry before.”

Charlie could still see the furious cut of Nick’s mouth, the rage that snapped like a string pulled too tight.

“Like…I know Ben,” Nick continued. “I’ve had meetings with him—I had one just last week. And,” he looked at the ceiling as he searched for his words. “And when I saw his face and realized that he was the one who hurt you—that he came back to do it again?” He shook his head, voice low. “I could have killed him.”

Nick’s confession sat heavy between them, the only sounds coming from the rustle of the ice pack as he adjusted it. “Sorry, you’re the one who was just attacked and I’m making it all about me.” He reached over and squeezed Charlie’s forearm. “Are you okay? God, I bet you were terrified. Is there anything you need right now? We could talk about it or…or we could watch TV if you need a distraction?” 

“I actually think I’m okay?” Charlie wondered aloud after checking in with himself. “I’ve been building this up in my head for so long and now that it’s happened, I’m just relieved that it’s finally over.” He covered Nick’s hand on his forearm and turned so they were facing each other. “Nick, just…thank you. You were so…so brave, and unselfish. I know you have complicated feelings about me, and—”

“No, I don’t,” Nick interrupted, letting out a resigned chuckle. “My feelings about you are the only things in my life that aren’t complicated.”

Charlie tipped his head back and blew out a steady exhale toward the ceiling. It would be so easy, safely tucked away in his quiet apartment, to revert back to the week before. They could pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist—no aging parents or oppressive debts; no filial duties or hidden identities. He bit his lip, engaged in a furious internal debate between stoic self-denial and unadulterated desire. The last few days had been agony, but he had survived, hadn’t he? Surely he could do it again.

He peeked at Nick out of the corner of his eye. The mussed-up hair and dirt-smudged cheeks—physical indicators of Nick’s protective side—were such a contrast to the tenderness in his gaze when their eyes met. 

“What you did tonight was also—” Charlie swallowed, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

Nick tilted his head curiously. “Also what?”

Charlie didn’t want to deny himself. Not tonight. Not after everything that had happened. He looked at Nick shyly, hoping to god he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself. “It was really fucking hot.”

Nick’s eyebrows raised. “I—sorry. What?” 

Charlie just nodded. No use in denying it now.

A smile stretched across Nick’s lips. “Do you have a thing for someone being all protective of you?”

Charlie covered his hot cheeks with his hands. “Apparently, yeah.”

Nick cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, voice a little raspier than it had been moments before. “If it makes you feel any better, punching someone who really deserves it was way more satisfying than I thought it would be.”

Charlie dropped his hands to smile at Nick, his eyes drifting to the ice pack still held against his cheek. He stood up and offered his hand. “Here, you’ve probably had enough time with that by now. Let me take a look.”

Nick stood and handed it over, turning his face to the side so Charlie could inspect him. His cheek was bright red, more from the cold than the injury, and a bit swollen, too. Charlie walked his fingertips across Nick’s face—the stubbled line of his jaw, the delicate skin just beneath his eye, the freckle-splattered cheekbone—watching carefully for signs of pain.

“I think you’ll live,” Charlie murmured, “but,” he grabbed Nick’s bicep to steady himself and pressed onto his tiptoes. “Maybe this will help make it feel better.” He ghosted his lips across Nick’s cheek, soft and feathery, even as his heart pounded in his chest. 

Nick slid his arms around Charlie’s waist to draw him into a hug. They were suspended in time, eyes closed and cheeks pressed, their breaths ebbing and flowing like ocean waves. Everything that had happened in the last week—the thousand-cut death of each hesitation and hurt, the gut-punches of unanswered texts and street lamps—faded from present to past. 

It wasn’t a surprise when the tide changed—more of a matter of when than if. Hands closed around waists and noses nuzzled; pulses quickened and hips aligned. Charlie brushed his lips against the hinge of Nick’s jaw. 

“Char, I’m not…we should talk first….” Nick said, even as he fisted Charlie’s shirt in his hands and pulled him tighter. 

Their self-imposed barriers crumbled kiss by peppered kiss. “Please, Nick.”

Nick’s head fell to the side to give Charlie better access, his breath labored. “But you’re probably still…I’m not sure you—”

Charlie knew what Nick meant, but what had happened with Ben was the furthest thing from his mind. “I don’t care, I just need you,” Charlie breathed, his eyes searching for permission. “Please, baby.”

All pretenses were dropped when a whimper escaped from the back of Nick's throat. “Fuck, I really like it when you call me that.”

Charlie trailed open-mouthed kisses along the underside of Nick’s jaw. “Then let me take care of you tonight the way you took care of me.” 

Nick’s eyes sparked, a lit match of liquified amber and molten desire. He wove his fingers through Charlie’s curls and gave a hard tug, setting off a line of firecrackers that exploded, one after the other, when their lips crashed together, over and over and over. Nick swallowed Charlie’s mumbled warning that Isaac could come home at any second. They stumbled into Charlie’s bedroom, urgent mouths and gripped hips.

As soon as the door shut, Charlie fell to his knees, his hands already fumbling with belts and buttons while Nick pressed his back against the door, open-mouthed and heaving. A guttural groan ripped through his lips when Charlie licked a long stripe along the underside of his cock. 

“Fuck, Charlie, you’re so—”  His eyes rolled back into his head when Charlie’s hot mouth swallowed him whole.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Nick panted. “Your lips, your mouth, your smell.” His head thrashed back and forth against the door with each swirled tongue and head bob.

Charlie dug his fingers into the thick muscles of Nick’s thighs and hollowed his cheeks, taking him so deep his eyes watered. He was desperate to taste Nick again, to breathe him in and watch him come undone. 

“God, I’ve never felt—I’ve never been so—oh fuck!”  

They zipped right past the clawing fingers and spiraling cries, a short-fused flame that exploded into sizzling crackles and showering sparks. Even though Charlie was the one on his knees, he felt like he was being consumed. Nick pulsed in his throat, Charlie’s name falling from his lips over and over, a downhill sprint that ended with Nick on the floor and Charlie in his arms, gasping for air in between sloppy kisses.

When Nick’s bones regrew, he pulled off Charlie’s clothes, tugged him toward the bed, and stroked him with purpose, making the kinds of promises they both knew he couldn’t keep— I’ll never let you go and You’re mine, all mine. Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to submerge into the glorious present, to let himself float on the cresting waves and ascend into saltwater sprays. His pants turned to gasps, moans that swelled as Nick stripped him, fast and furious, until he forgot his name and dove over the edge. 

They finally settled, safely ensconced in warm bodies and twined limbs, an unspoken agreement not to mention that their hearts were still precariously placed. At least for tonight they could be held.

🥂🍾🥂

“Charlie.”

No. No. This couldn’t be the end. Charlie pumped his legs faster even though his lungs were screaming for air.

“Charlie,” the voice said again, insistent.

He thrashed, twisting out of bruising grasps and clawing for something, anything, that didn’t crumble in his hands.

“Char, please wake up,” the voice begged. 

Charlie’s eyes flew open, heart pounding and hands fisted. “Wha—where?”

A tentative palm slid along Charlie’s arm, comforting murmurs of You’re okay now and I’m here whispered into the quiet night. Charlie blinked until his eyes adjusted to the dark, fresh gulps of air filling his lungs. 

Nick stared back at him, sleepy and solemn. “I think you were having a nightmare.”

Charlie darted his eyes around the room, searching for shadowed figures and glowing teeth. He brought his hand to his heart and let out a shaky breath when he didn’t find them. “Yeah, sorry.”

Nick placed his palm on Charlie’s cheek, eyebrows knit together. “Shh, no, it’s okay. Can I get you some water? Or I could make tea?”

Charlie shook his head. “No, I just—this happens sometimes. I’ll be okay in a minute. Can you just…can we lay back down?” 

“Of course, yeah.” Nick scooted down until he was flat on his back and opened his arms. Charlie settled into them, the skin of Nick’s chest warm against his cheek, his heartbeat slow and steady under his palm. 

Nick pressed a kiss into the curls on the crown of Charlie’s head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Charlie should have expected that his nightmares wouldn't end with something as simple as a punch to the nose. He had gotten used to the abandoned hallways and ominous presences, that feeling of being constantly watched by someone just out of sight. But the intrusive reality that this was the only night where he’d be shaken from his sleep, wrapped in strong arms and kissed on his temple was unbearable.

He swallowed, throat tight and eyes stinging. 

Maybe he wouldn’t survive after all. 

He covered his face with his hands and burrowed deeper into Nick’s chest as the first sob broke free. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Nick urged, holding him tighter. “Let it out. I’ve got you.” 

Charlie’s voice caught and broke on every hiccupped syllable. “I know nothing has changed, and your life is still your life, but I can’t stop hoping for—for—.”

Nick took Charlie with him as he rolled onto his side, legs twisting together like vines, foreheads fused. “Char, everything has changed.”

Charlie shook his head, a fresh batch of tears pooling in his eyes. “But it hasn’t. Tomorrow is still going to come and you’ll still have to leave.”

Nick’s gaze softened as his hands cupped Charlie’s cheeks. “I’m not going to leave you. Not tonight and not tomorrow.” 

A hush fell over the room, the blurry edge between dreams and reality clouding Charlie’s vision as he searched Nick’s face. “I know I’m the one who crossed the line earlier, but you can’t just say that. I don’t think I can survive another—” he stopped, his breath hitching. “I can’t do it again, Nick, I can’t.”

Nick pulled Charlie closer, his lips collecting tears from sharp cheekbones and angled jaws. “You won’t have to, I promise. My mind was already mostly made up after what you said in the meeting, but the second I saw Ben in that parking lot it was settled. I’m not wasting another fucking second of my happiness to gain the approval of men like him. I want you.”  

Charlie stilled even as his mind raced. “But you need those clients.”

“Darling, it’s already too late. Warren Hope is the vice-chairman of the clubhouse—I gave up my chance with every client in town when I punched Ben.” He brushed the pad of his thumb under the corner of Charlie’s eyes, a gentle smile on his lips. “I knew exactly what I was doing when I did that. I was choosing you.” 

Charlie’s heart sputtered, its desire to soar counteracted by the fear of the fall. “But—but…how do we get rid of your dad? We still have to help Seema and Anil…”

“I don’t know,” Nick murmured, his words muffled by curls, palms smoothing under shirts and along sides. “But I have to believe there’s a way. I have to believe we’ll figure it out.”

Nick spoke with certainty, like jumping into their rosy-hued future was a simple matter of manifestation, of belief. But belief wasn’t Charlie’s natural state. Belief meant a loss of control, a willingness to be acted upon instead of driving the action. And if Charlie couldn’t drive, he at least needed to know where they were headed. “Are you saying…are we?”

Nick bent his head and pressed their lips together in a kiss so potent it stole Charlie’s breath and answered all of his questions. “I fucked up before. I let my life stop us from being together, but I promise I won’t do that, ever again. I want you—I want everything with you. The rest will fall into place.”

Like gravity, Charlie thought as their lips connected again, his pulse pounding in his ears. Maybe he could believe in his future with Nick the same way he believed in gravity, or in magnetism—universal truths that couldn’t be seen but proved themselves time and time again. 

If anyone could make Charlie believe that the world was full of invisible powers, unseen forces that wouldn’t rest until they reached their desired outcomes, it was the focus-drawing, energy-shifting, tilted-ground pull of Nick Nelson.

Charlie surrendered to the heart-soar and took flight, his cyclical questions and sputtering disbelief fading into specks until they fully disappeared. Their lips found each other, magnet-drawn in the moonlight, each kiss an oath, each promise sealed by pressed palms. Fingers slipped through curls and mouths marked trails across collarbone curves and ridged ribs. Legs wrapped around waists and heavy breaths quickened and condensed into glimmering shudders that rippled and spread. 

This time, when Nick gasped You’re mine, all mine, Charlie believed him like gravity. 

And this time, Charlie chose to speak their truth into existence: I’ll always be yours.

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie padded back into his bedroom and set the steaming mugs on the bedside table. He slid under the covers and propped his head into his hand, watching the rise and fall of Nick’s chest, his fluttering eyelids and soft sighs, while the coffee cooled. 

They floated in and out of consciousness while the light changed behind linen curtains, sleepy smiles and stolen kisses. 

One breath in, another breath out, their first morning.

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie felt Nick’s stomach grumble before he heard it, a slow rumble under his palm followed by a sheepish grin. They stepped into last night’s crumpled clothes and giggled against the kitchen counter until the toast popped up, brushed thumbs against bruised knuckles and kissed crumbs from the corners of their mouths. 

They brushed their teeth side-by-side, eyes dancing when they met in the reflection of the mirror, achingly domestic and sugar-spun sweet. They lifted shirts over shoulders and tugged at waistbands, dark-eyed and aching, hungry hands and curling steam, until they were both satisfied. 

🥂🍾🥂

Charlie lunged for the remote the second he heard the key in the lock of his front door. 

When Isaac opened it a second later, he froze in place, his eyes darting back and forth between Mr. Darcy on the screen and Nick and Charlie snuggled together on the couch.

Charlie held up his hands. “I swear this isn’t what it looks like.”

Isaac swept his gaze over them. Nick was wearing yesterday’s wrinkled trousers, his biceps straining against one of Charlie’s shirts, while the edge of Charlie’s boxers were barely visible beneath the button-up shirt he was swimming in. “I’m pretty sure this is exactly what it looks like.” 

“Oh.” Charlie glanced at his and Nick’s twined fingers. “I wasn’t talking about us; I meant the TV.”

Isaac walked into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. “I don’t know what it says about either of us that you’re more worried about watching Pride and Prejudice without me than you are to be found in post-coital bliss with the man who, must I remind you, broke your heart just last week.”

“I swear I can explain—” Charlie cut himself off. “Wait a minute, where were you last night?” 

Isaac dropped onto the armchair adjacent to the couch and rubbed his temples. “I stayed at Appelle with everyone for a while after Nick left. I assumed he was off to mope in solitude just like you were, so imagine my surprise when I got home and saw the…when I saw the, erm, whatever kind of fancy shoes those are—loafers? Oxfords?”

“They’re actually called brogue wingtips—” Nick started, but he shrank back when Isaac shot him a steely look.

“Anyway, when I saw those vogue wingslips on the shoe rack and you two were nowhere to be found, I decided I might rather just sleep on Tao and Elle’s couch.”

“Probably best for all of us.” Charlie winked at Nick and reached for his hand. Even if Isaac would have missed their first round, he probably would have heard them in the middle of the night. And definitely this morning. 

Isaac let out an aggravated sound. “Charlie! You’re a grown man capable of making your own decisions, but I swear to god if I have to scrape you off the floor again tomorrow I am not going to be happy about it. I understand you two have,” Isaac waved his hand absently in the air, “urges, or chemistry or whatever, but please tell me you actually figured your shit out before you fell into bed with him again.” 

Okay, apparently it was time to rip off the Band-Aid before Isaac ripped off Nick’s head. Charlie drew in a deep breath squeezed Nick’s hand. “Um, well...Ben kind of showed up at Appelle last night?”

Isaac’s eyebrows rocketed into his hairline. He didn’t move for a full three seconds. “I’m sorry, what?”  

“And Nick punched him in the face?”

Isaac’s jaw dropped. “You’re not joking?”

Nick held his swollen, scabbed hand hand in the air like a badge of honor.

Isaac uncrossed his legs and set his coffee cup down. “Alright. Enough beating around the bush. Out with it.”

Charlie and Nick took turns explaining what happened the night before: how Ben had found Charlie through François Gaudel’s article, how he begged Charlie to come back to Sunny Skies publishing, how he lost his cool when Charlie refused. 

Isaac gaped at Nick. “Sunny Skies was the big client you lost? Like, my Sunny Skies?” 

Charlie nodded grimly. “I know it’s your dream job, Isaac, but it sounds like they’re really struggling.”

“They are,” Nick confirmed. “Like, on-the-verge-of-bankruptcy-Appelle-level struggling.” 

Isaac scrubbed his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ, I knew I should’ve left when all that shit went down with you and Ben.” 

Charlie shook his head firmly. “No. Fuck that. We’ve been through this before. Ben’s terrible choices cost me my job; they shouldn’t have cost you yours too.”

“Well, I suppose now’s as good a time as any to put my contingency plan into effect.”  

Nick looked between Isaac and Charlie. “What contingency plan?”

Isaac explained that he’d saved every penny from his second job at Appelle to start an independent publishing house one day. He didn’t have anywhere near enough, but he had a lot of connections and a great reputation in the industry. His animosity toward Nick thawed when Nick sat up straighter, immediately spit-balling ideas about what Isaac could do now to make his dream a reality in the future, listing off potential investors and sending contact cards for lawyers who worked at reduced rates for startups. Nick even went as far to offer four free hours of consulting for each night Isaac let him sleep over, an offer which both Isaac and Charlie were very grateful for. 

Once they finished up, Isaac directed them back to the conversation they’d been having before they got sidetracked. “So, Nick tells Ben to fuck off. You guys get all horny or whatever—not my area of expertise really—and come back to…to do things to each other—”

“With each other,” Nick clarified, causing Charlie to giggle into his hand.

Though his hackles had lowered throughout their conversation, Isaac still seemed concerned. “You had very real reasons for breaking up last week. You can’t just pretend they don’t exist and break Charlie’s heart for a second time.”

Nick nuzzled his face into Charlie’s neck. “We’re not breaking up again.”   

“Seriously, Isaac,” Charlie said, giving him an encouraging smile. “We’re together this time, for real. Now we just have to figure out how to actually…do it.” 

“By the dopey looks on your faces I'm pretty sure you've figured out how to do it just fine,” Isaac quipped, causing all three of them to groan and roll their eyes. “I’m serious, though. What’s the plan?”

Charlie unwound himself from Nick’s arms and settled onto the opposite side of the couch so he could focus. They actually didn’t have a plan that amounted to much more than a defiant fuck those guys! and a vague hope for the best. They reviewed the facts from every possible angle, but with the parking lot punch-out, any potential leads from the clubhouse were as good as gone. 

“I think our only option at this point is to do what Isaac suggested and cast a wider net.” Nick paused, a resigned smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Who knows, maybe François Gaudel will come through and save the day.”

François hadn’t emailed Charlie back yet, but that didn’t mean anything considering it was a weekend. And there had to be other publications that would be interested in a story about the highs and lows of owning a craft beverage brand, right? The room fell quiet as they wracked their brains for solutions. 

Isaac finally broke the silence. “Alright, so, let me just make sure I’ve got things straight. You two are falling in love, right?”

Nick’s immediate Yes was just as firm as Charlie’s resolute nod. There were no questions or nervous glances. It was a truth universally acknowledged, an unseen, absolute understanding: they were falling in love. They leaned in to exchange a kiss through their giddy grins.

“Oh my god, you guys are sickening,” Isaac sighed. “I might be ace but there’s one thing I know about love—when people find it, they’ll do anything to keep it…I wonder if there are some ‘burn it all down in the name of love’ options we haven't explored yet…” He stroked his chin, staring at his prized copy of The Making of Pride and Prejudice in the middle of the coffee table like the answer was held within its pages. His head snapped up suddenly. “Nick, how much would a client like Sunny Skies be worth to your dad?” 

“I don’t know, a lot?” Nick shrugged. “It would double the size of our company—and his investment—overnight.” 

Isaac sat up straighter. “Stick with me here. Say you had gotten the contract but something terrible happened and you and Sai couldn’t perform the actual consulting work. What would Stéphane do?”

Nick glanced uncertainly at Charlie and then back to Isaac. “I’m not really sure, but he’d probably just hire someone else to take the lead?”

"Mmhmm,” Isaac said as if he’d just received a crucial piece of information. “And theoretically, if NVC hadn’t already been working with Appelle, the contract was as good as yours?” 

“Yeah,” Charlie piped up. “Ben told us his dad didn’t even reach out to anyone else because he’s known Stéphane for years.” 

Isaac bounced excitedly in his seat. “I think you can see where I’m going with this....” 

Charlie and Nick exchanged confused looks. “Um, I’m not sure we can...?” 

Isaac let out a withering sigh and rubbed his temples impatiently. “Sunny Skies wants Stéphane. And Stéphane wants Sunny Skies. You two are the problem.”

“Are you, is it—?” Nick stammered.

“I’msayingyousellNVCtoStéphane insteadofbuyinghimout!” Isaac cried.

The room was completely still as both Nick and Charlie tried to make sense of what exactly Isaac had just said—like the literal words that had come out of his mouth, not to mention the meaning of them. When it finally clicked, Charlie leapt out of his seat and whirled around. “Oh my god! You and Sai should sell to Stéphane  instead of buying him out!”

“Fucking finally someone around here gets it.” Isaac exclaimed, shooting a playful wink at Charlie. “You sell your half of NVC to him for a boatload of cash! Problem solved!”

“But…but...our other clients, our brand,” Nick stammered. “Where would that leave me and Sai? And Imogen and Sophie, for that matter?”

Isaac threw his arms up into the air. “With a complete fucking do-over, that’s where! You’d get enough cash to cover your startup costs and salaries for a few months. Stéphane becomes the sole owner of NVC and instantly doubles the value of the company when he signs Sunny Skies.”

“But isn’t he retired?” Charlie asked. “He doesn’t want to actually run a company. I thought he was just after a payout.” 

Isaac batted Charlie’s protests away like they were pesky gnats. “I may not have gone to business school but I do know a lot about numbers. Doubling an investment overnight is extremely appealing to greedy bastards like him.”

Charlie swiveled to Nick and reached for his hands. “You could start over without any investor debt. You could work with whoever-the-fuck you want for the rest of your lives!”

Nick’s eyes widened like he’d just come up with an absolutely shocking idea. “Oh my god, you guys: we don’t buy, we sell! To my dad!”

“Now he gets it,” Isaac grinned.

Nick scrambled to his feet, patting his pockets for his phone. “If we don’t have to give half our profits to him, we can support Seema and Anil with just a handful of clients a year!” 

Charlie launched himself into Nick’s arms, laughing brightly when Nick caught him and spun him around. Nick set Charlie back down, cradled his face, and kissed him like he was about to board a trans-Atlantic flight. “Sorry, I have to go. Sai and I have a shit-ton to figure out, and we have to do it before Sunny Skies goes out of business or hires someone else.”

“Go, go!” Charlie pushed Nick out the front door, calling “Let me know how it goes!” before closing it and squealing his way over to Isaac for a second twirling hug. 

Their gigglefest was interrupted by a pounding at the front door. Charlie raced over to answer it and immediately dissolved into giggles. “Oh shit, your shirt!”

Nick ran back into the apartment, catching Charlie’s hand and tugging him back to his room. Five minutes, some hastily-swapped clothes, and a dozen happy kisses later, Nick left for the second time. It was time to prepare the pitch of his life. 

Chapter Text

Maturation

Most ciders aren’t made to last. They’re supposed to be crisp and refreshing, quickly consumed and easily enjoyed. But every once in a while you’ll come across a cider that just keeps getting better over time—new layers reveal themselves and sharp edges mellow into something a little softer. When you find one of these rare ciders, hold onto it as long as you can.

The weekend flew by. In between Charlie and Isaac’s usual chores and their trip to Dhaba House for Seema hugs and samosas, it was Sunday afternoon before they knew it. Charlie tried not to bother Nick too much; he knew that he and Sai were probably in the thick of strategizing about NVC’s future, so when Nick texted to see if they could come over to practice their pitch on Sunday evening, Charlie’s ‘yes’ was instantaneous.  

Nick and Sai arrived just in time for dinner. They inhaled their bowls of Teriyaki chicken and rice as if they hadn’t eaten all day, which, given their wrinkled shirts and the dark circles under their eyes, might have actually been the case.

Once they had cleaned up after dinner, Charlie and Isaac settled on the living room couch while Nick and Sai filled them in on the developments of the last 24 hours: they’d gotten in touch with their lawyer, who had helped them determine a reasonable price for their half of NVC and draft a simple term sheet for the sale. Stéphane had agreed to meet them on Monday to discuss what they had called ‘an exciting business opportunity’. He had until the end of the work day on Friday to make a decision about whether he wanted to pursue the acquisition. If he did, they would spend the next several weeks getting into the nitty-gritty details of it all, like what to do with the clients that Nick and Sai were halfway through working with. Nick paused his pacing to hold Charlie’s hands, solemnly swearing that even if Stéphane said no, he wasn’t going anywhere, he promised, while Sai and Isaac pretended to gag behind their backs. 

Sai dropped into the armchair, pulled out his laptop, and clicked open a massive Excel file. “We’re halfway through putting together a new business plan for what we’ve decided to call NVC 2.0.”

“NVC 2.0, how very clever,” Isaac deadpanned. “Now, maybe I’m overstepping here, but have you considered making Imogen a part owner of your new business entity? She might be able to, you know, help with all that.” 

Charlie leapt off of the couch, his index finger taking turns pointing at Nick and Sai. “Okay, I know I’m getting ahead of myself here, but yes , Imogen should totally be an owner of your new venture. I cannot overstate how good she was with me in the early days of our project, not to mention that she’s an actual marketing genius.” 

Nick spun to face Sai. “We actually had her as a part owner in our original business plan way back in college, remember? My dad talked us out of it because he thought having three owners was overly complicated, but we could totally revisit it now…what do you think, Sai?”

Sai looked like he was rebooting, blinking repeatedly while his hand hovered over his computer. “Oh! Um, yeah, I definitely remember that conversation.” He licked his lips and blinked again. “Imogen as an owner is…yeah. It’s worth considering again, for sure.” 

Isaac was too excited about Sai’s spreadsheet to notice his strange behavior. He leaned over to get a better look. “You should make similar projections from Stéphane’s perspective,” he said with the familiar I’m about to get to make a new spreadsheet gleam in his eye. “Show him what his profits could be if Sunny Skies was his only client. Even if he had to hire a couple people with MBAs to run it, I bet he’d make a shit-ton of money as the sole owner.”

“I knew I liked you,” Sai grinned, opening a blank spreadsheet like it was a birthday present. 

The four of them spent the next several hours taking turns pacing in front of the TV,  mumbling about office rental fees and commission rates, writing talking points and fine-tuning their presentation. It was nearly midnight when they decided to call it quits: Charlie had to wake up in five hours to receive their can delivery; Nick and Sai wanted to get as much sleep as possible before their big day. They stood, stretching out stiff limbs with sleepy yawns and bleary eyes.

Like the supportive best friends they were, Isaac disappeared into his bedroom and Sai decided to wait in the car, giving Nick and Charlie a few moments alone to say goodnight.

They stood in the dimly-lit hallway, letting out happy sighs as their arms wound around each other. Charlie nuzzled his face into Nick’s chest. “How do you feel about everything?”

Nick dropped a kiss onto Charlie’s head and squeezed him tighter. “Honestly, pretty good, especially after working through the details tonight.”

Charlie tilted his face up, his heart skipping a beat when Nick automatically bent his head to press their lips together. “Your dad would be an idiot to turn it down.” 

Nick smiled into another kiss. “I can’t believe you gave up your Pride and Prejudice watch party to work on financial projections for four hours. You must really like me.”

Even though it had only been a couple days since they’d been back together, it felt like Nick had been proving how serious he was about Charlie for weeks now—he was ‘getting into a fight with your ex in a dark parking lot’ serious. He was ‘risking my career and selling my business for a chance to be with you’ serious. 

Charlie cupped Nick’s face in his hands. His whispered answer of “I really, really do,” didn’t feel like a risk anymore.

🥂🍾🥂

Monday morning passed in a blur of guzzled coffee and semi trucks, gruff good mornings exchanged with the delivery driver and pallet after pallet of empty cans. Charlie unloaded them into the production space, pausing for a moment to examine them. Imogen’s designs were absolutely beautiful, all bright colors and crisp graphics, four distinct brands that, when placed together, formed a cohesive whole.

When Elle arrived a couple hours later, followed shortly afterwards by Nick and Sai, Charlie shooed them into the office, forcing them to cover their eyes so he could give the cans the unveiling they deserved. 

“Oh my god they look incredible!” Elle squealed, clasping Charlie’s forearms for balance as they jumped in chaotic circles around the office.

Sai thrust one of the cans into each of Elle and Charlie’s hands and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Here, pose for me. Imogen will kill us if we don’t send her pictures.”

They spent the next fifteen minutes cackling like sleep-deprived children, bouncing from one room to the next for an impromptu photo shoot. Elle beamed behind the new lineup at the bar. Sai and Nick recreated their corny NVC website photo, standing back to back with blue-steel gazes and a cider in each hand. Charlie scowled at the Prickly Pear and Nick pretended to be passed out on the couch with empty Black Cherry cans littered around him.

Their fun came to an end when Charlie’s timer went off, signaling that his sanitization cycle had finished. He jogged back into the production space to start filtering the Mango Lime cider. If he didn’t stick to his schedule, getting all four flavors kegged and canned in the next three days would be impossible. The only break he allowed himself for the rest of the day came a couple hours later, when he escorted Nick and Sai to the parking lot before their meeting with Stéphane.

They dropped their bags into Nick’s trunk, a quiet determination settling around them. Charlie reached forward to squeeze their shoulders. “You guys are going to do great. Stéphane is a businessman, and this deal makes good business sense. Just lay out the facts; his greed will take it from there.”

Nick twisted his toe into the gravel and let out a sad sigh. “If there’s one thing I know about my dad it’s that his greed knows no bounds.”

“Uh-uh. No.” Sai wagged his finger in Nick’s face. “Now is not the time to get all mopey about how you wish your dad was a better person. He has prioritized his wealth over our happiness for years. He encouraged you to keep your identity a secret, which, by the way, you should have told me about.” 

Charlie’s eyes widened when he saw the sharp look Sai gave Nick and the guilty look Nick returned it with. “Wait, you didn’t know that Nick was in the closet at the clubhouse?” 

Sai threw his arms into the air. “Of course I didn’t! You think I would’ve endorsed that decision if I knew about it? Like usual, Nick put everyone else’s needs above his own even though we never would have asked him to.” 

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, alright, you’ve made your point. I won’t feel guilty for taking advantage of the fact that my dad has always cared more about money than he has about my happiness.” 

Sai held his hands up in surrender and softened his voice. “You’re not the only one who wishes he hadn’t gone into business with Stéphane, Nick. Our days of doing what he wants are over. We’re going to walk in there, use his greed to our advantage, and correct the mistakes we made when we didn’t know any better.” 

Nick huffed out a breath and shook the stress from his arms. “You’re right. Okay. We’re going to do this.” 

“Fuck yeah we are.” Sai launched himself at Nick in some kind of testosterone-fueled bro-hug. They separated, shared firm, decisive nods, and walked to their car doors.

Charlie followed Nick to the driver’s side, fishing around in his back pocket while Nick buckled his seat belt and rolled down the window. “Before you go, I picked up a little something for you over the weekend.” He folded a silky piece of fabric into a triangle, and after the pink, purple, and blue stripes were equally displayed, he leaned forward to kiss Nick through the window and slipped it into the pocket over his heart. “If your dad asks you about it, tell him that your very gay boyfriend got it for you.”

🥂🍾🥂

The next three days passed in a blur of carbonating tanks and tense planning sessions, never ending canning runs and meals scarfed down at desks. According to Nick’s retelling, the meeting with Stéphane had gone as well as could be expected. He always kept his cards close to his vest, but at least he’d listened, asking shrewd questions along the way and calling his lawyer before he had even walked out of the door. 

Charlie and Nick weren’t the only ones burning their candles at both ends. Elle ran around like a madwoman; the press-release Imogen sent out on Tuesday morning—in which she blatantly ‘told the truth about Appelle before anyone else was willing to tell it for them’—had gotten picked up by multiple media outlets who were clamoring for an interview, demanding to know how Appelle had become the nation’s most innovative cider brand and asking if they could have a sample of the ‘highest ranked Prickly Pear cider in history’ for their review.

On Wednesday, François Gaudel finally got back to Charlie. He admitted that he typically wouldn’t consider an article about modern cider, but the combination of Charlie’s well-regarded cidermaking prowess and the unique business angle convinced him to make an exception. Charlie forwarded the email to the NVC and Appelle teams, grinning when Elle squealed from the office, Darcy whooped from the taproom, and his phone lit up with texts.

Charlie: omg he’s actually coming

Charlie: Fwd: ✉

NVC Imogen: Obviously 💅

NVC Sai: We should touch base tomorrow to create our talking points

NVC Sophie: Wait.

NVC Sophie: François Gaudel?

NVC Sophie: THE François Gaudel?

NVC Imogen: Already sent the calendar invite babe 💁🏼‍♀️

NVC Sophie: One of the preeminent wine critics from France who called your Newton Pippin ‘a revelation from one of the most exciting up-and-coming-cidermakers on this side of the Atlantic’ last year???

Nick 💓: Fantastic news! Your ciders are going to blow his mind.

And because the scales of the universe finally seemed to be tipping in their favor, Charlie knew exactly what it meant when Nick skidded into the kitchen on Friday afternoon, chest heaving like he’d run from his office four miles away, phone held triumphantly in the air. 

“Oh my god, he said yes didn’t he?” Charlie asked.

Nick shook his head in dazed disbelief. “Signed term sheet and everything.”  

Charlie threw his measuring cup into the sink, yelled that he’d see everyone tomorrow, and grabbed Nick’s outstretched hand. They sprinted through the production space, speaking in gasped out sentence fragments—Are you really? and I can’t believe; Where’s Sai? and Wait! Turn here!

Charlie pushed Nick into the walk-in cooler and kicked the door shut behind him. Nick spun around, arms already reaching to pull Charlie close. They stumbled their way through the cooler, fumbling hands and frantic kisses interrupted by giggles when they knocked over empty kegs and gasps when they bumped into freezing ones. 

When they finally settled into the tiny square of unoccupied space in the corner, they just stared at each other, the future they’d been too scared to dream about silently spoken through shimmering eyes. There was an endless parade of shared kisses and shared beds, trail runs on wooded paths and freckles that darkened during lazy days on the lake. There were hikes across snowy peaks and tangerine sunsets, wine stems twirled between fingers and floppy-eared dogs. There were sweaty move-in days and tense conversations, dilated pupils and waistband tugs, quiet nights and family dinners and shoulders that shook with laughter. 

“Is this real life?” Charlie whispered. 

Nick stroked his thumbs over Charlie’s cheekbones, his eyes glittering with happy tears. “Come with me and Sai to tell Seema and Anil.” Nick’s kiss made Charlie’s protests disappear like confetti tossed in the wind. “Come with me.” 

“Okay.”

🥂🍾🥂

Sai and Nick burst through the doors of Dhaba House, their exuberance barely contained by the small restaurant.

Seema let out a withering sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m fine!” She finally glanced up, a smile lighting up her face when she saw Isaac and Charlie still hovering by the door. “Anil!” she called over her shoulder, already untying her apron. “The day we’ve been waiting for has finally arrived!”

Nick and Sai whirled around, mouthing a combination of Do you know what they’re talking about? and Did you already tell them? while Isaac and Charlie shook their heads and held up innocent hands.

Anil walked through the swinging door, his arms open wide. He placed one of them around Seema’s shoulders and beckoned Isaac and Charlie to come closer with the other. “Isaac, Charlie, meet our sons, Sai and Nick.”

“Nick is an honorary son,” Seema interjected.

“And what an honor it has been to watch him grow into this impressive man who stands before us all now.” Anil gestured stiffly at Nick and then glanced at Seema, who gave him an encouraging nod.

Nick tilted his head to the side. “What are you guys doing? Why are you being so weird?”

Seema pressed her palm into Charlie’s back so firmly that he stumbled forward. Her eyes widened in delight when Nick reached out to help Charlie steady himself. “We’ve always thought that you two in particular might hit it off.” 

Sai gaped at his parents, his head swinging back and forth between them. “You…wait. Are you trying to set Nick and Charlie up right now?”

Isaac dropped into one of the booths and tossed an imaginary piece of popcorn into his mouth. On the other side of the city, Darcy lifted her head suspiciously.

Seema folded her arms across her chest. “Well, my kids are too focused on work to meet someone and give us grandkids, so maybe my honorary son and my restaurant son can make it happen for me.”

Sai gritted his teeth. “There are actually several reasons why Rahmi and I—”

“Charlie’s already my boyfriend,” Nick blurted out. 

Seema and Anil’s jaws dropped when Charlie slipped his hand into Nick’s and nodded happily. “What can I say—you have great instincts!”

Seema smacked the back of her hand against Anil’s chest. “I told you they were perfect for each other. And now look, next thing you know we’re going to be grandparents.” 

“Okay, you’re really side-tracking us from the purpose of our visit,” Sai laughed. “We actually have some important news, and before you ask, no it isn’t related to boyfriends or grandkids or any of us falling in love.”

“But what could be more important than romantic love?” Anil cried incredulously. 

“You could make a case for filial love,” Isaac piped up from his booth.

“Love between men and horses?” Seema gasped.

Sai pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “No, between children and parents, Jesus mom.”

Seema and Anil finally stopped talking. They slid into one of the larger booths, their hands gripped on top of the table they’d wiped down dozens of times every day for the last thirty years, listening with confused expressions as Nick and Sai told them about everything that had happened that day.

“But we don’t want to retire,” Seema said once Sai had finished his explanation. “Your father and I love this place.”

Isaac let out a withering sigh. “Please tell me you asked them if they wanted to retire before you went through all of this?”

“I…well, I mean, not in so many words …” Nick stammered, glancing at Sai for help.

“Come on, Isaac, be serious. You really think my parents would have accepted our help if they knew we were planning to offer it? They’re about as stubborn as they come. Of course we didn’t ask them.” 

Isaac dropped his head to his hands and muttered something about being surrounded by ‘well-intentioned imbeciles but imbeciles nonetheless.’

Anil shrugged simply. “It’s very kind of you boys to offer, but our work makes us happy—we get to watch people fall in love and kids grow up. We get to share a part of our lives that we lost when we moved here. This restaurant provided for our family; it put you and Rahmi through college.”

“You don’t have to retire today, or even in the next five years. But at some point you’re going to need to slow down a bit, and whether you actually retire, or need help around the house, or even medical care, we’ve got you covered,” Nick said firmly. “You worked really hard to give us the lives we have, and now it’s our turn to give you the rest you deserve.”

Seema narrowed her eyes, looking shrewdly at the four men across the table from her. “I’ll slow down as soon as I have a grandchild to take care of.”

Nick threw his head back and laughed, squeezing Charlie’s knee beneath the table. As happy as they were to be boyfriends, Charlie was certain they hadn’t reached the ‘fuck it, let’s have kids’ stage of serious quite yet. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the tinkling of the bell over the door. Seema took a moment to hug her biological son, her honorary son, and her restaurant sons, whispering thank you and you were a joy to raise and I have a friend who works at an adoption agency before she scuttled back behind the counter. 

Since it was already past dinner time, Sai ducked into the kitchen and returned with several trays worth of food. They spent the next hour sharing the details of their deal with Stéphane over steaming curries and crispy samosas—he hadn’t even made a counter-offer and Sunny Skies had already signed a contract with him. When Isaac asked whether they had told Imogen or Sophie yet, Nick and Sai shook their heads—they didn’t want to distract them while they were in the final hours of prep before Appelle’s relaunch—but they planned to do it as soon as possible. 

Sai patted his stomach and stifled a yawn. “Now that we've sold NVC, tomorrow is going to feel like a giant party.”

“Well, you may not have a lot on the line any longer, but we still do,” Charlie pointed out.

Nick gave Charlie’s arm a comforting squeeze. “Trust me, with those ciders and François Gaudel already checked into his hotel, Appelle’s future is as good as guaranteed at this point. You just get to sit back and enjoy it.” 

“Speaking of sitting back and enjoying it, I’ll be staying at Tao and Elle’s tonight,” Isaac announced. “I assume you two are interested in having your own private celebration?”

Charlie’s cheeks went hot. He and Nick hadn’t discussed it yet, but after a week of long days and stress-dreams, this last hour of casual affection—the thigh presses and thumb brushes, the curls tucked behind ears and arms thrown around shoulders—felt like tortuous foreplay.

“Nah, don’t put yourself through the trouble,” Nick answered, turning to Charlie with a raised eyebrow. “Want to stay at mine tonight?”

It was almost too casual, too easy, this public deliberation about whose place they would sleep at, discussed over bowls of rice while their best friends chatted about work. But maybe, for once, easy domesticity was what they deserved—no more clenched-fist denials of true selves, no more furtive looks over shoulders. Maybe easy domesticity was their reward for refusing to settle for heartbreak when they had glimpsed the glimmer of something precious on the horizon. 

Charlie grinned. “Yeah. I really, really do.”

🥂🍾🥂

After a quick stop at Charlie’s apartment for a change of clothes and his toiletry bag, Nick and Charlie arrived in Nick’s bedroom.  

Nick flopped onto his back on the bed while Charlie rummaged through his bag for the pajamas he knew he wouldn’t need. “I feel like this is the fiftieth time we’ve said this, but god, what a day.”

“Seriously.” Charlie tossed his sleep shorts onto the pillow and let out a weary sigh. “It’s probably wishful thinking, but maybe after the relaunch we can lead boring lives for a few months.”

“I have a feeling life will never be boring with you.” Nick sat up with a grin and met Charlie in the middle of the room, like making a reference to their shared future was just another conversation, a casual and easy assumption. 

They settled into an embrace, hands loosely-linked, wrapped in the kind of quiet that came from living alone. Charlie gazed at Nick, his dark lashes and freckled cheeks glowing and dimming in the undulating lights of passing cars outside the bedroom window. 

Nick slid his hands under the hem of Charlie’s shirt, warm palms pressing into soft skin. “What are you thinking about?” 

Charlie brushed a lock of hair off of Nick’s forehead. “So…you kind of sold your company today.” 

A bright burst of laughter bubbled out of Nick. “God, I guess I did.”

“You’re like a proper business mogul now,” Charlie teased. “Started and sold your first company before you were even thirty.” 

“If my dad weren’t such a dick he’d be so proud of me right now.” Nick’s words were an inconvenient truth, filled with the potential for pain, but his smile was just as warm as it always was. 

Charlie settled his hand against Nick’s heart as if he had the power to heal, pressed their lips together like he could kiss the complicated feelings away. “Well, I’m proud of you. I hope that counts for something.”

The tenor of their evening changed from lighthearted to earnest when Nick tightened his grip around Charlie’s hips. “Char, it counts for everything.” 

He bent his head to answer Charlie’s silent request for a second kiss, their conversation continuing through sliding lips and twirling tongues. For what felt like the first time, there wasn’t any urgency in their movements, no ticking clocks or side-stepped conversations. They undressed each other, grinning when Charlie breathed fucking hell as he pushed Nick’s shirt over his broad shoulders, giggling when Nick had to put real effort into tugging Charlie’s skinny jeans over his ankles, pausing to bask in just how uncomplicated their lives felt now that their future together was secure. 

It didn’t take long for the heat that had been building between them all week to turn into a simmer. They fell onto the bed, hands intertwined overhead and lips fused.

“Charlie,” Nick panted in between kisses, his eyes dark and lashes fluttering. “I never thought this would happen to me.” 

Charlie couldn’t be sure what Nick was talking about—maybe it was selling his business to his dad, maybe it was having a boyfriend he didn’t have to hide—but when Charlie rolled on top of Nick and trailed his lips across the thrumming pulse in his neck, his answer of I know, baby, neither did I, was about how hard he was falling.

Nick arched his back and let out a groan of pleasure when their swollen cocks slid between them. “If—if I hadn’t met you…and I almost let you go…” His words turned into a low moan when Charlie’s fingers pressed into him, slick and slow.

“I’m here now,” Charlie promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

When Charlie pushed into Nick for the first time, the hope that had been shimmering in their eyes for weeks hardened into certainty. They gave in to each other, eyes locked and abs clenched, heads pressed into pillows and sweat dripping onto sheets. Gravity melded their bodies together; a powerful magnetism snapped them back together every time they pulled apart, again and again until they cried out and clawed for each other.  

“Nick, I’m going to come,” Charlie gasped, eyes squeezed shut and hips stuttering. 

“Let go, darling, I’ll come with you,” Nick urged. Even though Charlie was the one in control, he felt like he was being swept out to sea, floating gently on the waters he always assumed were treacherous. Falling in love with Nick didn’t feel like a dangerous surrender; it felt like a necessary one. 

So Charlie relished the fall and let go.

Chapter Text

The Release

What a ride! By now you’ve created a brand that connects with its customers, honed your cidermaking skills, and made sure that your mission, vision, and values align with your goals for the future. That means that it’s time to release your fledgling new company to the masses. Whether you choose to look at this as the culmination of all of your hard work or the first step of a magical new journey, make sure you take time to appreciate everyone that helped you get here. 

Now, let’s sell some cider! 

Charlie had had dozens of different morning routines throughout his life.

When he was six, he and his older sister Tori would tiptoe out of their bedrooms on Saturday mornings to watch cartoons in a pile on the couch, skinny limbs and fuzzy blankets, frozen waffles eaten straight from the box. 

High school was all about getting just one more minute of sleep, which meant rushed showers and inhaled breakfast bars, backpacks slung over shoulders and sprints to catch the bus before it pulled away. 

His early-morning run phase during college transitioned to black coffee and crossword puzzles when he lived alone. The cautiously-offered smiles and skipped breakfasts during the Ben years became 5:00 alarms and echoing footsteps during his morning rounds at Appelle. 

Even though it had only happened twice, waking up with Nick was already his favorite way to start the day. They were eased into consciousness by the dimmer switch of daylight through the window, nestled in a cocoon of fluffy pillows and entwined limbs. An hour passed huddled under the sheets, the imprint of sleep fading from their cheeks as they described their dreams in hushed tones and giggled through imitations of each others’ sleep noises.

They ate breakfast like it wasn’t optional—scrambled eggs for Nick and Shredded Wheat with skim milk for Charlie (what? He actually liked Shredded Wheat)—had a second helping of protein during their shared shower, and discussed the drastic ways their work lives were about to change while they got dressed. 

“I’m actually kind of excited about starting over,” Nick admitted after explaining everything he and Sai would have to do over the next few weeks to untangle themselves from NVC—informing their current clients about the transition, creating their new ownership structure, filing paperwork with the city and state. 

Charlie stepped into his jeans. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ve always wanted to work with food and beverage businesses, and now we can be a bit more targeted with our brand. Plus, all the press from Appelle’s relaunch will be a great way for us to make a splash in the industry.”

“Well, I know Sophie’s already gotten Elle’s testimonial, but if she needs another one from us, I’d be happy to give you a very honest and in no way biased review.” 

Nick sauntered over and settled his hands on Charlie’s waist, thumbing over the hipbones poking out over the waistband of his jeans. “Oh yeah? Care to give me a little preview?”  

Charlie grinned and patted Nick’s cheek. “Oh, you know, just the usual. Wears inappropriate apparel. Upsetting over-use of the phrase ‘circle back’. Completely unhinged comebacks when provoked.”

Nick’s jaw dropped. “Hey, that’s not very nice.”

“Well, I can’t have Sophie telling everyone how adept you are at finding your clients’ sweet spots, can I?”

Nick giggled into Charlie’s shoulder. “Probably for the best, yeah.”

They grinned at each other. Nick reached for Charlie’s hand. “Ready to become the most innovative modern cider brand in the country?”

Charlie clasped it. “Ready.”

🥂🍾🥂

Unlike the news about NVC’s sale—which Sai was eager to announce at the all-hands meeting before the relaunch—Nick and Charlie decided that their updated relationship status was better handled on a case-by-case basis.

Darcy, however, had a different idea. Their cheerful ‘Morning, gays!’ died on their lips as they assessed Nick and Charlie from head to toe with narrowed eyes. A slow grin spread across their face. “You two had sex last night.” 

Nick placed a hand on his chest and whirled around as if Darcy might be talking to someone else. “Who, us? With each other? I–I mean, what do you…how did you—” 

Darcy’s jaw dropped in delight. “Oh my god, you did it twice!”

Elle gasped, eyes wide with delight, so Charlie decided there was no use denying it. “Um, well, I guess the exact number of times depends on your personal definition of sex…” 

Sophie’s matter-of-fact “Oral sex absolutely counts,” was drowned out by Elle’s and Imogen’s squeals. They wrapped Nick and Charlie into a four-way hug, hot pink nails squishing cheeks together and Charlie, I’m going to need details! mouthed behind backs, before Sai gave Nick a pointed look.

“Right,” Nick muttered. He cleared his throat in a very Yes-I-know-everyone-would-rather-talk-about-mine-and-Charlie’s-incredible-sex-life-but-there’s- business- to-attend-to kind of way. “Sai and I have some important news to share with the NVC team.” 

The giggles died down when everyone noticed his serious expression. Imogen unwound her arms from around Charlie while Sophie rooted around in her bag for her sparkly purple pen to take notes.

Sai took over the conversation. “The timing isn’t ideal, given that it’s the morning of Appelle’s relaunch, but we wanted to make sure you guys understand that the stakes of today’s event are almost as high for us,” he pointed between him and Nick, “as they are for them,” he gestured at Elle and Charlie.

Nick stepped forward, gave Sai a resolute nod, and ripped off the Band-Aid. “We sold NVC to my dad yesterday.” 

Time stopped. Charlie darted his gaze between Elle’s widened eyes and Sophie’s dropped jaw, Nick’s squared shoulders and Sai’s shuffling shoes. 

It was Imogen who popped the bubble of surprised silence they were all suspended in. “What? You sold NVC to Stéphane and didn’t even warn me?”

Nick reached for her shoulder. “Im, it all happened so quickly—”

She batted his arm away and put her hands on her hips. “I was a part of every conversation when we were planning NVC; the least you could do is give me a head’s up that selling the company was on the radar!”

“But Imogen—” Sai started.

“So now what, I work for Stéphane? Because, respectfully, I’d rather paint my nails brown than be in the same room as that man.”  

Nick waved his hands, trying to stop Imogen’s spiral. “No, no, we’re forming a new business—starting over and doing things the way we always should have!”

“We want you to be an owner!” Sai blurted, which caused everyone in the room to freeze in place. He scrubbed his hands over his face and made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Look, we weren’t going to get into all of this until Monday, but since you’re about to blow a fuse,” he jokingly rolled his eyes, “we might as well discuss it now.” 

Then, he dropped down on one knee and reached for Imogen’s hands, which caused everyone in the room—including Nick and especially Imogen—to gasp. 

“What is happening right now?” Elle muttered into Charlie’s ear. He shrugged and reached for the tub of imaginary popcorn Darcy offered him.

“Imogen Heaney, you have been instrumental to NVC’s success through the years.” Sai grinned up at Imogen above him. “You were there the day we conceived this company and have been a part of every single conversation since. We let Stéphane talk us out of making you an owner once, and believe me, I have regretted that decision every day since.” He gave her a significant look and squeezed her hands between his. “Will you make me the happiest man on earth and do us the honor of becoming an official co-owner?”

Imogen placed one of her hands over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh my god, Sai. Does this mean what I think it means?”

Sai swallowed and nodded, still gazing up at Imogen from his spot on the ground, his own eyes glistening.

“There’s no need to be vague, Immy, we all know what you’re talking about,” Nick grinned. 

“Do you?” Imogen squeaked, her cheeks turning pink as she peeked at Sai, who looked just as confused.

“Mhm, and the answer is yes, you will get your own corporate card.” Nick beamed and held his hands out wide.

“Right! Of course!” Imogen broke into a fit of manic giggles while Sai awkwardly stood up and brushed the dust from his knee. “The corporate card! That’s exactly what I was thinking about. Yay!” She shimmied her shoulders with a little less enthusiasm than usual. 

“Obviously we still have a lot to figure out,” Nick continued, speaking to Imogen and Sophie, “but what you need to know for now is that your jobs are secure, we’re all getting raises, and we’re targeting the food and beverage space instead of the large corporate clients we’ve been after.”

“Well, this may be a bit premature of me to say, but you can go ahead and pencil Appelle in as your very first client,” Elle announced. “I have a feeling we’re going to need as much of your support moving forward as it took to get to this point and, if you all don’t mind me kind of taking the reins here, we kind of have a lot to do before our relaunch in,” she glanced at her watch, “less than an hour. So…can we continue this discussion next week?”

“Of course!” Imogen seemed relieved to have the attention off of her. 

“Great, so here’s the game plan.” Elle outlined what needed to be done, reminding Charlie, Nick, and Sai that they would be pulled for interviews with various media outlets throughout the day and informing Darcy that their kitchen and bartender support staff should be arriving any minute. “Charlie, you’re in charge of cider if we blow any kegs or need to restock the can cooler, and the rest of us are on dishes and trash and schmoozing duty, sound good?”

A chorus of Sounds good! echoed through the room. 

“Alright then, we should probably go out there and get everything set up. But in case we’re so busy I don’t get a chance to say this until later,” she cut herself off and let out an embarrassed huff. When she spoke again her voice was watery. “I am not going to cry right now, but I couldn’t have done this without each and every one of you. I know you’re contractually obligated to talk to me, but I hope that our personal relationships last a lot longer than our professional ones.”

“Absolutely they will,” Sai affirmed.

Nick grinned and wrapped his arm around Charlie’s shoulder. “The two of us will make sure of that.” 

With a final list of last-minute instructions, the NVC team headed toward the taproom to set up an informational table while the Appelle team congregated in the kitchen to help Darcy slice cheese for the charcuterie boards and pre-portion her world-famous ‘trash sauce’ into one-ounce ramekins. 

Darcy nudged Charlie with their shoulder. “I may have known it was coming since the second Nick walked out in the ‘Cider is for Gay Lovers’ tank top and your tongue unrolled from your mouth like a cartoon wolf, but I’m really happy for you.”

“Okay, I didn’t like him until much later on, but thank you, I’m pretty happy for me, too.”

“Oh please, Charlie, be serious,” Elle chided. “You think I invited Nick to family dinner just for shits and giggles? You two were taking so long to just admit what was clearly happening that I had to take matters into my own hands before I exploded.” 

“And now look at them,” Isaac quipped. “Charlie is taking Nick into his own hands until he explodes with such regularity that I might just take up permanent residence on your couch.” 

“Nick’s only stayed over one time at our apartment and you weren’t even there!” Charlie cried.

Elle snorted and covered her mouth. “When Isaac walked into our apartment that night with his pajamas in one hand and his toothbrush in the other, you would’ve thought he’d seen a ghost, he was so stunned.” 

Isaac covered his hands over his ears and shuddered dramatically. “You wouldn’t believe the noises I overheard in the five seconds it took me to get my things.” 

Charlie spun to face Isaac. “Wait, you told them?”

Isaac held up a hand. “I did no such thing.”

“He didn’t have to,” Elle said flatly. “The way you two were looking at each other the next day was enough for me to put two and two together. Didn’t you catch my ‘did you guys prep before you came’ comment? Do you think I just say things like that?” She looked horrified.

Darcy folded their arms across their chest and leaned their hip against the fridge, a rare show of sincerity on their face. “You know, Charlie, Elle’s right. Even if you hadn’t confirmed you two were together, it would’ve been obvious to anyone who has eyes. Nick looks at you the way Tao looks at Elle and Tara looks at me. And that look is way more telling than those dopey sex smiles you guys were trying to hide this morning.”

Charlie knew exactly what Darcy was talking about—it was in the brimming pride on Tara’s face just a couple weeks ago during their customer feedback event; it was the way Tao’s scowl softened the second Elle walked into the room. 

But he’d also seen that look light up Seema’s face when Isaac and Charlie walked through her door each Saturday. He saw it when Sai and Nick squared their shoulders and clasped their hands together, years’ worth of support and understanding passing between them as they headed off to talk to Stéphane. Charlie received that same steady love and unwavering care every time he rushed straight to Isaac’s bedroom the second he got home.  

There had been many times over the years when Charlie wondered whether he would ever get to experience the kind of love that inspired poets to write sonnets and musicians to compose symphonies. When Elle opened up her arms for a group hug, whispering how grateful she was to live out her dreams with her best friends by her side, Charlie was reminded of the many great works written about friendship, too: the heart-swelling pride of watching someone who refused to give up, the determination of a group of friends who banded together to bring beauty into the world. 

And when Nick poked his head through the door a few seconds later to let them know that François Gaudel had arrived, and his gaze softened into the very look Darcy had just described when their eyes met, Charlie surrendered to that same floaty certainty of stories that he would one day write.

🥂🍾🥂

Quantifying the success of Appelle’s relaunch was going to take several days of number crunching, so Charlie gathered as much qualitative evidence as he possibly could, and anecdotally speaking? It was fucking wild.

Twenty minutes before the doors opened, the line of excited customers was already halfway down the block. Imogen worked the crowd like a pro, offering free cider samples to anyone who followed Appelle on Instagram and introducing Sai and Nick to the many small-business owners she met. 

Charlie sidled up to her once she had settled behind the informational table in the corner. “You know, I did a bit of research and it turns out you were right: there is a vineyard in Paris.”

“Oh?” she asked, seeming surprised.

“Yeah, I thought you might want to know that, just in case some strapping man who isn’t your boss anymore finally admits he’s been in love with you all along.”

Imogen covered her flaming cheeks with her hands. “Why Charles, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” 

As if their names had been called, Nick and Sai lifted their eyes from the other side of the room, each silently searching until they snapped into their rightful places, onyx black and icy blue; melted amber and stormy seas. 

Imogen fluttered her fingers in a soft wave, a lovesick sigh escaping her lips. “Amazing, isn’t it? It’s almost like good things do come to those who wait.” 

Like an empathetic portal had been unlocked inside of him, Charlie suddenly understood just how patient Imogen and Sai had been: years of bent heads and business plans, marketing classes and brainstorming sessions. The heartbreak of a rescinded ownership offer and tamped down desires, sassy credit card exchanges and winking public arguments, each and every interaction offered as a tiny glimmer of hope, a silent plea to please keep waiting for me like I’m waiting for you. 

Charlie wrapped his arm around her shoulder and shared a gentle smile with Nick across the room. “They definitely do.”

Before they could further dissolve into gooey puddles on the floor, a man walked up to introduce himself to Nick, and Sai and Darcy waved their hands in the air to get Charlie’s attention. He gave Imogen one final squeeze and then headed to the bar. When Darcy informed him that one of the kegs was empty and needed to be switched out, Charlie assumed there had to be a leak in the draft system, but Darcy ensured him with a cross between panic and mania in their eyes that it was just “balls to the wall fucking-insane-levels of cider sales, my man!” before sprinting to the other side of the bar.

Sophie’s camera was permanently fixed to her face as she circled the room like a vulture, snapping photo after candid photo of the exact moment someone realized they’d just tasted their new favorite drink. She bounced over to Charlie and Elle, who were huddled in the corner estimating what their sales would be by the end of the day.

“Look at this photo I just got of François Gaudel,” Sophie whispered, thrusting her camera toward them. Charlie and Elle bent their heads, grinning at the look of sublime satisfaction on his face as he sipped a Black Cherry cider. 

“Oh my god, Charlie, he loves it!” Elle hissed. She handed the camera back to Sophie. “Do you think he’d let us post that on our socials?”

“Well, I would, but…” Sophie fiddled with a few buttons to zoom in on Charlie’s blurry but very visible face in the background. She looked at them apologetically. “I’m sorry—I didn’t notice Charlie was in the shot. But I’ll keep my eye on Monsieur Gaudel,” (yes, she said that with a perfect French accent 🙄), “maybe he’ll make an even better face when he tries the Prickly Pear.”

“Actually, you know what,” Charlie straightened up and wrapped his arm around Elle. “I think it’s about time I hard-launched my relationship with Appelle, what do you say?”

Elle and Sophie both whirled to gape at Charlie at the same time, Elle with tears already bright in her eyes, Sophie looking like she was about to launch into orbit fueled solely by the power of her own excited vibrations.

Elle reached for Charlie’s hands, voice full of awe. “Charlie, does this mean—?” 

Charlie gave a firm nod. “Tag my personal account, too, Sophie. No more hiding.” He stepped in front of the cooler, filled to the brim with brightly-colored cans, and beamed at the camera while Sophie clicked away. 

Once she was satisfied with her photos, Sophie darted off to greet Hair Plug Tyler when he walked through the door, her very stilted, “Good afternoon, Tyler, I have no observations about your appearance today,” wafting behind her. 

Charlie was pulled in a million different directions over the next five hours. He bounced from one overly-enthusiastic greeting to another, recognizing faces but rarely remembering names. He sat down for an interview with Clara from the Gazette, had an awkward conversation about Appelle’s new direction for What’s Happening on the Weekend while Hair Plug Tyler smoldered at the camera, and led an hour-long tour of his production facility while he answered François Gaudel’s extremely well-researched questions. It was so busy that he actually looked forward to restocking the can cooler because it meant he could disappear into the silent production space for a few minutes to catch his breath.

Nick poked his head through the door, his confused expression settling into understanding when he found Charlie stretched out on the office couch, staring vacantly at the wall. He crossed the room and lifted Charlie’s legs for just long enough to sit down underneath them. “Hey, you doing alright?”

Charlie nodded and gave Nick a tired smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just recharging for a couple minutes.”

Nick squeezed his calves. “Okay. Well, when you’re ready, a guy from the clubhouse is here and he wants to meet you.”

Charlie sat up and cocked his head. “He wants to meet me? Why?”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t know; I didn’t even know he was coming. I golfed with him a couple weeks ago and mentioned this project—maybe he’s a cider guy?”

Charlie stood up with a groan and reached out to hoist Nick up, but Nick used gravity to his advantage and tugged Charlie right back into his arms for a series of quick kisses. They finally unwound from each other, flushed and giggling, taking turns straightening out each others’ shirts and smoothing down errant curls before they headed back into the taproom.

They made their way through the crowds until they found a well-dressed man chatting with Sai, his briefcase and a couple folders scattered over the table. He stood up as Nick and Charlie approached.

“John, this is Charlie. He’s the Head Cidermaker here at Appelle and, if I’m not speaking out of turn,” Nick glanced at Charlie and raised an eyebrow, “he had to deal with the brunt of the changes we suggested.”

Charlie chuckled and shook John’s hand. “It was a lot of work, but we’re pretty happy with the outcome. How did you like the cider?”

John flicked his hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, I’m not a cider drinker. I’m in the market for a new consulting firm. I figured these two,” he jerked his thumb at Nick and Sai, “wouldn’t give the most unbiased assessment of their skills, so I thought I’d stop by to ask you directly.”

“Oh.” Charlie’s throat dried instantly. He swallowed and glanced between Nick and Sai—who seemed just as blindsided by the question as he was. The problem was that he almost had too much information to know what would be the best move— Well actually NVC just sold to a new owner and you must not have been to the clubhouse in the last week because if you had you would know all about what happened in that parking lot over there, and anyway, I’ve heard that men from the clubhouse tend to be a bit homophobic so I’d personally prefer if you would just fuck off but I also hate to judge a book by it’s cover—er, a man by his blazer?—and Nick and Sai do need to line up new clients, so maybe they’re actually keen?  

He decided it was simpler to just tell the truth. “They were great, honestly; they cut straight to the heart of our issue, which was a mismatch between our ciders and our brand. It was painful at first, especially for me, but,” Charlie gestured to the crowded bar and the line to buy carry out cans, “it seems to be working out.”

John scanned the crowd full of people, many of whom were visibly queer, and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You suggested they lean further into this aesthetic? This…edgy thing? Surely you know that businesses that chase trends rarely outlast them.”

Nick stiffened next to Charlie. “What trend are you referencing? Specifically?”

John let out an awkward huff and made a vague movement with his hand. “You know.” 

Nick folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t, actually. I might need you to spell it out for me.”

“Nick,” Sai warned, just as Charlie placed a calming hand on his back, out of view.

“It’s just a bit over the top, isn’t it, all these flags and rainbows?” John leaned forward and dropped his voice. “If the cider is as good as you say it is, they shouldn’t have to rely on all these gimmicks. They make everyone who walks through their doors feel so damn uncomfortable.”

Charlie braced himself for Nick to leap across the table and put John into a half nelson, but instead, Nick deflated like a pin-pricked balloon, a long exhale hissing from his lips as he shrunk down to his normal size. 

“You’re right,” Nick said. “The reason Appelle is about to blow up is because their cider is fantastic, not because of the Pride flag in the window.” John gave a smug smile, the words I knew you’d see it my way practically painted across his face, but it disappeared when Nick continued speaking. “They hung that up because this is a queer-owned and operated business. Their sexuality isn’t a gimmick or a trend; it’s a part of who they are, a part that they’re proud of.” 

Nick reached for Charlie’s hand and laced their fingers together. “As a queer man myself, I’m grateful to have found a place that makes people like me feel just as welcome as the clubhouse does for people like you.”  

John’s bushy white eyebrows rocketed into his hairline. “Well how was I supposed to…I wasn’t trying to say anything—”

Nick lifted his chin. “And yet your message was received loud and clear.” 

John seemed momentarily stunned. He darted his eyes to Sai and Charlie as if he expected them to back him up, but they flanked Nick on either side, still and steadfast.  

“If proving some point about how you’re a ‘progressive consulting company’,” John said, finger-quotes and all, “is more important than a potential business opportunity, you’re not the right consultant for me anyway.”

“We’re not.” Nick said flatly. “I’ve spent way too much of my life hiding who I am in the name of ‘potential business opportunities,’” (yes, he used sassy finger quotes here just to rub it in,) “and, quite frankly, the kinds of clients who require that aren’t the right clients for me.”

John gathered the folders from the table and slipped them into his briefcase in a huff. “Don’t blame me if word gets out about this at the clubhouse!” he hissed as he headed for the front door.

“You’d be doing me a service!” Nick called, holding his arms out wide. “If you need a consultant who accepts blatant homophobia, check out Stéphane Fournier. You can tell him I sent you!” 

The second the door closed behind John, Sai and Charlie were on Nick, aggressively jostling him back and forth by the shoulder (Sai) and staring at him with the soppiest, most love-sick look of his entire life (also Sai.) (Just kidding, it was Charlie.) 

“Well that’s one way to fucking do it, Nick, Jesus Christ!” Sai crowed, clapping his hands delightedly.

Nick bent at his hips, bracing himself on his knees like he’d just finished a round of sprints. “Honestly,” he said, a little breathless, “that felt so good.” 

Charlie stood next to Nick and rested his hand on his back. “You know what would make this moment feel even better?”

Nick popped up, already grinning, and pulled Charlie into his arms. They rocked back and forth, giggling into each other’s necks and whispering things like No more hiding and That was extremely hot and I’m a bit worried I have a thing for public shaming before their lips met in the soppiest, most love-sick kiss of their entire lives, and when Darcy turned on ‘Born this Way’ and Elle grabbed the Pride flag from the window and waved it in the air like it was a battle cry and Imogen wrapped her hot-pink nailed hand around Sai’s tie and tugged him through the doorway to the office and Isaac started a chorus of wolf-whistles and Sophie led a Conga line with a very tipsy François Gaudel and Hair Plug Tyler giggling behind her, the whole thing just felt right, you know?

🥂🍾🥂

It was dark by the time Nick and Charlie finally stepped into the deserted parking lot, two tired figures slumped together with hands held and loosened ties. Appelle’s customers had long-since driven away, depositing cases of the highest-ranked prickly pear cider in history right next to their new Fruity Cider Lover merch in their trunks. 

Nick leaned against his car door and tipped his head up to the darkened sky. “Today was amazing, but god, I can’t wait to go home and have you to myself for a bit.” 

Charlie stepped in front of him and smiled when Nick opened his arms without needing to be asked. He rested his cheek against Nick’s chest and let out a tired exhale. “Yeah? You got plans I should know about?”

Nick’s rumbling laughter vibrated into Charlie where their chests pressed together. “Seema’s grandkids aren’t going to make themselves, you know.”

Charlie stepped as far back as Nick’s tight embrace would let him. “Why, Nick Nelson, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were asking me to get you pregnant.”   

Nick grinned at him, wide and uncomplicated. “Maybe you should try.” 

Charlie surged forward to kiss the smirk off of Nick’s face. Nick made a surprised sound from the back of his throat but it only took a second for him to catch up. He slid one hand from Charlie’s back into his hair and gripped Charlie’s hip with the other.

“Nick,” Charlie breathed, but his words evaporated when Nick sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and pressed their bodies closer together. Tingles raced along Charlie’s spine like a fingertip dragged along the keys of a piano, each note higher than the last, and when he circled his thumb around Nick’s nipple and Nick’s hips involuntarily bucked forward, it pulled the highest note straight out of Charlie’s mouth.

“God, Charlie,” Nick said, breath ragged and voice raspy. They rested their foreheads together and giggled about how easy it was to get carried away and then kissed again, softer this time, a reminder that they had all the time in the world. Nick laced their fingers together and let out a content sigh. “I know that it’s way too soon, and I know that an abandoned parking lot is definitely not the right place to do it, but I’d tell you that I was in love with you right now if either of those things weren’t true.” 

Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. It was too soon—they both knew it—but they also both knew that they were in a dead sprint toward the day it wasn’t. Charlie smiled and squeezed Nick’s hands. “Well, as a very wise woman once said to me, sometimes it’s okay to tell the truth before it actually happens.”

Nick’s voice was deep, heavy with the implications of everything they were about to speak into existence. “And what truth would you tell, even if it hasn’t happened yet?”

Charlie turned around to rest his back against the sun-warmed car and laid his head on Nick’s shoulder. “I would say that you telling me you love me for the first time in the very place where you showed me that you did, over and over again, is about the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” He traced the path from the parking lot to the back door of the production space with his finger. “You met me here every morning, Nick, hours before you had to. That lamp—the one flickering in the corner, the one reflecting in the gold flecks in your eyes—that lamp only exists because of how much you cared about my safety. You did that before you even liked me.”

Nick brought their hands up to his lips. “There was no before,” he murmured against Charlie’s knuckles.

The oxygen in Charlie’s lungs turned into helium with the thought that Nick had liked him since the moment they met; their hands became the tether that kept him from floating away. He tapped his free hand against Nick’s car, parked in the same spot it always was. “And this is the exact place where you fought for me, and I don’t even mean that metaphorically. You literally punched Ben in the face—you probably broke his nose! You ended the worst chapter of my life even though you knew it would complicate yours.”

Nick tugged Charlie against his body, as if being pressed side-to-side wasn’t enough. “It wasn’t even a question.”

Charlie settled into Nick’s arms and cupped his cheeks. “So, if I’m speaking my own future into existence, I’d say that one day, you’ll meet me after work right here, and there’s going to be a beautiful sunset—all pink and tangerine and gold—and you’ll have a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a pre-chilled 2021 Nua Roots Cider No 2 in the other, and you’ll have have the softest, most earnest look on your face, and you’re going to tell me that you love me.” 

Nick’s eyes shone, caught somewhere in between a memory from the past and a vision of the future, golden lamplight and blue-lit moonbeams. “And how will you respond when I tell you that?”

Charlie brushed his thumb against Nick’s cheekbone and let out a soft sigh. “I’ll say,” he leaned forward to whisper in Nick's ear, “‘Baby, you know I’m super into you, but it’s only been a couple days since we talked about saying I love you for the first time in the parking lot, and I’m sorry, but it’s still way too soon.’” 

“Charlie!” Nick squawked, pushing him away in mock offense as Charlie’s peals of laughter floated into the night sky. 

“We’ve been together for like a week Nick!” Charlie cried, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. “You can’t tell me you love me yet!”

“I didn’t!” Nick bellowed, throwing his hands into the air. “You’re the one who decided on such a short timeline for your manifestation! It’s about the future, alright? You have to think longer-term.”

Charlie sauntered back toward Nick and tapped on his chin. “Longer-term. Okay. So like,” he raised his eyebrow, and even though he knew it was a certainty, his voice still wavered when he said it, “we’re going to fall in love soon, right?”

Nick nodded simply. “We are. At this point, I’d consider that more of our current reality than something we have to speak into existence, but maybe you’re still getting warmed up.”

Charlie stared off into the distance and let the words spill from him without weighing them first. “Alright. So…we’re happy and in love. Your new business is going to take off, and Appelle is going to be hugely successful, and we’re going to get home from work and tell each other about all the things we did during the day.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Nick agreed, reaching for Charlie and widening his stance so that he could settle between his legs. “What else?”

Charlie placed one of his hands on Nick’s shoulder and the other on his cheek. Their eyes fused together like there was nothing else worth seeing. “Our dog—let’s call her Daisy—is going to sit in between us on the couch while we watch tv every night, and we’ll take her hiking, and get her a little doggy life vest so she can go out on the lake with us.”

“But Golden Retrievers are great swimmers,” Nick interrupted, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

Charlie raised his eyebrows and gave Nick an impressed nod. “Good point. Okay so our dog, Daisy, who is apparently a Golden Retriever, will be a great swimmer, and one day the three of us will be on the lake, rocking gently on the waves, and your skin will be covered in a million tiny droplets because you just got back into the boat after a swim, and I’ll look at you, and my breath will catch in my throat because of how sun-soaked and shimmery you are—god, Nick, you’re so beautiful— and I’ll ask you if you’d like to get married someday, and it’ll come as a total surprise to both of us because it just kind of slipped out, but you’ll say yes anyway, and even though I didn’t have a ring or any kind of plan, we’ll tell everyone that we’re engaged from that day on.” 

“Char,” Nick swallowed thickly, “that’s such a beautiful vision for the future. I hope we get to live it.”

Charlie held up his finger. “I’m not done yet. Since I’m manifesting, we’ll move in together and life will be a dream, and nothing bad will ever happen—no more wars, no more famine, peace on earth—and we’ll have an easy life with two and a half happy kids and a white picket fence and great friends and delicious meals and earth-shattering sex twice a night until we die at exactly the same time in our sleep when we’re 94.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “You’re a cheeky little menace, you know that.”

Charlie nodded. “I know. But it’s one of the things you’re going to love about me until the day you die.”

They grinned at each other, smiles brighter than the lamp on the corner. Nick let out a happy sigh and squeezed Charlie so tightly that the air was forced from his lungs and his toes lifted off the ground. 

“Nick,” Charlie said, more serious than he’d been all night.

“Charlie,” Nick responded, just as seriously.

“We’re going to be together forever, aren’t we?”

Nick’s gaze softened. When he spoke, his voice was gravity-sure. “Yeah, we are.”

Charlie pressed onto his tiptoes and brushed his thumbs across Nick’s cheeks, surrendering to a life of constant freefalls and the kind of faith that preceded and then shaped the truth. Their lips slid together in a silent conversation; a quiet certainty seeped through their skin like the warmth of a palm on a knee under a table or gazes that couldn’t help but tangle across crowded rooms. 

Belief had never been so easy. 

Chapter Text

How Hot-Shot Up-and-Coming Clarity Consulting Pulled Appelle from the Gaping Maw of Bankruptcy and Turned them into the Nation’s Hottest Cider Brand

Sublime. Evocative. Transcendent. Revelatory.

These were just some of the words I wrote onto the back of my napkin last week during a cider—yes, a cider—tasting.

Though my title is Executive Wine Editor, sometimes my duties require me to dip my toes into the fray—aperitifs, meads, even non-alcoholic wines. Usually, I resent such assignments; we are Food & Wine magazine, after all.

I had no such qualms when I received an invitation—from the Head Cidermaker himself—for a brand relaunch for Appelle, easily one of the Northwest’s most exciting cider companies.

I can't deny that I’m a fan of Appelle, especially of the man behind their fantastic cider, Charlie Spring. I was a fan before we even met, when I was served a glass of his incredible 2023 Golden Russet along with my dinner during a trip to Seattle two years ago. I made a point to visit Appelle’s quirky taproom the next time I was in the area and was, quite frankly, astounded by the ciders I sampled that day. Spring’s skills defy explanation and delight the senses. He has an unapologetically sophisticated grasp on the nuances of flavor, an almost preternatural ability to pull layer after hidden layer of depth out of the humble apple.

So when his invitation—which described a ‘total departure’ from the subtle ciders I had come to expect from Appelle—arrived in my inbox, I was, to put it frankly, concerned. There was an air of desperation to his words, as if there was far more at stake than my willingness to hop on a plane and write an article.

What I found when I arrived at Appelle’s event confirmed my instincts: their relaunch was a last-ditch effort to bring them back from the brink of bankruptcy. How could a company with such exquisite ciders be on the verge of failure? That’s the question I sought to answer when I sat down with Elle Argent, their determined and inspiring founder.

“I suppose you could blame it on my fundamental lack of business acumen,” Argent says with a laugh. Her staff, Taproom Manager Darcy Olsson, part-time bookkeeper Isaac Hendersen, and Spring, jump in to correct the record. You get the sense that this foursome are more family than colleagues, with deep respect for each other and the understanding that Appelle’s success requires a four-pronged attack.

When I press further, Argent admits that she had been worried about Appelle’s sustainability for nearly a year before the situation became dire. “I kept it to myself,” she confides, seeming conflicted. “I didn’t want to worry everyone, and I knew that Charlie made the best cider around. I hoped it was just a matter of time before people discovered us.”

Unfortunately, it took longer than Appelle had for word to spread, and Argent found herself having to make the kind of decision that keeps business owners up at night: shutter the doors for good or make a drastic change.

Enter Nelson Verma Consulting (NVC).

“I probably waited too long before I reached out for help,” Elle admits. “Luckily, they replied to my inquiry within a couple hours and I signed a contract the next day.”

I ask their owners, Nick Nelson and Sai Verma, what was behind their immediate response when I sit down with them. Were they cider fans? Acquaintances of Argent or Spring? Particularly interested in the craft beverage industry?

It’s NVC’s spitfire of a Marketing Director, Imogen Heaney, who answers for the team. “At the time, none of the above, though now we’re all three.”

It was Verma’s younger sister, Rahmi—a woman who had taken comfort in Appelle’s queer-affirming taproom—who propelled Nelson to take such quick action. “As a bisexual man myself, I know first-hand how important it is to have queer-friendly spaces. No one should have to hide who they are, but the sad reality is that people do. When Elle reached out, I knew I wanted to work with her, even though we were out of her budget.”

“I barely paid them,” Elle says with a rueful laugh. “They were so kind, cutting their normal fees by 75% just because they believed in what we were doing here.” This is clearly news to Spring, who seems personally affronted by the information.

“Here’s the thing,” Sai explains. “I grew up with parents who owned a small business. Rahmi is my sister, and Nick is like a brother. I know how hard it is to grow a company on razor-thin margins, and I’ve seen what happens when people can’t live their authentic lives. Working with Appelle was never about making money. It was our way to support the kinds of people who give so much back to the community and who try to make the world a better place.”

Whatever their reasons may have been, we, the general public, are the benefactors of the partnership, because what happened during the next six weeks was nothing short of a miracle.

Appelle was suffering from that paradoxical problem of being too good, of operating at such a fine level that they alienated the very people they sought to please. Compromising on quality in order to find customers who appreciated them had never been a consideration.

“I probably took it the hardest,” Spring says when I ask him about the changes suggested by Verma and Nelson. “I had built our entire production facility around making high-end, heirloom ciders. I love those guys now,” he says, blushing as he speaks, “but their suggestion that we completely switch gears…” His jaw tenses, and I wonder briefly just how heated their exchanges actually became—raised voices? Name-calling? Insults? “I’m not sure anyone really understood just how big of a change they were asking me to make.”

Spring’s colleagues may not have understood how big of a change it was, but as someone who has worked in this industry for over twenty years, I certainly do.

And after trying Appelle’s new ciders, I’m certain that the only cidermaker who could have transitioned so smoothly between the delicate and labor-intensive ciders that he used to make and these bold, playful, and—dare I say—whimsical new offerings is Spring himself.

“He’s very talented,” Nelson smiles broadly, “Charlie is one of those people you meet and you just know. There’s nothing he isn’t capable of. Having a front-row seat to watch him navigate those changes so competently was the highlight of my consulting career. It gave me the confidence to do the same thing with my own company.”

Ah yes, it seems I’ve failed to mention an important fact: since their engagement with Appelle, NVC has undergone its own rebrand.

It is my honor to introduce you, my readers, to Clarity Consulting.

The pages of Food & Wine aren’t appropriate for business endorsements. My journalistic integrity requires me to be up front about this. These are my own opinions and I have not been paid to share them.

Now, with that out of the way, I will say this with as much certainty as I say my own name: If you work in the craft beverage space and find your company at a crossroads, you need to contact Clarity Consulting. They are not just wonderful consultants, they are wonderful people.

And if you are a fan of flavors that dance on your tongue, effervescent options that taste expensive while remaining shockingly affordable, I urge you to make room in your life for Appelle’s ciders. The Blueberry Lavender transports you to the fields of Provence; the Mango Lime will have you lounging on white-sand beaches in your mind. My personal favorite was the Black Cherry cider. It immediately reduced every other black cherry flavored drink that has crossed my lips to a cheap imposter.

Appelle is, without a doubt, the most exciting cider company in the nation, and I cannot wait to see them take over the world.

Tao tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and shot a wide grin at the people crowded into every possible corner of his apartment for Extended Family Dinner.

Elle, who had listened to the entirety of Tao’s dramatic reading with Charlie’s hands gripped between her own, let go with a relieved smile. “Okay, that wasn’t so bad.”

“Wasn’t so bad?” Darcy cried incredulously from their spot in the dining room. “Did we just watch the same overwrought performance? That was a rave review.”

Tao made a grand flourish and bowed at the waist to a round of applause.

Isaac stalked toward the foyer for his laptop. “Okay, so we definitely have to pull the trigger on the expansion. According to my last projections, we need to borrow at least a hundred thousand dollars—”

Sai held out his hand. “Isaac, why don’t we table that for our next meeting? Tonight is for celebrating.”

Isaac stopped in his tracks. “Right. Sorry. I’m still getting used to not having to squeeze my Appelle work in around my Sunny Skies job.”

Elle smiled at him. “No apologies necessary. I don’t want to distract you from getting your publishing company off the ground, but if you ever want more hours, let me know. We’re about to get a whole lot busier.”

“Honestly, you couldn’t have paid for better press!” Imogen squealed from her perch on Sai’s lap. She gestured toward Charlie, who was similarly positioned on Nick’s lap right next to her. “You guys are going to have to find a bigger taproom to handle all your new customers and I’m calling it now, I’m going to have at least a dozen serious inquiries in my inbox tomorrow morning.”

“I didn’t expect him to talk about Clarity like that,” Nick admitted, his dazed smile reflected back at him in Sai’s face. “I thought he interviewed us to get background information on Appelle.”

“Hey, man, don’t question it,” Sai grinned. “I just hope you’re ready to go hard and get after it.”

“Oh, I was born ready.” They reached across the couch and clasped hands.

Imogen leaned forward and wiggled her eyebrows conspiratorially. “I don't know about you and Nick, but Sai sure seems like he was born ready, if you know what I mean. He’s been going hard and getting after it almost every night!” She tossed her head back, cackling at Sai’s stunned face, and wiggled deeper into his lap.

“Imogen, please, that’s my brother,” Rahmi huffed. She pushed away from the dining room table and raised an eyebrow at Sophie. “Hey, wanna try that cider I finished today? Charlie said it was my best one yet.”

“It was,” Charlie called from the living room. “A few more like that and you’ll take the Head Cidermaker crown right off my head.”

“Oh, I’m so sure,” Rahmi said flatly. “François Gaudel would roll over in his grave.”

Elle gasped and brought her hands to her mouth. “Wait, François Gaudel died? But his article just came out!”

“No, no,” Charlie giggled. “God, Elle, it’s still just a figure of speech.”

Rahmi held her hand out to Sophie. “Come on. I snuck a bottle into their fridge earlier.”

“Ooh, a covert operation? Say less.” Sophie hopped up and followed after Rahmi. “Is this the one with subtle hints of minerality on the nose and grassy finish? Because it sounded incredible when you described it at dinner the other night.”

They disappeared into the kitchen, their laughter floating behind them. Elle watched them go and let out a happy sigh. “It’s so cute how those two have become such fast friends. They’re like the second generation of NVC and Appelle.”

“Right,” Darcy smirked, raising a knowing eyebrow at Tara. “Friends.”

When it was time to eat, Isaac and Charlie brought extra chairs over from their apartment and everyone squeezed around the table. These days, they shared the burden of cooking—Extended Family Dinner was the perfect place to put the ‘many hands make light work’ proverb into practice.

They piled back into the living room after dinner was over, peals of laughter and tangled limbs, and when Nick pulled his legendary brownies from the oven, the moans of pleasure that echoed through the halls sounded so pornographic that the neighbors gave them strange looks for weeks.

The night ended the way it always did—quick hugs exchanged in the hallway and waves tossed over shoulders as they shuffled into adjacent apartments and climbed into each others’ cars. Extended farewells didn’t seem necessary now that their lives were so tightly intertwined.

Charlie reached for Nick’s hand as they headed down the hallway. “Your place or mine?”

Nick winced and shot Charlie an apologetic look. “I should’ve said something sooner, but I have some stuff I still need to do tonight. Can we just plan to see each other at the meeting tomorrow morning?”

There were only a handful of nights over the last three months that Charlie had slept alone. He wasn’t even sure if he could anymore. He leaned against his apartment door, unable to keep the pout off of his face. “But who’s going to hold me until I fall asleep?”

Nick linked their fingers together, eyes dancing. “Maybe Isaac can fill in for me tonight.”

Charlie barked out a laugh and swatted Nick on the chest before he grew more serious. “Is everything okay? You don’t usually have to do work stuff this late.”

Nick shook his head, fishing around in his pocket for his keys. “It’s not work, I just have to run an errand on the way home and it’s a bit out of the way.”

“Oh,” Charlie frowned. “Where?”

Nick gave him a flat look. “Is there any chance you’d let it go if I told you I’d rather not say?”

Charlie held up his hands innocently. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was some big secret. But now I’m really curious.”

“I should’ve just told you my lunch didn’t agree with me or something.”

“Hey, I made you that sandwich!”