Six Month Rule (Kingston Ale House) by A.J. Pine Page A

what sold Marisa on meeting at Kingston Ale House. A die-hard Sox fan herself, she’d jumped at the chance to go to a Northside bar that was playing a Southside game.
    “I’m sorry,” Holly said. “I couldn’t hear you.”
    “A five ,” Brynn said at full volume. “Fine. We’re both drama queens.”
    Holly smoothed out her own shirt, a vintage Woodstock tee she’d found at an upscale resale shop, and hoped she wasn’t too casual for a meeting. But this was a bar where they’d be watching a baseball game. She’d told Will no suits allowed, and that was pretty much the extent of any conversation between the two of them since Andrea disrupted their meeting two days ago. Who knew which Will she’d see tonight—arrogant and dismissive? Counterfeit and putting on a show? Playful and teasing with a genuine smile? Or sullen and enigmatic, the only Will she’d seen for the past two days? Whatever flight he’d had to cancel, it hadn’t agreed with him. But tonight she crossed her fingers for brilliant and determined—the man Marisa Gonzalez had met and the one she needed to see.
    The brewery door swung open, and a gust of late-June heat cut through the air-conditioning. Holly’s mouth fell open.
    “What?” Brynn asked, but then she followed her sister’s gaze. “Is that—is that him ?”
    And by him she meant the guy in the door frame, searching the bar most likely for a familiar face—Holly’s face—because when his eyes found hers, his features relaxed into an almost smile. He took her in, and wait—no—now he was full-on grinning. But Holly was sure her chin was still resting on the floor. Because stalking toward her now was Will Evans in—denim.
    It wasn’t just the dark wash or the fact that his snug-in-all-the-right-places jeans ended at a pair of black-and-white Adidas sneakers— worn Adidas sneakers. Like, he hadn’t just purchased them today. And it wasn’t even the fitted forest green pocket tee that stretched over biceps she hadn’t known existed under his suits. It was everything, from the loose waves of his hair to the five-day-old almost beard to that crinkly-eyed smile that was as elusive as a unicorn.
    Something began to quiver and dance in her belly, like…like…a butterfly.
    She tried to recount the last time she had dairy, but Holly never got her chance.
    “Looks like we beat Marisa, yes?” he asked, and then Will’s eyes bounced from Holly to Brynn. “You must be Brynn,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’m Will. Holly talks about you quite a lot.”
    Brynn’s face broke into a mischievous grin.
    “Well, Will. I don’t think I’ve heard nearly enough about you .”
    …
    Something was definitely in the air—or the brew—because not only was Marisa blown away by their ideas, enough to give them 20 percent off her original quote, but the White Sox were winning, and on more than one occasion, Holly caught Will Evans smiling. Like now, while he and Marisa played pool and she nursed her pint at a nearby high-top, he looked almost happy.
    Not that Holly cared about his happiness.
    Except that she kind of did, especially seeing how shaken he’d been when Andrea told them Marisa had to cancel Thursday’s meeting and reschedule for tonight. He was meant to be going somewhere on a plane, somewhere he obviously wanted to be rather than here, and though she barely knew him, it had tugged at her heart the tiniest bit to see him full of disappointment. So yeah, it was nice to see him enjoying himself. Plus, she was going to be working with the guy for the next five and a half months putting this show together, and a happy Will was much easier to work with than that brooding guy she usually got to see. He did wear brooding well. There was no doubt about that. But when he smiled, like really smiled, Holly forgot about resenting that she had to wait another half a year before Andrea offered her partner.
    “You’ve got your stargazing face.”
    Brynn was helping out behind the bar