Travis’s pierced eyebrow met his unpierced one. “Small point, but you don’t have a restaurant here. Best I can tell, you’ve got nothing north of Keene’s Harbor.”

No shock that Travis wasn’t aware of Matt’s activities. Under the radar was generally his style. Exactly four people on the planet knew about his Tropicana buy, and that he was already corporate angel to another struggling brewpub in this city’s warehouse district: Bart, Ginger, his lawyer, and his accountant. And Matt trusted all of them not to spread news until he was ready to have it spread. What Matt did outside of Depot Brewing was his business and his way of stepping out from under the microscope that could be Keene’s Harbor.

“I’ll have a place for your beer by next Memorial Day,” he said to Travis. Assuming spring actually arrived in April and he could get the footings dug. That was a dicey proposition near the tip of Michigan’s mitten.

“What happens if I can’t pay you back?”

“I’m not through with the conditions yet. You also have to agree to have Bart come up and do a one-week consult with you on your recipes. They’re original, for sure, but rough yet.”

Travis pushed out of his chair. “No way am I consulting with that jerk.”

Matt fought to hide his grin. His reaction would have been the same, back when. “Huh. And yet you wanted to work for him.”

“I was desperate.”

Matt didn’t reply. Travis would do the math and see he was desperate now. To point that out would cut into the guy’s spirit, and Matt liked that spirit, warped as it was.

Travis stalked over to the television set, blocking Matt’s view. No problem. Travis could contemplate wherever he wanted. He drew down his beer and thought about taking the rest of the jalapeño chips. Except, as he recalled, Ginger also usually had some locally made sourdough pretzels in her stash. He leaned over and reached into the appropriate drawer.

Travis swung around and faced Matt when he was halfway through his second pretzel twist.