swallow it down.
“It’s delicious!” Audrey said. “It tastes just like Christmas.”
Christmas in a wheat field , Casey thought. The spicy cloves and the orange were great in theory, but the yeasty flavor of the beer was throwing everything off. She seemed to be the only one with that opinion, though. Just about everyone at the bar was drinking it, and her sister had guzzled nearly half the pint in her first sip.
Audrey elbowed her and she realized Dave was staring at her. No doubt waiting for her to say something. “I—that’s—spicy,” she finally managed.
She wanted to kick herself. The winter ale, even if she didn’t like it, was at least clever. And if Dave could be clever about beer, chances are he could be clever about other things, too. His tattoos and piercings made him unconventional anyway, and there was a chance that translated to being unconventional between the sheets.
Someone down the bar flagged him and Dave lifted his chin in response.“Excuse me while I take care of some other customers. Good to meet you, Casey. See you around, Audrey.”
Casey watched his muscled form, poured into an extra-hot form-fitting black T-shirt, retreat down the bar and tried to muster up a pang of regret. She’d just blown it with someone who could have ushered some fun into her life. Apparently Audrey thought so, too. She gave her a sideways kick at the bar.
“For heaven’s sake! Couldn’t you have pretended to like his beer? Your face looked like you’d swallowed an entire bag of Sour Patch Kids.”
“I’m sorry! I wanted to like it. But it tastes like he crossed Malt-O-Meal with stollen bread.”
Audrey eyes widened. “It does not. It’s really good.”
“You’re right. It tastes more like a fruit cake had sex with a potato roll.”
Audrey clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to keep the laughter at bay. But it was useless. It sputtered out until the two of them were cracking up together.
“You’re terrible!” Audrey said. “Dave is a really nice guy.”
“Without question,” she agreed. “But his winter ale is not nice. It’s definitely on the naughty list.” She lifted up her glass. “Lump of coal for you,” she said to her still-full pint.
Audrey rolled her eyes. “If he comes back, can you just pretend to like it? Here, dump some in my glass so it looks like you actually drank a bit.”
Casey dutifully poured ale into her younger sister’s glass, feeling small. Dave was creative and hardworking, so what was her problem? Why wasn’t she even trying?
Abe Cameron.
She turned her head, thinking she saw him in her peripheral vision. Her heart raced until she realized it was just a burly farmer whose hair was close to the same color.
Her ears strained, and it took her a moment to understand why, until she figured out that she was hoping to hear Abe’s rumbling voice over the Wheelhouse’s jukebox.
Which was, of course, foolishness. She needed a man like Dave, not a man like Abe.
Right?
The answer was that she needed to get laid already. She needed to get something checked off her list already. She needed to prove to herself she was changing.
She was almost ready to call Dave over and try again—to see if she couldn’t force herself to light a spark between them—when Quinn, the firefighter who’d pulled her out of the elevator and responded to the fire at Robot Lit, grabbed the next seat over at the bar.
“Hey,” Casey said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Quinn studied her for a moment until recognition dawned. “Oh, right! You’re the lady from the elevator.”
Casey stuck out her hand. “Casey Tanner. I didn’t get to thank you personally for coming to my rescue. Or for responding to the Robot Lit fire.”
“Iris Quinn. Happy to meet you.” She blew her dark bangs off her forehead.
Casey blinked. “I’m sorry, I thought Quinn was your first name. Iris is lovely, though.”
“My mom’s favorite flower. I go by either, really. Quinn’s
“It’s delicious!” Audrey said. “It tastes just like Christmas.”
Christmas in a wheat field , Casey thought. The spicy cloves and the orange were great in theory, but the yeasty flavor of the beer was throwing everything off. She seemed to be the only one with that opinion, though. Just about everyone at the bar was drinking it, and her sister had guzzled nearly half the pint in her first sip.
Audrey elbowed her and she realized Dave was staring at her. No doubt waiting for her to say something. “I—that’s—spicy,” she finally managed.
She wanted to kick herself. The winter ale, even if she didn’t like it, was at least clever. And if Dave could be clever about beer, chances are he could be clever about other things, too. His tattoos and piercings made him unconventional anyway, and there was a chance that translated to being unconventional between the sheets.
Someone down the bar flagged him and Dave lifted his chin in response.“Excuse me while I take care of some other customers. Good to meet you, Casey. See you around, Audrey.”
Casey watched his muscled form, poured into an extra-hot form-fitting black T-shirt, retreat down the bar and tried to muster up a pang of regret. She’d just blown it with someone who could have ushered some fun into her life. Apparently Audrey thought so, too. She gave her a sideways kick at the bar.
“For heaven’s sake! Couldn’t you have pretended to like his beer? Your face looked like you’d swallowed an entire bag of Sour Patch Kids.”
“I’m sorry! I wanted to like it. But it tastes like he crossed Malt-O-Meal with stollen bread.”
Audrey eyes widened. “It does not. It’s really good.”
“You’re right. It tastes more like a fruit cake had sex with a potato roll.”
Audrey clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to keep the laughter at bay. But it was useless. It sputtered out until the two of them were cracking up together.
“You’re terrible!” Audrey said. “Dave is a really nice guy.”
“Without question,” she agreed. “But his winter ale is not nice. It’s definitely on the naughty list.” She lifted up her glass. “Lump of coal for you,” she said to her still-full pint.
Audrey rolled her eyes. “If he comes back, can you just pretend to like it? Here, dump some in my glass so it looks like you actually drank a bit.”
Casey dutifully poured ale into her younger sister’s glass, feeling small. Dave was creative and hardworking, so what was her problem? Why wasn’t she even trying?
Abe Cameron.
She turned her head, thinking she saw him in her peripheral vision. Her heart raced until she realized it was just a burly farmer whose hair was close to the same color.
Her ears strained, and it took her a moment to understand why, until she figured out that she was hoping to hear Abe’s rumbling voice over the Wheelhouse’s jukebox.
Which was, of course, foolishness. She needed a man like Dave, not a man like Abe.
Right?
The answer was that she needed to get laid already. She needed to get something checked off her list already. She needed to prove to herself she was changing.
She was almost ready to call Dave over and try again—to see if she couldn’t force herself to light a spark between them—when Quinn, the firefighter who’d pulled her out of the elevator and responded to the fire at Robot Lit, grabbed the next seat over at the bar.
“Hey,” Casey said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Quinn studied her for a moment until recognition dawned. “Oh, right! You’re the lady from the elevator.”
Casey stuck out her hand. “Casey Tanner. I didn’t get to thank you personally for coming to my rescue. Or for responding to the Robot Lit fire.”
“Iris Quinn. Happy to meet you.” She blew her dark bangs off her forehead.
Casey blinked. “I’m sorry, I thought Quinn was your first name. Iris is lovely, though.”
“My mom’s favorite flower. I go by either, really. Quinn’s
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