know youth is a time for experimentation with alcohol. But don’t you think it’s time to settle down to one favorite drink? Thatway I could stock the ingredients. To tell you the truth, honey, I’m having a hard time keeping up with your drink choices.”
“Experimenting? With alcohol? Really? Can I help?” Hugh’s voice was smooth and sophisticated. But this was not exactly what she expected an English aristocrat to say out loud in a honky-tonk. Heck, she didn’t expect an English aristocrat to ever set foot in a honky-tonk.
Dottie snorted a laugh. “Ain’t he cute? I could listen to him talk all day. And, honey, any man who comes into my place and orders a single malt scotch straight up is swoon worthy, if you ask me.”
“Right.” Caroline turned and nodded at Hugh. “Glad to see you’re getting on the right side of the locals.”
“So glad you approve. So, what are you experimenting with this evening?” he asked, launching one of his charming, boyish smiles—the one where his dimple came out. Darn him.
Dottie leaned in and batted her eyes. “She ordered a dirty vodka martini. I’m not sure I have any olives, though. If you want my opinion, the girl is just being uppity. A month ago, she came in here and ordered a Broken Down Golf Cart.”
“A what?”
Dottie nodded, and her earrings bounced happily. “It’s a shot made with Midori and almond liqueur. It’s disgustingly sweet, but on the other hand, a drink by that name might be just right for Caroline, given her family’s business. Know what I mean?”
Hugh had the audacity to nod in agreement. Then he sort of smirked in Caroline’s direction. “So vodka martinis are new for you, then?”
“I don’t think it’s your business.”
“No, it’s probably not. But you know I’m rather an expert in helping people find the alcoholic beverage that fits them. Sort of like your Miriam Randall only with booze, not soulmates.” He said this in a voice so loud it carried across the room.
The rednecks and good ol’ boys who were Dot’s regulars turned to watch the show. Even Caroline’s brother, Clay, who was up on stage tuning his fiddle turned and looked. Clay had one of those “watching out for little sister” expressions on his face. Thank goodness Hugh was semipolite, and Clay was averse to picking fights without good cause; otherwise Caroline might just find herself in the second fistfight in so many days.
“I would like a dirty vodka martini,
please
.”
“All right, honey, it’s your funeral. Let me go see if I can find some olives.” Dottie turned away and headed into the storage area behind the bar.
“Hey, you wanna trade places?” Roy said.
“Well, that would be quite nice, if you don’t mind,” Hugh replied.
“No problem. One day you and me have a date in my bass boat, you hear?” Roy picked up his long-necked Bud and moved down the bar. Caroline watched him go.
“Right-o, Roy. It’s a date.”
She watched Roy slide into a seat and start talking to Avery Anderson. Just great. She wasn’t going to get any info out of Roy tonight, was she? Those two boys could talk fishing from sundown to sunup.
Hugh moved over a stool and immediately invaded her space. Not intentionally, of course, but just being near him was kind of unsettling.
“You know,” he said, “when I was a young man at university, I supplemented my living by serving as a part-time barman. There is a huge gulf between a sweet shot and a dirty vodka martini, although technically they both have vodka in them.”
“Well, I’m a woman of wide-ranging tastes.”
“Yes. I can see that.”
“Good. And for the record, I don’t let men select my drinks. I can think for myself.”
He shrugged. “I’m not selecting anything. I’m helping you explore. Now, tell me, do you like sour things or sweet things?”
“I like both.”
He grimaced. “I’m sure you do, but if you’re like most people, you like one just a little bit more than the
“Experimenting? With alcohol? Really? Can I help?” Hugh’s voice was smooth and sophisticated. But this was not exactly what she expected an English aristocrat to say out loud in a honky-tonk. Heck, she didn’t expect an English aristocrat to ever set foot in a honky-tonk.
Dottie snorted a laugh. “Ain’t he cute? I could listen to him talk all day. And, honey, any man who comes into my place and orders a single malt scotch straight up is swoon worthy, if you ask me.”
“Right.” Caroline turned and nodded at Hugh. “Glad to see you’re getting on the right side of the locals.”
“So glad you approve. So, what are you experimenting with this evening?” he asked, launching one of his charming, boyish smiles—the one where his dimple came out. Darn him.
Dottie leaned in and batted her eyes. “She ordered a dirty vodka martini. I’m not sure I have any olives, though. If you want my opinion, the girl is just being uppity. A month ago, she came in here and ordered a Broken Down Golf Cart.”
“A what?”
Dottie nodded, and her earrings bounced happily. “It’s a shot made with Midori and almond liqueur. It’s disgustingly sweet, but on the other hand, a drink by that name might be just right for Caroline, given her family’s business. Know what I mean?”
Hugh had the audacity to nod in agreement. Then he sort of smirked in Caroline’s direction. “So vodka martinis are new for you, then?”
“I don’t think it’s your business.”
“No, it’s probably not. But you know I’m rather an expert in helping people find the alcoholic beverage that fits them. Sort of like your Miriam Randall only with booze, not soulmates.” He said this in a voice so loud it carried across the room.
The rednecks and good ol’ boys who were Dot’s regulars turned to watch the show. Even Caroline’s brother, Clay, who was up on stage tuning his fiddle turned and looked. Clay had one of those “watching out for little sister” expressions on his face. Thank goodness Hugh was semipolite, and Clay was averse to picking fights without good cause; otherwise Caroline might just find herself in the second fistfight in so many days.
“I would like a dirty vodka martini,
please
.”
“All right, honey, it’s your funeral. Let me go see if I can find some olives.” Dottie turned away and headed into the storage area behind the bar.
“Hey, you wanna trade places?” Roy said.
“Well, that would be quite nice, if you don’t mind,” Hugh replied.
“No problem. One day you and me have a date in my bass boat, you hear?” Roy picked up his long-necked Bud and moved down the bar. Caroline watched him go.
“Right-o, Roy. It’s a date.”
She watched Roy slide into a seat and start talking to Avery Anderson. Just great. She wasn’t going to get any info out of Roy tonight, was she? Those two boys could talk fishing from sundown to sunup.
Hugh moved over a stool and immediately invaded her space. Not intentionally, of course, but just being near him was kind of unsettling.
“You know,” he said, “when I was a young man at university, I supplemented my living by serving as a part-time barman. There is a huge gulf between a sweet shot and a dirty vodka martini, although technically they both have vodka in them.”
“Well, I’m a woman of wide-ranging tastes.”
“Yes. I can see that.”
“Good. And for the record, I don’t let men select my drinks. I can think for myself.”
He shrugged. “I’m not selecting anything. I’m helping you explore. Now, tell me, do you like sour things or sweet things?”
“I like both.”
He grimaced. “I’m sure you do, but if you’re like most people, you like one just a little bit more than the
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