The next few slides were mock-ups of labels for the types of beer he planned to produce: India Pale Ale, Amber Lager, Pilsner, Porter, Stout. Each had its own label—the Dog Face IPA was her favorite, featuring an antiqued photo of a collie, after his sister. She glanced at his face; there was a slight smile there.
“You’ll have to give me a description of what each beer will taste like,” Jess said. “Same kind of idea as wine tastings—boldly hopped, caramel maltiness, whatever you have in mind. I made these up, obviously.”
“Boldly hopped, huh?” His smile grew.
The next slides detailed some data—the fast rate at which microbreweries were expanding into the area, the increased revenue for five comparable breweries, the tourism statistics for the Finger Lakes.
And then a picture of Connor himself, at the stove in the restaurant kitchen, flipping a pan of something, flames leaping. His face was intent and serious, and he looked ridiculously handsome.
There was that tremble again. The thought that she was sitting right next to Smokin’ McDamn made it almost painful.
“Where’d you get that picture?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “Colleen. She gave me the numbers on the restaurant, too.”
Connor’s credentials were listed in bullet points—education, experience, awards, reviews. Next came O’Rourke’s booming success and statistics—fourteen hundred percent profit growth in the first three years, sustained growth since. A little bit about Tim Parsons and his experience in brewing—not much, but enough.
Then came the point that would set O’Rourke’s Brewing apart from the other microbreweries. Connor’s knowledge of flavors, beer that was sophisticated and elegant enough to pair with the best meals, as well as to be enjoyed on its own. She’d lifted pictures of beer from the internet, as well as pictures of Connor’s signature dishes, taken from their website.
“I was thinking you could include recipes to go along with each different beer,” Jess murmured. “Buy a growler, get free recipes so the customer could really see how that particular beer enhanced the meal.”
“Good idea.” He glanced at her, and she felt it, the pull of him. Jordan wasn’t the only one affected. Hopefully, Jess’s face wasn’t beet red, however. She had more practice, after all.
A few more slides showed four fermenting tanks, bags of hops and yeast, all attractively arranged. The dollar amounts Connor had emailed her and what they would go for. Targeted advertising and demographic research.
Then the last slide. The logo again, and the simple message. Make every day special. Drink O’Rourke’s.
She looked at him. “What do you think?”
“This is...perfect, Jess.” He looked at her, his eyes so damn beautiful, halfway between blue and gray. “Perfect.”
She looked away. “I’ll just need you to answer some questions about the flavors and correct any mistakes, and you’ll be good to go.”
“There aren’t any mistakes.”
“Hey... Hi.” It was Jordan, staring with puppy-dog eyes at Connor. She seemed about to swoon, the poor thing, struck dumb with the wonder that was Connor Michael O’Rourke.
“Yes?” he said when Jordan failed to speak further.
“Right. Um, Colleen? She says your mother? She’s here.”
Colleen herself came over. “You guys almost done?” she asked. “Time for wedding talk, Con. Jess, our mother is marrying the Chicken King and will soon become the Chicken Queen.”
“I know. Congratulations.”
“Oh, of course you do! You work with her. Well, it’s a little freaky, but thank you. We’re happy to get another sister, right, Con?”
“I already have too many, but yes.”
Jessica nodded. Paulie Petrosinsky was one of the nicest kids from their graduating class, an only child, Jess thought. She’d make a great sister to just about anyone.
“Jordan, sweetheart,” Colleen said, “go make my mom a white zin and 7-UP, because I just can’t bear to do it, okay?” The girl gave Connor one more longing look and went off, bumping into a table on her way. “Call me crazy, Connor, but I think she has a crush on you. Don’t go sleeping with the staff, now.” Colleen winked at Jess.
“She’s a little young for me,” Connor said.“Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”
“Why would I forget it? I’m not even—”
“Stop talking,” Colleen said. “By the way, I do have a date for you. Tonight. Be here and be clean, okay? Is it so much to ask? And shave that scruff. You look like you’re half grizzly bear. Come on, what are you waiting for?” She waddled off.
“You guys are still so cute,” Jessica said, standing up.
Connor stood as well, towering over her. “If she wasn’t my sister, I’m pretty sure I’d hate her.”
“Liar.” She paused. “Does she know?”
“Know what?”
Jess swallowed. “Know about us? Me?”
Connor’s eyes dropped for a second. “I didn’t tell her. But yes. She does. The twin thing.”
Jess nodded. “She’s being really nice. I thought she’d stab me if she knew.”
“Her stabbing days are mostly past.” He just kept looking at her, and she wondered what he wanted to say. It would wring her heart one way if he said he missed her, and it would wring it the other if he didn’t.
He looked over at the other table. “Well. I have to go off to hell now and talk about weddings. Colleen’s was bad enough. Now my mom.”
If she’d said yes, they’d be planning their own wedding. Or maybe, they’d already be married.
“Hey, dude,” came a voice. Paulie, who was about five-foot-three and solid muscle. “Jess. How’s it hanging?”
“I...I never know how to answer that question. But I’m good. Congratulations about your dad getting married.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool!” Paulie said. “And Con, that means you and Coll and I are kinda related.”
He grinned and punched Paulie lightly on the shoulder. It was hard not to feel jealous. “I should get back to Blue Heron,” Jess said. “My break is almost over.”
“I’ll email you with those beer descriptions,” Connor said. “Thanks again. This was great.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a check.
“Oh. Um...thanks,” Jess said.
Transaction completed.
Maybe he was over her, she thought as he went over to the table where Jeanette was sitting with her fiancé and Colleen.
This will be the last time you break up with me.
He really did seem...fine.
Jess’s throat was tight.
It would’ve been nice if she felt the same way. An unexpected wave of longing for the way things had been made her knees wobble. Those secret dates at his place, the way it felt when he opened the door and smiled at her, the way he hugged her so tight. The way he kissed her.
All told, she’d slept with twelve men, eleven of them when she was in high school. Only one since. The only one who’d ever made her feel...cherished.
“Jessica?”
She jumped.
It was her father. “What do you want?” she said, all her soft thoughts blown away.