He went out of the conference room to the hotel bar. "Can I have a glass of ice water?" he asked.
"Sure. Lemon with that?"
"Sure." His eyes fell on the array of taps. "Can I also have a pitcher of, uh...Pabst?" Yeah. He'd bring in a mass-brewed beer as a compare and contrast. That'd be smart.
He carried his water and the pitcher back in the conference room and checked his phone again. Still no Jess. No call, no text, no email.
It was 2:48 now.
He texted her again.
Everything okay?
Waited for the little dots that would show her answering. Nothing.
Then he heard voices in the hallway. "Mr. O'Rourke is expecting you," said the hotel staffer, and there they were. Fresh sweat broke out under his arms.
Shit.
"You're early," he said. "Come on in, come in. I'm Connor O'Rourke. Uh...my, um, my business associate isn't here yet, but please come in."
They shook hands all around--there was Amy Porter, a woman of about fifty or so; Mark Something, a balding white guy whose name Connor knew he was destined to forget immediately; Trey Williams, who looked like a really well-dressed NFL player, gray suit, white shirt, shaved head, at least six-five, perfect teeth that gleaned against his dark skin; and Gary Gennaro, a ginger-haired guy who was packing a hundred or so extra pounds, the president of Empire State Food & Beverage. Use their names, Jess had advised.
He swallowed drily. Tried to smile. Wondered if he looked like he was snarling instead. Wondered why it was so hard for him to remember names when he'd studied them all week. Wondered if his sweat was showing.
They all said things about the weather and nice to meet you and all that crap.
"Why don't we get started?" said the woman--Porter, Amy Porter, Porter like beer, good, he hadn't forgotten her name.
"Sure, Amy," he said." Just give me one second to see where my business associate is." The second time he'd said business associate in thirty seconds. He already sounded like an ass.
The call went right to voice mail. "Jess, is everything okay? I know you're running late, but they're here." They're here. Sounded so ominous, probably because it was. "Call me, okay?"
He texted that as well, just to make sure. What the hell good was technology if you didn't use it, huh? Huh?
He took a deep breath, unstuck his sweaty shirt from his ribs and went back inside the conference room. Names. Names. Use their names.
"Jessica is on her way," he said. "So! Trey! Amy! And um...all of you! I guess we can just get to know each other. Uh, I'm Connor. I own O'Rourke's Tavern in Manningsport, and I have a new niece! My twin sister had a baby two weeks ago. I also have a ten-year-old half sister and a half brother on the way. Crazy, huh? Big age gap there."
Oh, Jesus. Kill him now.
Trey, the handsome devil, stared at him. The fat guy--Generic? No, Gennaro--was taking notes. Amy, also staring. The guy whose name Connor had forgotten was looking pained.
"So. I...I feel uniquely qualified to make beer, since I'm a chef," Connor said. "And I do have, uh, financial stuff. Papers. Projections. Just not with me. Jessica is bringing those, and she'll be here very soon, I'm sure. What would you like to know?"
Trey went first. "What kind of facility are you envisioning, and where would it be set?"
"Right. Okay, uh, there's this burned-out building right near the lake. Keuka Lake, that is. And it's great. I mean it's really...nice. Or it was, before the fire." He took a napkin and blotted his forehead. "Needs work, but a perfect locale. Location, I mean. Whatever."
Colleen babbled when she was scared. He used to make fun of her for it.
"You know what?" he said. "Obviously, Jess is the pitch man here, and I'm not sure what's keeping her. Why don't I do what I do best, and let you taste some beer? How would that be? Or is it too early for y'all?" He had never in his life said y'all before. Good God.
"It's three o'clock in the afternoon," Trey said.
It felt like four in the morning to Connor. Where the hell was Jess? Had something happened? "Well, just a sampling, of course. I don't mean to encourage alcoholics. Right? Can't do that!"
"My father's an alcoholic," Amy said.
Of course he was.
"Pour away," Greg Generic said, thank God.
Connor lined up the growlers in a row. They were labeled--India Pale Ale, Amber Lager, Pilsner, Porter, Stout. He started with the Porter. "In honor of you, Ms. Porter," he said, pouring her three ounces. She didn't smile. He poured the same for the three men, and then one for himself.
"Nice, huh?" he said, gulping his down. "Dark and strong, really good head."
Oh, shit, that sounded like a porno line. He glanced at Trey, who was also dark and strong. Hopefully, he didn't notice the, uh, similarities. "We used rich dark malts, and you get this smoky, buttery flavor with the earthy hops." Did he sound stupid? It felt like he sounded stupid. "Medium-range body with an enticing firmness, but so creamy." More porn. Jesus. "What do you guys think?"
"I don't drink," said Trey. Fucking fantastic.
"It's very smooth," No-Name said. "I like the little hint of bitterness at the end."
"Yes," Connor said. Good, good, here was someone he could talk to. "Bitter. Exactly."
"Hit me again," No-Name said. Connor obliged. Filled his own glass, too. Took another healthy sip. Just settle down, he could hear Colleen saying. You can do this. He also remembered her saying that Jessica should do the talking. That he could barely string two sentences together.
Jess had told him to be friendly. Okay. He could do that.
"You look a lot like that guy on House of Cards," Connor heard himself say to Trey. "You know. The handsome one? Remy?" Now he sounded like he was hitting on the guy. "Not that I'm gay."
"I am."
"Really?" More sweat flooded out of every single pore. "One of my best friends is gay." Please, Jess, please come in right now.
"And I bet you have a best friend who's also black."
"Uh...well, no, not best friend. Friend, though. Marcus at the gym. But my best friend is really my twin sister, I guess."
Oh, fuck. There was really no other word for it.
He wiped his forehead again. "Let's get back to tasting. This is the IPA, which is a personal favorite." He poured more glasses for the Fab Four, minus the gay nondrinker. "This one has a very creamy head--" Sphincter! "--and good retention and lacing. Kind of a spicy pine hops in the nose and on the palate with just enough malt for balance."
Okay, so maybe that wasn't that bad.
"So it's very, uh, fresh, very bright with some citrus notes. Great for casual fare like burgers and nachos, but also with a delicate white fish, for example, or a pasta primavera. See, I'm a chef, I think I told you already. That's one of my goals. To bring beer to fine dining. Wine's been in charge long enough, don't you think?"
"I'm half owner of Wilson Vineyards," Ms. Porter said.
Connor drained his glass. "Well. I also love wine." Poured some more beer and drank that, too.
No-Name smiled and scribbled some notes. Pushed his empty glass back. Generic was not smiling, but was taking notes. Trey--cool name, was as well, and with that NFL physique, he could probably model. Bet he had a boyfriend. Too bad Jeremy was seeing Patrick. Trey and he would have beautiful babies.
This line of thinking reminded Connor about a certain pertinent fact regarding himself.
He was a lightweight. Colleen got all the drinking genes in the family.
And now he had quite the buzz on.
He checked his phone. Nothing from Jessica. Nothing.
He kept going. Through the Pilsner, the Amber Lager, the Stout. Everything he said seemed laden with sexual innuendo, and the House of Cards guy began to appear to be carved from stone. But Amy sipped every sample and took notes; Generic did the same; No-Name pounded back every pour and asked for more, and Connor wondered if the floor of the conference room should be on a forty-five degree angle, as it seemed to be.
"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," Connor said. Shit. He sounded sloppy. "This is your typical American beer. I thought I'd use it for comparison purposes. So we've gone through all my beers, and now you can taste this blecch beer and really see--no, really experience, because that's what O'Rourke's Brewing wants to do. Create. A taste. Experience." He used his forefinger to punctuate the words. Maybe not a good idea. "Here. Let me pour you some. It's Pabst. Or Genesee. I forget."
And with that, he poured Amy some beer. Except he missed the glass and dumped it right down her front.
"Damn it!" she said, pushing back from the table.
"Oh, shit," Connor said. "Here, let me help." He grabbed some napkins and started blotting her front. Implants, given the way they jutted out at the same angle as a unicorn's horn, and like the unicorn's horn, felt like they were made of a very hard substance. "Are these new?" he asked, dabbing some more.
She smacked his hand away. "We're done here."
"Thank God," he said. Probably shouldn't have said that, but oops. "Great meeting you. I'm so sorry Jess couldn't get here. She, uh, she's fantastic. And she would've made me look really good."
"Take care," said No-Name.
"I'll call you?" Connor suggested.
No one answered. They left the conference room, and Connor sat back down. Put his head on the table and sighed.
That didn't go so well, it seemed. When he was sober, he'd find out for sure.
He checked his phone again. Still nothing.
It was a little past four.
This was not running late.
He bolted upright and hit his sister's name. "Where's Jess?" he barked.
"Oh, Con, she didn't call you? I just found out myself. She's at the hospital. There was a fire at her house. Everyone's okay, but--"
He was out of the conference room, running. He grabbed the nearest bellboy. "Get me a cab. It's an emergency."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JESS HAD JUST gotten into her car at Blue Heron, about to head for Corning when she decided to swing by the house and bring Connor a good-luck charm--Yoshi, the little green plastic critter he'd won for her at the 4-H fair. Today would be tough for him, and wicked fun for her. The little monster would remind him to relax and smile a little.
And she'd remind him of that, too. It was really something, knowing that she'd helped him in this. Sure, he could've hired someone else to do it, but he'd hired her, and she'd done a great job, and she'd done it without guidance from anyone. He wanted her there. He wanted her to pitch his brewery to these people, with more than half a million dollars at stake, and he'd picked the girl from the trailer park, the class ho, to handle this for him. Not because she was sleeping with him--when he hired her, she hadn't been. Because he had faith in her, in her intelligence and professionalism.
That morning, she'd put on her best suit, black and simply cut, the kind that would never go out of style. A low-cut white silk V-neck underneath it; still classy, but with a sexy little edge. The black heels with the strap across the ankle. She pulled her hair up into a perfect French twist and put on her makeup carefully.
"Hello, Older Woman Fantasy," Ned murmured as she came into the conference room for a staff meeting.
"Shush, child," she said, grinning.
"Will you spank me if I'm naughty?"
"Behave, Ned," said Honor. "Jess, feel free to sue him. But you do look fantastic. Today's the day, huh? Good luck. Tell Connor not to sweat or growl at anyone."
Marcy burst in on her usual wave of energy and noise. "Sorry I'm late, so busy, have this superwealthy bride, and I want to-- Uh." She broke off at the sight of Jessica. "A little overdressed, aren't we?"
"I have a presentation off-site today," Jessica said.
"For what?"
For none of your business, she thought. "For Connor O'Rourke."
"Why?"
"He's opening a brewery," Ned said. "And Jess is his woman."
"And a marketing genius," Honor added with a smile.
"Are you kidding me?" Marcy said. "You two are dating? I had no idea!"
"Jessica's private life aside, why don't we get to work?" Honor said, passing out some papers.
"No, of course, it's just that I'm buried in my work these days. Busy, busy! No time for extracurricular fun, I kid you not." She didn't look at Jess. Great. Another reason for Marcy to dislike her.
For the first time since Jess had started at Blue Heron, the morning dragged. All she could think about was the presentation, which she'd practiced until eleven last night. It would be a home run. She just knew it. And yes, Connor could sit there and look hot, and when she was done with the presentation, he'd field questions with ease, because Empire State Food & Beverage would be begging to give him the six hundred grand.
When the meeting ended and she went to her car, she thought of that little green plastic creature. He could keep it in his pocket, and maybe remember that beautiful, simple day at the 4-H fair, and that she'd kissed him. In public.
She drove down toward the Village, taking a right at the bottom of the hill. Soon, she'd be taking a left and going right into the Village, into her own little house.
And strangely, the thought didn't bring her as much happiness as she'd imagined it would.
But owning a house was something she was going to do. She'd come too far to move into someone else's place. She'd given Ned notice that she and Davey were moving, and it was fine with Ned. He'd paid off his credit card bill, and was moving back into the Opera House.
So it would be just her and Davey again, same as always.
There it was once more, that pang of...something.
She turned onto her street. Saw Ricky running up her steps.
The dread hit her before the facts.
There was smoke. There was smoke and a bad smell, and oh, God, a fire, a fire, but it was okay, it was okay, because Davey was at work--
And then Ricky came out the door and down the steps, his arm around Davey, and Davey's arm was in front of his face, and his hands were bright, bright red.
"Davey!" she screamed. She pulled over so hard she hit the curb. Threw open the car door, fell, and was up and running. "Davey!" She didn't recognize her own voice, it was so choked by fear.
"He's okay," Ricky said. "Just a little burn. Fire's out, but I called 911 already."
Tears streaked Davey's sooty face. Dear God, thank you, he seemed okay, but there was a livid red streak up his cheek, and his hair...his chick-like hair was uneven, because a good chunk of it was singed off.
And his hands, his poor hands were bright red. "Oh, honey," she said, and she was shaking so hard, and her chest was heaving. "Oh, God, oh, honey, what happened, are you okay?"
"My hands hurt," he said, sobbing. "It wasn't my fault! I'm sorry, Jess."
"No, no, it's okay. We'll get your hands taken care of. What happened? Why are you home?"
"I wanted to surprise you," he said, tears pouring down his face. "I wanted to cook you supper the way Connor taught me."
*
LEVI WAS FIRST on the scene, screeching up in his patrol car, Emmaline right behind him. The fire department was there in minutes, Gerard and a few other firefighters so reassuring in their gear, tramping through the house, checking the rooms, using the thermal imaging camera to see if there was fire in the walls, just to be sure. Pru sat with her, telling her it was okay, abject terror was just part of raising kids. Honor came, and Faith, baby in her arms, and Lucas Campbell. Tanner Angst and Debbie Meering from drum circle...just about everyone in town had come as soon as they heard it over the scanner--structure fire, 159 Academy Street, disabled person in residence.
Somehow her father found out. Keith arrived as they were trying to convince Davey to go to the hospital.
"Davey, you're hurt," Jess said. She was still shaking so hard she couldn't stand, and they were sitting on the front steps of Ricky's house, wet towels over Davey's arms. Jess was pressing
a cool cloth against his face.
"I want to watch the firefighters," he said.
"If you get an infection, it's really going to hurt."
"It wasn't my fault."
"I bet Gerard would use lights and sirens for you," Levi said. "You still love that, don't you, bud?"
"No. I want to stay." He was getting frustrated, Jess knew. His mouth had that stubborn, tight look to it.
"I've never ridden in an ambulance," Keith said. "I've always wanted to. Would you let me go with you, son? It'd be really fun for me."
Davey went to scratch his head, then stopped, wincing at the pain in his hands, and Jess bit down hard on the tears. "Okay, Dad," he said.
"Come on, Jess," Levi said, offering his hand. "You can ride with me."
*
AT THE HOSPITAL, they were shown into a room and told to wait. And of course, Jeremy Lyon wasn't on duty; he was away at a conference, so there was no friend present at just the right time, the way there had been for Colleen when she popped out her baby. No, for Davey, there was sit and wait.
Her poor little boy. If his hair didn't grow back...if he had a scar... Yeah, at least he was okay, but this was huge. What if he had night terrors again, the way he had after Chico the Original was put to sleep, after Mom died? Was the house okay for them to sleep in?
This was why she'd never wanted kids. This heart-stopping terror.
Prudence, Levi and her father were all in the waiting room. She wanted to be alone with Davey; he'd been getting more and more upset, concerned that he'd be in trouble for the fire. She'd assured him this wasn't his fault, then stroked his hair. Some of the burned strands broke under her hand like dust, and the smell was dreadful. After a few minutes, he dozed off, exhausted from the shock and fear.
He wasn't the one who should be worried about getting into trouble.
She stepped in the hall to make some phone calls and figure out how the hell this had happened.
Her screen showed three missed messages from Connor. Four texts. Oh, she'd be talking to him soon enough, that was for sure.
First on her shit list, however, was Petra, the manager of the candle factory. Jess told her what happened and chewed her out in a whisper. Petra was supposed to notify Jess if Davey left the candle shop early, and it didn't matter if Davey had lied and said she was home, she was supposed to check, and who cared if he'd never done anything like this before? This was policy for damn good reason!
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