Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(48)

While Colleen fussed around behind the bar, Connor got his laptop from the office, sat down at a booth and focused on his project of the last fifteen months.

O’Rourke’s Brewing.

In the land of small vineyards, there was also a fair number of microbreweries popping up here and there. Some were quite good; some were mediocre. But who better to be an owner of one than Connor himself? He knew flavors. O’Rourke’s had the best beer list in the Finger Lakes, or so said the New York Times, thank you very much. Why not branch out into something a little different?

He didn’t want to be a brewer himself per se; his true love was food. But he’d always done some home brewing, though he really didn’t drink too much; one beer on an empty stomach was enough to give him a buzz. But Connor knew a guy, Tim Parsons, who’d jump at the chance to be a brewer and do the actual work, almost like a sous-chef. He was just waiting for Connor to get things in place, content with his day job as a schoolteacher.

The restaurant was his first priority, but Connor wanted something a little more to his name. He and Colleen had owned O’Rourke’s for almost ten years now, and they were both incredibly proud of it.

Problem was, it ticked along like clockwork. They had a great staff; Rafe was almost as good a chef as Connor, and a little better with desserts. Colleen ran the bar perfectly, Hannah and Monica were excellent servers. In tourist season, they hired a couple more kids to bus tables and wash dishes. They got stellar reviews and were featured in virtually every article that mentioned Manningsport.

So that goal had been met. The other goal—marry Jess—had gone down in flames.

It hadn’t been easy to see her the other night with the Hollands. But she played it cool, that much-hated three feet away face on in full force. It was her specialty, after all. So he played it cool, too, even if he did burn the next order he’d cooked.

Time to focus on the microbrewery. He and Tim had already developed seven varieties of beer in Tim’s garage, and they were utterly fantastic, in his humble opinion. But the first step to creating an actual brewery would be to find funding. He had a chunk saved, as well as a bank loan, but he’d still need investors, people who wouldn’t mind being silent partners and ponying up the cash. Connor had a successful business to his name; he already had an in with distributors as the co-owner of the bar; and he was a professional chef. He was keeping an eye out for some real estate that would house the business.

All he needed was about half a million dollars more, and he’d be all set.

“Daydreaming about your brewery?” Colleen asked.

“Yeah.” He turned the folder so she could see his notes.

“Dogface Ale? Aw! Thanks, brother mine.” She smiled, rubbing her belly. “You know, Dad would be—”

“I’m not going to ask Dad to be an investor.”

She sighed. “He’s not Satan, you know.”

“I know. But this is going to be mine. Not ours, and certainly not his.”

“Well, our high school reunion is coming up. You could tap some of our old classmates. You should start with Jeremy. He’s richer than God.”

He hadn’t thought of that. It might be uncomfortable, casually asking Jer if he had a few hundred thousand dollars lying around. Then again, why not? Jeremy might get a real kick out of it.

“Do you have any plans at all?” Colleen said.

“I have this spreadsheet,” he said.

“That’s just money. What’s your vision?”

“Um...what?”

“You need to pedal vision. Why would I buy O’Rourke’s beer instead of anyone else’s?”

“Because you’re my sister?”

She rolled her eyes. “What sets O’Rourke’s beers apart? You have an attractive twin. How will you leverage her charm and good looks to help your business grow?”

“I won’t. She’s not as cute as she thinks.”

She smiled and gave him the finger. “I’m even cuter. Oh! The baby kicked. Want to feel?”

“That’s okay. I have sympathy back pain as it is.”

“You do? That’s kind of sweet, Connor.” She toyed with her hair, as she always did when she was thinking, then sat up a little straighter. “You know who could totally help you? Jessica.”

Connor’s stomach dropped. “Uh...have you forgotten a little something?”

“No. But come on. You two have known each other for decades. You gonna nurse a broken heart forever?”

“I was thinking a day or two.”

“Drama queen.”

“You’re the one who spent ten years—”

“Hush! I’m pregnant. Be nice to me. No, seriously, Con. Jessica knows a lot about marketing. She has contacts through the vineyard. And she’s always on the prowl for extra money. Did you know she even stripped for a while?”

“How do you know that?”

“I know everything. Plus, it would help you start to get over her. You can’t not speak to her. We’ve known her since forever.”

It was an irritatingly logical suggestion.

Connor was saved from further comment as the door to the bar opened, and in came a very pretty (and very young) woman Connor didn’t know.

“That’s Jordan. My bartender candidate.” Colleen struggled to stand up, and Connor pulled the table back to give her more room then offered his hand and hauled her up. It wasn’t easy. “You sure you’re not percolating a calf in there?” he said.