Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(97)

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, f*ck. 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.”