it,” he said with a grin.
“I’ll forgive you,” she said. “Just this once.”
He’d made one for himself as well and lifted his cup in a small toast. Eloise smiled her thanks and raised hers to her lips. The deep, almost smoky flavor of the brew was intoxicating; she’d never tasted anything so unique, and she liked it.
“Wow.”
Cole smiled. “Succinct, but descriptive nonetheless. I like a woman who verbalizes what she likes. In one syllable or less.”
Spud nodded his approval from where he stood a few feet away, tidying the bar shelves. Eloise reminded herself why she’d come. “Mr. Davies, can I ask you something? I was talking to one of your neighbors a few doors down, and he said he was worried about the new whiskey bar hurting business around here. What are your thoughts?”
A shadow flickered over Spud’s round face. “I’ve been here a few years now and being near the Arena is good for the most part; lots of fans stop by before and after games. I’m sure you know what they charge for food and drinks inside the rink,” he chuckled. “But this VIP lounge thing is just unnecessary. Guys like Sheehan Murphy don’t need a bigger piece of the pie, they’re already stinking rich. Why does he have to squeeze out small businessmen like us? It’s unfair.”
Before Eloise could respond, Cole interrupted the conversation. “Don’t get this guy started on the evils of corporate greed,” he warned her. “You’ll be here all night. You’d think he owns the place,” he said with a crafty smile. He moved to her side of the bar and took a seat next to her. “You like?” he asked, pointing to her coffee.
“It’s wonderful,” she admitted, taking another sip. “So in addition to playing guitar, you’re a gifted barista, on top of being a pro hockey player. Is there no end to the talents of Mr. Cole Fiorino?”
He shrugged. “I’d rather talk about your talents. Where are you from, and how does a girl like you end up in the hockey world?”
“I’m from Ohio. I studied business administration at NYU then moved to Minneapolis to get my graduate degree at Carlson. Rochester wasn’t far away, and a headhunter drafted me right out of grad school. Been here ever since.”
Cole rested his chin in his hand as he listened to her talk, his blue gaze piercing her. Focused on her in a visual caress. “You have family back in Ohio?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, taking another sip of the decadent brew. “My mom and dad, and my sisters. I’m the oldest before you ask.”
He grinned. “Me too. I have a younger brother. He’s at UMD.”
“Hockey player, I’m guessing?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, eyes twinkling with pride. “Damn good one too. Are your sisters all as sexy as you are?”
Eloise set her cup down and laughed outright. “Okay, now that’s a pretty old pickup line for a guy your age, but I’ll take it as a compliment. And yes, by all accounts, my sisters are gorgeous.”
“You think I’m trying to pick you up?” he asked, feigning indignation.
“Are you?”
“Well, if you have to ask, I’m doing a pretty poor job,” he laughed. “Any other questions?”
She looked at him through the wisp of steam still rising from her cup. Damn, he was a racehorse; a tall, dark, handsome Italian stallion. Oh, the questions I’d have for you if we were alone in my stable right now.
“Why do they call you the Beantown Bard?”
Cole’s smile widened at her query. “That, pretty doughnut-lady, is a question best answered over dinner. How about tomorrow night?”
Chapter Six
Dressed in a suit and tie, Cole sat at the bar of the Northern Lights Bistro in uptown Rochester waiting for Eloise to arrive. He’d offered to pick her up in a town car, but she’d declined. Very independent lady, and smokin’ hot. She had that exotic look he loved with her thick chestnut brown hair and emerald eyes. He stirred his scotch and soda, stabbing at the ice cubes in his glass.
“I’ll forgive you,” she said. “Just this once.”
He’d made one for himself as well and lifted his cup in a small toast. Eloise smiled her thanks and raised hers to her lips. The deep, almost smoky flavor of the brew was intoxicating; she’d never tasted anything so unique, and she liked it.
“Wow.”
Cole smiled. “Succinct, but descriptive nonetheless. I like a woman who verbalizes what she likes. In one syllable or less.”
Spud nodded his approval from where he stood a few feet away, tidying the bar shelves. Eloise reminded herself why she’d come. “Mr. Davies, can I ask you something? I was talking to one of your neighbors a few doors down, and he said he was worried about the new whiskey bar hurting business around here. What are your thoughts?”
A shadow flickered over Spud’s round face. “I’ve been here a few years now and being near the Arena is good for the most part; lots of fans stop by before and after games. I’m sure you know what they charge for food and drinks inside the rink,” he chuckled. “But this VIP lounge thing is just unnecessary. Guys like Sheehan Murphy don’t need a bigger piece of the pie, they’re already stinking rich. Why does he have to squeeze out small businessmen like us? It’s unfair.”
Before Eloise could respond, Cole interrupted the conversation. “Don’t get this guy started on the evils of corporate greed,” he warned her. “You’ll be here all night. You’d think he owns the place,” he said with a crafty smile. He moved to her side of the bar and took a seat next to her. “You like?” he asked, pointing to her coffee.
“It’s wonderful,” she admitted, taking another sip. “So in addition to playing guitar, you’re a gifted barista, on top of being a pro hockey player. Is there no end to the talents of Mr. Cole Fiorino?”
He shrugged. “I’d rather talk about your talents. Where are you from, and how does a girl like you end up in the hockey world?”
“I’m from Ohio. I studied business administration at NYU then moved to Minneapolis to get my graduate degree at Carlson. Rochester wasn’t far away, and a headhunter drafted me right out of grad school. Been here ever since.”
Cole rested his chin in his hand as he listened to her talk, his blue gaze piercing her. Focused on her in a visual caress. “You have family back in Ohio?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, taking another sip of the decadent brew. “My mom and dad, and my sisters. I’m the oldest before you ask.”
He grinned. “Me too. I have a younger brother. He’s at UMD.”
“Hockey player, I’m guessing?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, eyes twinkling with pride. “Damn good one too. Are your sisters all as sexy as you are?”
Eloise set her cup down and laughed outright. “Okay, now that’s a pretty old pickup line for a guy your age, but I’ll take it as a compliment. And yes, by all accounts, my sisters are gorgeous.”
“You think I’m trying to pick you up?” he asked, feigning indignation.
“Are you?”
“Well, if you have to ask, I’m doing a pretty poor job,” he laughed. “Any other questions?”
She looked at him through the wisp of steam still rising from her cup. Damn, he was a racehorse; a tall, dark, handsome Italian stallion. Oh, the questions I’d have for you if we were alone in my stable right now.
“Why do they call you the Beantown Bard?”
Cole’s smile widened at her query. “That, pretty doughnut-lady, is a question best answered over dinner. How about tomorrow night?”
Chapter Six
Dressed in a suit and tie, Cole sat at the bar of the Northern Lights Bistro in uptown Rochester waiting for Eloise to arrive. He’d offered to pick her up in a town car, but she’d declined. Very independent lady, and smokin’ hot. She had that exotic look he loved with her thick chestnut brown hair and emerald eyes. He stirred his scotch and soda, stabbing at the ice cubes in his glass.
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