Crystal Caress. Zuri Day
her hand from a shake that had lasted too long. She was not a pork chop, and thought his wife might have a problem with the fact that her husband viewed some journalists as he would a piece of meat. Bad career move, Paul. As a seasoned politician who thought he knew everything, he should have known better than to act like this.
“I understand you’re a part of Paradise Cove’s first family. Your brother is Nicodemus Drake?”
“Yes. First family is a generous description, and that title belongs to him and his wife, Monique. I am simply a citizen of that wonderful town, the same as your parents and other relatives still living in PC. Speaking of which, I understand you graduated a year ahead of my oldest brother, Ike Jr. Do you remember him?”
“Are you kidding? Who could forget Ike? He was as brainy, gregarious and charming as they come, something that obviously runs in the family.” He had winked, and gestured toward a seating area in his roomy office. “Shall we?”
Teresa had covered the urge to gag with a patient smile, taken a seat and steeled herself against what would surely be a taxing interview. On the bright side, all she had to do was get through it. And she did.
* * *
Hours later, she reached the hotel. After securing a bellman to deliver her many purchases, she continued to her room, ordered room service and changed into comfy clothes. A crash course in all things Alaskan, gleaned from the information she’d been emailed and more than a dozen sites bookmarked on her browser, had helped her come up with a time-effective game plan to make the most of her time on the last frontier and, most important, be able to make her flight leaving Anchorage for Saturday morning at 12:45 a.m. She’d decided to theme her four-part series around Alaska’s people, places and plentiful resources, all of which she’d discussed with Paul in order to set up the rest of the series. By dinnertime, she’d finished a nearly perfect first draft of the leading article and also firmed up her travel plans for the next two days. Figuring she’d benefit more from dining in the restaurant than again in her room, she called downstairs, and after another conversation with a helpful concierge, she decided on the Glacier Brewhouse. She pulled on a pair of woolen stretch pants, paired them with an oversize sweater, her “sexy” sheepskin coat and new Ugg boots, and headed downstairs to an awaiting taxi.
Five minutes and she’d reached her destination. When asked, the driver had agreed that this restaurant was a fine choice. Both he and the concierge must have been right: a weeknight, yet every table was taken.
She approached the host stand. “How long is the wait for a table?”
The hostess looked around. “About fifteen to thirty minutes. But there are seats at the bar.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks.”
She walked over and found a seat next to a guy engaged in conversation with the bartender.
The bartender smiled. “Good evening. What can we get for you tonight?”
“A menu for starters, thanks.”
“Coming right up.” The bartender gave her a menu. “Your first time here?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in for a treat.”
“I don’t doubt that. The restaurant came highly recommended.”
He placed a glass of water in front of her. “As you know, we’re a brewery, with over a dozen selections on tap. We’ll surely satisfy your taste for a cold one, no matter the palate.”
“Um, personally, I’m more of a wine girl.”
The bartender’s eyes widened. He looked at the man he’d conversed with before she arrived. “Did you hear that, man?”
The man smiled, answering without looking up from his phone. “I heard that.”
Teresa glanced at him. Great hair. Smooth skin. Nice teeth. And a nearly hidden dimple that flashed when he smiled. Had she been on a mission to meet a man, this one would have definitely intrigued her. Even with his five-o’clock shadow, when she liked her men clean-shaven. But she wasn’t here for that. She was in town on business and in this place for something to eat. That was all. She wasn’t here to flirt with, or pick up, handsome men. These words she repeated more than once as the two men interacted.
“Who’d walk into the best brewery in America talking about wine?”
Handsome shrugged. “A woman pretty sure of herself, I’d say.” He looked at her. His eyes were dark, almost black, and smoldering. Had someone just turned up the heat in the room? Teresa forced her eyes to the menu, while they’d really wanted to linger on the man’s tantalizing lips.
The bartender went on. “Tell me the type of wine you prefer, and I’ll serve up a few samples that will convert you from a stemmed glass to a hearty, chilled mug.”
Teresa laughed. “I like a semidry Chardonnay, with hints of fruit and a little spice.”
“I’ve got a couple choices, either of which will be perfect.” He walked away.
Teresa looked at the sexy stranger seated beside her, noted the strong, tanned fingers gripping the mug he’d just set on the bar and imagined he could perform one heck of a massage. Just as quickly, she chided herself on not being able to rein in her errant thoughts. That she’d not had a good fracking in months was no reason to entertain fracking a stranger. Or was it?
“What kind are you drinking?”
The man looked up from his phone, and over at her. “Me?” She nodded. “A Belgian pale ale.”
“What’s that taste like?”
“I’m no expert.” He shrugged. “Tastes like beer to me.”
She leaned toward him conspiratorially. “I probably shouldn’t say this too loudly, but I hate the taste of beer!”
Again, that smile as he leaned toward her and whispered, “You’re in a brewery. Definitely not a good idea to say that out loud.”
He smelled like sunshine and the fresh outdoors. His long lashes created a shadow on his high cheeks as he returned to using his thumb to scroll the cell-phone screen. A part of her wanted to nuzzle her nose into his neck and feel that thumb lightly rubbing her shoulder. Even though he was obviously more interested in his electronic device than in human conversation, she couldn’t leave him alone.
“Are you a local?”
A tick or two passed before he answered. “Pretty much.”
She got the message. “Sorry to bother you.”
He set the phone on the bar top. “You’re not a bother. I’m just not good at small talk.”
“And I’m exactly the opposite. Being a writer by choice and curious by nature makes questions come easy.”
Handsome nodded, took a swig of beer. The bartender returned with two shot glasses. He explained the two choices he’d brought her—one light and citrusy, the other flavored with cloves.
She took a teeny sip of the first one, twisting her mouth in displeasure. “Would you toss me out if I stuck with water?”
The bartender laughed. “No way, pretty lady. There are other drinks on the menu.”
“I’ll have a look, thanks.” He moved on to another customer. She turned to Handsome and held out her hand. “My name’s Teresa.”
“Atka,” he responded, taking her hand and shaking it.
His grip was firm but brief. Too brief, she decided.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”
“At. Ka. It’s from my native language.”
“Which is?”
“Yupik. My family are native Alaskans.”
Her