“You are never too old or too skilled to learn somethin’ new.” Lifting my own drink is accompanied by finding her gaze again. “Words I live by.”
We exchange warm grins, clink our drinkware, and indulge in a sip.
Familiar tastes of smooth whiskey being mellowed by dashes of sweetness play pond hockey across my tongue; however, the sudden, harsh, open mouth gagging, from the first timer at my side have the game ending.
Immediately.
“You okay?!” leaves me in the concerned tone I typically only reserve for two people in my life.
“It burns!”
“What the fuck did you give her, Moose?!”
Mirth can’t be kept out of his tone, “An old fashion.”
“It’s like drinking fire,” she complains, head whipping rapidly side to side, curls clipping me in the eye. “And brimstone. And night terrors.”
“So um,” rubbing away the minor sting occurs in between light laughs, “you don’t like whiskey, aye?”
“No.” The definite answer is echoed by a harsh push back towards Moose. “No. Thank you.”
“See and now we know that.”
“We do.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Without a single fucking one.”
“You know my grams’ favorite things are a good glass of aged whiskey and a slice of pecan pie,” I casually announce, redirecting her gaze to me. “Doesn’t matter if it’s Thanksgivin’ or jus’ a Tuesday in June.” Seeing the hint of a smile encourages me to add. “It’s always a good time for whiskey and pie.”
“It’snevera good time for whiskey,” is spoken prior to another gag.
“What do you wanna try next?” my finger taps the mini menu. “Somethin’ fruiter? Chocolatier?” A flirtatious grin is given. “Like whiskey and pie, it’salwaysa good time for chocolate and coffee.”
“I like coffee.” Tiny splashes of red tint her cheeks alongside a shy nod. “I like coffeea lot.”
Hallhavemercy…I would put a ring on her finger right now if I had one.
Coffee is the only thing I love as much as hockey and my tunes.
Not wanting to influence her decision – but definitely tempted to – is what leads to me suggesting, “You wanna try somethin’ with coffee liqueur in it?”
She coyly nods again.
“B-52s comin’ up,” Moose proclaims only to quickly amend, “right after I grab them fresh cold ones.”
His exit prompts me to speak quickly in hopes of keeping her attention, “Can you Texas two-step?”
Another fast-paced headshake is offered alongside her confession, “I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s a dance,” coolly leaves me.
“It’s a religion,” the flannel wearing female on the other side of her corrects.
“For some,” I lightly concede at the same time I become completely upright. “And foryou,” my palm is extended and turned upward, “class is about to be in sesh.”
The beam I’m presented threatens to have me panting harder than OT in the Cup finals.
