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got hurt last October—broke his leg skateboarding. He’s having a hard time making it back, but he hopes to play football again next year. I guess that’s why he’s a fan of the Laser.”
    Grace guessed that an avid fan of football would know exactly why an injured kid would be a fan of Luke Lazurnovich, but she had no idea. Rather than advertise her ignorance, she encouraged the man to continue his story. “Oh?”
    “Yeah, Skeeter fell off his skateboard doing tricks at a local skate park.” The man went into a long story of his son’s accident, his hospitalization and recovery. Grace listened politely.
    Luke finished signing his name and a short message on the napkin and handed it over. “There you go. Best of luck to Skeeter.”
    The man read the message on the napkin. He seemed genuinely grateful. “Thanks, Laser. This is going to mean a lot to my son.” He shook Luke’s hand again and went back to his table.
    Public duties finished, Luke turned back to her. Once again, their knees bumped, causing Grace to re-cross her legs.
    “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I actually finished a drink in a bar. People come over all the time. If this keeps up, we should find somewhere else to go.”
    “I think it’s charming. People really like you.”
    “I played offense. That means I was a good guy on the field—most of the time. People figure they can approach me and I won’t punch their lights out.”
    “You got injured last year?”
    He shook his head. “Three years ago. Broke my leg in a game, lots of drama.”
    Taking a chance, Grace said, “You seem an unlikely kind of person to play a violent sport.”
    “Don’t assume. I can knock anybody on his ass when I have to. How about another drink?”
    Grace hadn’t realized how quickly she’d downed her gimlet. Talk about Jake Kendall’s death had caused her to forget herself, and the idea of knocking people on their asses temporarily short-circuited her brain.
    “No,” she said, gathering up her hat. “Thank you, but your fifteen minute parking pass must be expiring. And I should go figure out a contingency plan for myself.”
    He was studying her again. “Do you know anybody in Pittsburgh, Grace Vanderbine?”
    “Not a soul. Why?”
    “If your flight is canceled, you want to spend the night at my place?”
    She laughed. “Is this customary in Pittsburgh? A gentleman buys the drinks, gets the lady to talk about subjects calculated to throw her off balance, and then he invites her to adjourn to the ever popular ‘my place’?”
    He planted his elbow on the bar and smiled all the way to the deepest part of his baby blues. “Have I got you off balance?”
    “A little, yes,” Grace admitted. She pulled on her hat and endeavored not to look flustered.
    She must have failed, because he laughed again. “Relax. I’m not asking you to hit the sheets with me. I’m thinking ahead, that’s all. The roads are closing. The hotels are full. The weather’s getting worse. What’s the proper etiquette for asking a lady if she needs a bed for the night?”
    “I don’t need a bed. Not yours, anyway.”
    Luke leaned closer. “Loosen your corset, Princess. I’m not propositioning you, honest. Just offering a port in the storm.”
    Grace reached for her gloves and efficiently tucked them into her handbag. “I’m not wearing a corset—figurative or otherwise. Thanks, but no thanks. I think it’s time to go find my gate.”
    Luke didn’t protest as she pulled out her wallet to pay for the drinks. Quicker, he dug some cash out of his pocket and left a few bills on the bar even though the bartender had said the drinks were on the house. Then he picked up her luggage, and they went out into the airport together, brushing close as he held the door open for her.
    “Thank you for the ride and the drink,” Grace told him as she settled her coat over her arm and pushed her hat up off her forehead. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” She