“You know what this place needs?” Dion cracks the cap off the bottle using the counter. “A woman’s touch. I mean, look at how dull this place is.” Then he leans against the humming refrigerator.

Scoffing, Shea’s lips curl into a sort of smile. Then he cocks an eyebrow at Dion, “Fine, I’ll give you a spare key.”

Excellent! I love that.

Neither of these guys is my cup of tea, but I liked the way you wrote them. The gruffness. The absence of sentimentality, yet you sense so much running below the surface. Good stuff.

And "Nashville of the North"?! Ha ha ha!