Everything reduces to an undecipherable hum, and I finally allow myself to catch a glimpse of Krystal. I shift slightly, looking just over my shoulder. The Korean woman sitting beside her looks about twice our age. She’s talking her ear off, and Krystal is resting her chin on her palm, twirling a bar spoon.
I meant to check on her, to see if she’s at least enjoying herself, but I’m stuck staring. Her beauty is hypnotic, and the longer I watch her, the more she seems to glow. Feeling my eyes on her, she blinks up and over at me. The tiniest smirk curls the corner of her lips, and she rolls her eyes, shaking her head.
My mouth stretches in a smile I can’t subdue. I don’t know how long we stay there, holding each other with a stare. Marco claps, and the doors on the opposite corner of the roomswing open. A team of servers rolls through carrying various ingredients on trays and depositing them at each of our tables.
“I’m going to show you how to make our signature cocktail and then, you’ll make your own versions. The winner!” He claps again, and I can’t tell whether he’s genuinely excited or if it’s just for show, but the energy in the room electrifies. Gayle returns, strutting like a model through the room and holding a bottle of amber liquid to the side like a trophy. Once she reaches Marco’s side, he takes it from her, caressing the bottle with his eyes.
“The winner of tonight’s competition will receive this bottle ofMount Gay Barbados Rum.This distillery is the oldest continually operating one in the world, and there are only 3000 bottles of this beautiful rum available for purchase,” Marco explains.
I’m not a heavy drinker, but even I’m a little excited at the prospect of winning.
He goes through the motions of showing us how to make the Rosemary Cranberry Cocktail. It’s a simple enough recipe made up of cranberry juice, rosemary simple syrup, and vodka — poured over ice, stirred, and garnished with a sprig of rosemary. The sound of glasses clinking rings through the room as we all cheers and taste our handiwork. For being so simple, the drink is shockingly good.
“Damn, I want that rum, dude,” Alex says, suddenly serious with a laser-focused stare aimed at the bottle. I cringe at being called dude, and I wonder how this all will work since we’ve separated the couples. If we win, I don’t know if I would let him keep it.
The speakers crackle to life, and the jazzy vocals of Destiny Child’s ‘Platinum Bells’float through the space. The servers return, this time, setting the extensive bar island with all kindsof juices, ciders, syrups, and garnishes for us to make our own versions of the cocktail.
Marco explains the contest again, counts down from three, and signals that we can begin. Alex speeds to the bar, immediately gathering ingredients. I hang back, catching Krystal by the elbow. She spins to face me, a resigned smile on her lips. I search her face for the answer to a question I’m not sure of. I think, if I’m being honest, I just wanted an excuse to be this close to her.
“What’s up?” She asks.
I release a deep breath, rocking back on my heels. “I don’t know.”
She chuckles, and immediately my mood lightens. “You trying to sabotage me or something?”
“What?” I reply, genuinely confused until I remember where we are and why we’re here. “Oh! You actually care about the contest. Cute,” I smirk.
She rolls her eyes, and not in the playful way she did before. “The activities are the entire point of the trip. Why spend all this money to come here if you didn’t want to participate?”
It’s a valid question, one that roots itself deep in my gut and twists. My head tilts back as I regard her. “The same reason you are.” She lifts a probing eyebrow. “To make Christmas feel like something other than a reminder of what I’ve lost.”
Her smug expression settles into something more compassionate.
Then, Alex returns with a tray filled with juices and syrups that don’t seem to go together at all. He looks at the otherwise empty station, gawking at me. “You didn’t get anything?”
Krystal snorts, her nose scrunching while she laughs. I look down at her, smiling like an idiot. “Tell you what, if either of us wins, we’ll share the bottle.” Her eyes sparkle under the gleam of the lights, never leaving mine as she waits for my answer. Warmth blooms in my chest and spreads throughout my body the longer we hold on.
The answer was always going to be yes, but I like having an excuse to stare into her light brown eyes for as long as I want to. Her face is sharp in all the places you expect a face to sharpen, pillowed by the soft curves of her cheeks and the roundness of her chin. Her eyes and lips are full, too big for her face, but fitting perfectly at the same time.
Her eyes flutter to my lips for a millisecond before she looks away. Huffing, she shakes her head. “You in? Santa?”
My head falls back in a roar of a laugh. “Deal.”
The remaining options are sparse by the time we finally make our way up there. I grab an unflavored syrup, cloves as my garnish, and club soda as my chaser. When I get back to my table, Alex stares at the random collection and shakes his head. “I would have never left my wife if I knew this was what I would have been stuck with.”
I rest my hand over my heart, feigning offense. “Left is a strong word. But, yeah, you probably should have stuck with your wife,dude.”
His eyes narrow to slits as he looks over at me. “What are we gonna do?”
I regard all the choices he made, and my brows furrow in confusion. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Lemon juice, mint leaves, and a cinnamon syrup sit before me. Not that my selection makes a huge difference, but I have an excuse. “I don’t know, bro, I just grabbed a bunch of shit.”
I find myself feeling sorry for his wife yet again.
Shaking my head, I roll my sleeves up to my elbows and start mixing a drink together. I don’t care about winning, really. But the thought of sharing that bottle of rum withhermotivates me to put an ounce of effort in.
“May I have your attention!” Marco yells after a few more minutes, “Bring your candidates.”
