“Your mum didn’t send you to mixology lessons as part of your training?”
We headed into the dim coolness of the bar. Two staff milled about, one making drinks, the other heading outside as we came in. There was no one drinking indoors; the weather was just right, not stupidly hot and there was a slight breeze. It was a perfect day just for being outdoors, and it seemed that the island had come to life for the holiday season, not just because of the busyness, but because of the vibe, the magic of the place that just induced a sense of freedom, that anything was possible because everyone was possible.
That sense permeated inside, the feeling frittering through the opened bi-fold doors. Tommy went straight behind the bar and picked up a glass, then a shaker.
I watched him add ice, then a shot of cherry liquor, his brow furrowed. “Not too sweet, but not heavy on the sour. A balance.”
“You make it sound like a science.”
“It is. You find the perfect cocktail and it can give you an escape you didn’t know you needed.” He picked up Benedictine, and added a shot of that without any show, his eyes glancing up at me. There was a smirk, which turned into a shake of his head. “You’re staring.”
“I’m watching the performance.”
Another shake.
“I’m not a performing monkey.”
“Didn’t say anything about a monkey.” My voice sounded sultry, a voice I didn’t recognise.
“Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows, Jameson.” Another spirit was added to the shaker, but I wasn’t watching the bottle closely. I was watching him instead, the way his hands moved, the strength in his wrists, arms that were carved from some sort of steel.
I think I would’ve told him anything right then. “I had an affair with a married man.” The words fell from my lips, a confession that had never been sought, only Lala knowing.
“Lucky guy.” Tommy added soda, then placed the top on the shaker, throwing it in the air with skill I hadn’t expected.
He was showing off. For me. No one else was in the bar, just me watching.
“His wife didn’t think so.”
There was a shrug before a final flip of the shaker. “Not your fault, Lady Jameson. Did you know he was married?”
“No. I wouldn’t have gone there.”
“You’re not his conscience. You don’t get to decide for him. Move on.” There was no judgement in his voice, just amusement.
“Have you slept with a married woman?”
His laugh made me feel like I was too young and too naïve. “I wouldn’t know. I never asked.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but just shook my head.
Tommy grinned, and this time a dimple appeared. “You’re not responsible for other people’s actions, Jameson. Just your own.” He took the lid off the shaker and poured the liquid over ice in the glass. “One of sour, two of sweet, three of strong and four of weak. Try it.”
I took the glass and sipped. “What’s the rhyme?”
“It’s a Barbadian recipe for making rum punch, but the basic principle behind most cocktails.”
“What are the sour and sweet in this?”
“You’re the sweet. Potent, but sweet.”
“I hardly think I’m either of those things.”
“I’ve tasted you. Maybe not everywhere, but I’m pretty sure I’m right. Potent but sweet.”
I felt my cheeks flush. There was a coarseness to his words, but it wasn’t that. It was the promise.
“What are you then?”
