“Don’t do that,” I warn him.
“Do what?” he asks, casually joining me by the minibar.
“Don’t try to be cute. It doesn’t work.”
I can feel Asher’s eyes on me as I grab all the ingredients I need to whip up a couple of cocktails. He watches with interest as I do it without measuring anything, just smooth, learned motions and intuition.
“Damn,” he says softly.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. It’s just that for someone who doesn’t drink, you sure know your way around a cocktail bar.”
“First of all, I do drink…sometimes. Second, I don’t have to be a lush to appreciate the art of crafting fine spirits. Third, desperate times call for desperate measures, and desperate measures call for Sex on the Beach. Uhh, the drink, not the act,”I say, pointing a stirring spoon at him. Asher laughs, and I can’t help but smile.
Asher watches as I mix vodka, Peach Schnapps, orange and cranberry juice, and ice in two glasses, garnishing the drinks at the end with an orange slice and a maraschino cherry. I pop a cherry in my mouth just for good measure and hand him his glass.
“You know,” he says as he holds his glass up, “I’m not usually a fruity cocktail man, but I am damn curious about your talents.”
“Drink and be amazed,” I say, and we clink our glasses together. I watch as Ash takes a sip, smacks his lips a couple times, and nods his head, indicating he likes it.
“It’s good, but I’d like to see how you make a whiskey sour,” he says
“Coming right up,” I say, grabbing whiskey, lemon juice, and simple syrup. I add the ingredients to a shaker and ask him, “Up or on the rocks?”
“Rocks, please,” he says. “Orange, no cherry. You can have all the cherries to yourself.”
“You don’t like the taste of cherries?” I ask as I shake the cocktail. “Blasphemous.”
“I didn’t say I don’t like the taste. I just prefer tasting cherries on another’s tongue…”
I feel heat rush to my cheeks as my heart suddenly reminds me of his words.I’m in love with you. Now, I’m questioning whether or not they’re true. I hand him a second drink, and he takes a thoughtful sip before smiling.
“Good,” he says.
“Just good?” I ask.
“I mean, I’d hire you, no questions asked.”
I swallow and smile. I’m not quite sure what’s going on underneath that expression. It’s something foreign and familiarall at the same time, but I decide it’s safer if it’s not on the surface. Then I reroute the conversation.
“I am going to make one of my favorites for you. I do have to warn you though, it’s also fruity,” I say.
“Hit me,” he says, taking a sip of both his drinks before resting his forearms on the table and leaning in.
There’s something about being behind the mini-bar while Ash sits on one of the stools in front of me “ordering” drinks. It feels like a job interview in a way. Ash really is one of the most accomplished restaurant owners in Denver, and making drinks for him feels gratifying.
There’s also something fun about it. Electric almost.
I mix one of the local coconut rums with cranberry juice and shake it before pouring it into another glass. Then, I add a floater of Chambord and slide it over to him.
“And what, pray tell, do you call this?” he asks.
“It’s a Malibu Orchid,” I say as he sniffs it.
“Very sweet and fruity for sure,” he says. “Kind of smells like you.” Ash winks and then takes a sip.
“Too sweet?” I ask while trying to ignore the fact that my heart is bouncing around in my chest.
