“Just right, actually,” he says. For a moment, the room is quiet other than the sound of waves crashing and a cover of Dancing in the Moonlight by Jubel and Neimy on the speakers. “But I’ve yet to order my actual favorite drink from you yet.” Asher is smiling warmly, maybe from the liquor, maybe from something else, while his finger traces a circle over the rim of one of the glasses.
“Alright. What’s your poison?” I ask.
“A Mezcal Negroni,” he says with a lilt in his voice as if he’s stumped me.
“Ok. You like it smoky?” I ask.
“I do. Think you can handle that?”
I smirk at him and grab the shaker. Then, I proceed to mix the drink, swapping the gin for Mezcal, Campari, and sweet vermouth. I garnish it with an orange peel and slide it past the array of other unfinished drinks and wait.
Asher smells it, swirls it, and takes a sip before smiling and setting it back down. “It’s perfect,” he says. “You really are good at this.”
“It’s just a hobby,” I say as I walk around the bar top and pull up a stool next to him.
“A hobby is something you do for fun. This is a career. A calling. You didn’t get into the food industry to be a waitress, you know that,” he says.
I’m not able to hold back the smile that tugs at my lips. Asher swivels on his chair to face me, his knees brushing mine with the motion.
“I’m opening a new bar. A speakeasy sort of place, and I want a very original menu. It will be the kind of place where people come in and tell the bartenders what mood they’re in and what kind of spirit they like, and then the bartender whips something up.”
“Like Eidlewild,” I say, referring to a small bar in the middle of 16th Street.
“Yes. But with food and more seating,” he says. “Maybe you can help me come up with some cocktail recipes.”
Our knees are still touching. The air between us is warm from Mezcal and rum.
“I don’t know, making drinks for a competitor. Sounds deceptive, don’t you think?” I ask.
“Only if he finds out.” Ash says, and I can feel the space between us growing smaller as he slowly leans in.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes on the bar top, and I grab it.
“Daniel,” I gasp. “He’s finally calling me back.”
Chapter 9
Asher
Of course that fucker would ruin the moment.
He’s stayed MIA for three solid days and chooses now to come out of the woodwork. Not that I thought he’d actually listen to my threats and stay away. Daniel Colby sees threats as challenges and charges at them with freshly sharpened horns.
Still, the timing couldn’t have been worse. There was electricity in the air. The conversation was light, but buzzy, and Harper looked incredible. White linen pants, a black cropped tank top, strappy enough to show off her shoulder tattoo. When did she get a tattoo? What else have I failed to notice about her? The humidity in Costa Rica sticks to her long, red hair. It’s usually as straight as a pin, but the weather here makes it full and wavy. Touchable. Grabbable.
We almost kissed. It was going to happen, and we both knew it. And then that jerkoff calls like he could fucking sense it.
I sit at the bar nursing the Negroni she made me, which is excellent, and listen to her talking on the phone from the other room. I can’t fully make out the conversation, but I can tell from her tone that it’s not going particularly well.
I hear her say, “No, Daniel. It wasn’t planned. How could you think that it was planned?”
Jesus. This asshole thought she was in on it?
“I had no idea he was going to show up. No, Jaylen had nothing to do with it…because I talked to him…of course I believe him, he’s my brother. No, Daniel, I don’t think you’re crazy. I never called you crazy. I know…I know…”
He’s ripping into her. It makes me want to rip into him. There is no way in hell I was going to let her go through with it, knowing what I know. It makes me want to lose it on him, listening to her get chewed out.
“Daniel. Of course I love you. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days. We’re still here because the storm downed some trees and damaged the road. I would have flown back with you if I could have. Daniel. This is not my fault. Daniel…?”
