Every other time I tried to be Sasha, it was because I thought I should act like someone else. This is the first time I’ve actually wanted to be someone else.
The bartender smiles back, leaning in. “There’s a signature cocktail for the event. It’s called the Bluebonnet. It’s got butterfly pea syrup, tequila, Paula’s Texas Orange, and a twist of lemon.”
“That sounds amazing!” I don’t even have to fake my excitement. “I’ll take that!”
His grin widens as he jumps into action, slicing a lemon and then pulling out shakers and carafes and an expensive-looking bottle of tequila. “One Bluebonnet, coming up.”
“It’s not like something that’s premade?”
He shrugs as he works. “Yeah, but I’m going to make yours fresh because I want to see the look on your face.”
“Okay, that sounds ominous.”
“Just wait.” He pours. He shakes. He pours and shakes some more. And then he slides a tall glass of bright blue liquid across the bar between us.
“That’s beautiful!”
“Just wait.”
“For what?” I ask, looking from the drink to him.
He nods back toward the drink, indicating I should watch. Then he drops several lemon slices on top and pours in the Paula’s Orange. The second the acid hits the liquid, the drink turns purple.
I clap my hands to my mouth, trapping my gasp. “That’s amazing.”
He props his elbows on the bar and grins. “Right? The perfect drink for a charity about transforming unused spaces into something beautiful, right?”
I stare at the drink, hesitant to pick up something so lovely. Something that suddenly seems fraught with meaning. “It’s almost too pretty to drink.”
“Nah.” He flips his towel over his shoulder and steps back. “It’s the same drink it was a minute ago, but that’s the butterfly pea syrup. It takes something that’s already gorgeous and makes it stand out.”
Nodding, I pick up the drink and ask, “What do I owe you?”
“The signature cocktail is included.” He winks. “Just be sure to place some bids, okay?”
I nod, still smiling, drop a tip in his jar, and then head over to the stairs that lead up to the roof.
In the summer there’s not enough shade on the roof, but last winter—when it was cool enough to be on the roof without risking heat stroke—I took a stargazing seminar up there.
I head up to check out the view and give myself a pep talk. It’s two flights up, and I’m thankful that I’m not huffing by the time I reach the patio. The whole way up, I repeat mantras to myself.
Keegan is a great guy, but he is not my great guy.I tell myself.
We are not on a date. This is a wing-woman situation, and you’ve done your job by getting Keegan the contacts he needs.
As I’m climbing the last set of the steps, I look over the crowd mingling below. Keegan is still entrenched in the conversation with his parents and Bruce, and he’s laughing at something someone says.
A bittersweet sadness grips me.He did it.
And so did I.Because I did—I’m here. I had a conversation that I didn’t fumble through. And I actually feel beautiful. I nailed the presentation yesterday. Objectively, it went better than I dreamed it would. And tonight has been ... a revelation. Yeah.
Let’s go with that.
Knowledge is always a good thing, even if it means realizing my best friend is someone different than I thought.
There is no one better to be than myself.I reach the top of the steps. There’s a pergola dripping with Carolina jessamine, a scattering of tables, and some discreet mood lighting.
Tonight is going to be an amazing night.I just need a little time alone to regroup.
