Shay’s spoon stopped against the glass.
Nico looked from the payment note to the phone screen counting down toward noon. His jaw tightened once, then settled.
“Morning,” he said.
“That depends on your position on black sea salt.”
“My position is that it belongs on fish.”
“You’re about to evolve.”
Shay slid the prototype toward him. “Please tell her if it tastes like sunscreen before she puts it in front of customers.”
“I heard that,” I said.
“That’s workplace transparency,” Shay said.
Nico picked up the glass. He studied the dark rim, the blue drink, the curl of lime, and the tiny gummy shark I had already regretted on a spiritual level.
“No gummy shark,” he said.
I pointed the tasting spoon at him. “You haven’t even tasted it.”
“I can see the problem.”
“The problem has margin.”
“The problem looks like it came from a gas station aquarium.”
Shay set one hand over her mouth.
I plucked the gummy shark off the rim and dropped it into the trash. “Fine. The shark is gone.”
Nico drank.
Shay leaned one hip against the counter. I stopped pretending not to care and waited with the notebook open.
His jaw shifted once.
“Well?” I asked.
“The color works.”
“That’s not a taste.”
“The black salt works.”
“That’s still not a taste.”
“Coconut is too heavy. More lime. Less sweet. Don’t let the curaçao do all the talking.”
I hated how fast I reached for the notebook.
Shay nodded slowly. “I hate that he’s right.”
“Everyone hates that,” I said. “It’s how he gets through airports.”
Nico’s mouth curved, but the smile didn’t stay. His gaze dropped again to the phone on the counter.
