Nico looked at me for one more long second.
Then he opened the office door and picked up two cases of dry cannoli shells like he hadn’t just cut a bloodline in half.
By four, the shark margarita had a crowd.
It wasn’t theoretical or polite. It was a sweaty, sunburned, boardwalk-spilling crowd of people in swimsuits, linen cover-ups, flip-flops, sunglasses, and bad decisions waiting under palm shadows because Taryn had posted the video after lunch and the internet had decided to be useful for once.
A woman near the front held up her phone. “Is this the place with the blue shark drink?”
“It’s the place with the drink, the shade, and a host stand,” Taryn said. “Start with the host stand, and joy follows.”
I leaned over the bar. “Beautifully done.”
“I’ve been practicing cheerful authority.”
“It’s our most profitable emotion.”
Shay moved beside me with two shakers, a row of rimmed glasses, and the calm of a bartender who had decided fear wasfor people without citrus. The adjusted drink poured bright blue over ice, dark sea salt clinging to the rim, lime curled on top. There was no gummy shark because we had standards now.
“Four shark specials,” Shay said. “Two no-salt, which I tried to prevent as a moral issue.”
“We accept flawed people’s money.”
“I’m growing,” she said.
At the pass, Mari piped cannoli cream into six crisp cups with the focus of a surgeon and the judgment of a woman ready to fight humidity with her hands. The little cups went out dusted, cold, and pretty enough that three tourists at the rail gasped like dessert had proposed.
Dusty appeared with a tray. “The cannoli cups have become photogenic.”
“Carry them level,” Mari said.
“I’ve entered a level era.”
“If one tips, your era ends.”
He straightened so fast the tray didn’t wobble.
Nico stood near the patio rail, dark shirt sleeves rolled, sunglasses pushed into his hair, watch catching the light whenever he shifted. He didn’t loom or give orders. He simply stood near the exact place tourists kept trying to turn into a second entrance, and people found the actual entrance with shocking speed.
I hated how useful that was.
I also wanted to kiss him against the storage shelves until his careful little control problem fell apart.
Those were private feelings, and I had invoices.
My phone buzzed by the register.
CARMELA:
Your blue shark drink is on my Facebook. Vinny wants to know why the huge man in the background looks like he can lift a freezer.
I turned the phone facedown.
Shay’s gaze flicked to it. “Family?”
“Worse. Engagement metrics.”
Taryn swept by with menus. “The post got shared by a travel account.”
