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“Do you still serve that cocktail with St. Augustine vodka?” I ask the waitress. Turning to Brooklyn, I explain, “There’s a local distillery here.”
“We do,” the waitress says.
“Actually, I’ll have what he’s having,” Brooklyn says.
Smiling knowingly, the waitress nods and rushes away.
“What were we talking about?” Brooklyn asks.
I eat another spoonful of the delicious risotto. “That you need to relax,” I remind her pointedly.
She sighs. “Hence the drink.”
Ah. That makes sense. And it will take more than one, I suspect. So be it. I take out my phone and type out a quick text.
“Who are you talking to?” Brooklyn asks when I look up. She sounds a lot more casual than her narrowed eyes would imply.
What have I done now? Is she like me and doesn’t like texting at the table? If so, that’s legit.
“I want to make sure Boon and Bonnie can pick up my car and give us a ride back,” I explain. “I don’t drink and drive.”
Taking that as her cue, the waitress brings our drinks.
Brooklyn takes a sip and raises her perfect eyebrows appreciatively. “I didn’t realize I’d be putting you out.”
“You’re not.” I sip my drink. “I could use one of these as well, and as to Boon and Bonnie, they are much cheaper than an Uber would be.”
Brooklyn frowns. “I thought they were friends doing you a favor. With money involved, you have to let me pay half of it.”
I put my drink down. “We’re not talking about a lot of money. I’m not sure if you noticed it, but those two were sitting on a junkyard couch. On the beach.”
“Still,” she says stubbornly, “I want to pay you back for getting my car home the other day and for today. Also, in case you’re thinking about picking up the check here, don’t.”
I blow out an exasperated breath. “Do you mean to sound insulting when you say things like that?”
Her eyes widen. “Insulting?”
“Say I wanted to make a phone call and asked you for a quarter: would you lend it to me or give it?”
She cocks her head. “A quarter?”
“For a payphone.”
She grins. “That’s what I thought you meant. Has walking around this very old city somehow made your brain think we’re in the nineties?”
I take a big gulp of my drink. “It’s a hypothetical payphone.”
“Even hypothetical payphones are long gone,” she says. “Everyone nowadays carries one of these amazing technological marvels that not only take selfies but also make phone calls.”
“Fine,” I say with an eyeroll. “How about this: if you let me use your cellphone, would you make me pay you back for the minutes I used up?”
She sips her drink smugly. “I have unlimited calling.”
“What if you gave me a piece of gum? Would you let me pay you back for it?”
She grins. “Is that a hypothetical hint that I have bad breath, or that you do?”
“You know what I mean,” I growl.
