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Edged by palm trees and vines and curving round the headland into the darkness, the cove lived up to its name, looking impossibly romantic as moonlight shimmered off the gently lapping surf.
‘Ain’t no other bars down here that I know of.’ Pulling a card out of his pocket, he handed it to her. ‘You give Earl a call when you need to get back. Not much traffic this way.’
After waving him off and watching the cab lights bounce out of sight down the unpaved road, she slipped the card into her bag, and slung the strap over her shoulder. Then she sucked in a fortifying breath and let it out in a rush.
Whether or not Cooper was here, she intended to enjoy herself. Ruby had given her the pep talk to end all pep talks, back at the hotel.
It was way past time she started living again, took the power back
and charted her own course when it came to choosing the men she dated. And stopped boring herself to death with safe and secure and invited a little danger in. Bermuda with its colourful, chaotic nightlife and studly boat captains had to be the perfect place to start. Not least because if tonight went tits up, this particular dating disaster wouldn’t be able to follow her home.
Ruby’s words of dating wisdom had bolstered her courage as she’d showered, and waxed, and moisturised, and primped and perfumed. After far too much debate, she’d picked out an understated ensemble of skinny pedal-pusher jeans, heeled sandals and a lace-edged camisole. She’d pinned up her unruly hair, and plastered on a lot more make-up than she usually wore—as per Ruby’s specific instructions—then dug out her favourite waterfall earrings and the cascade of cheap but cheerful bracelets she’d bought at Camden Market two weeks ago to complete the outfit.
The simple ritual of getting ready had helped temper her terror with a heady cocktail of excitement and anticipation.
Edging past the people milling around on the porch, she made her way to the bar. She’d have a couple of drinks and then, if Cooper didn’t show, she could always ring Earl back and call it a night. At least she would have got to see something of the island before leaving.
The Rum Runner had a funky, relaxed vibe that reminded her of Sol’s Salsa Joint on Camden Lock where Ruby and she and their wide circle of friends had once congregated on a Friday night to kick back after the working week. Ruby didn’t go out much any more because of the kids, and most of their other friends had settled down and/or moved away in the last few years, so she’d slowly stopped going to Sol’s too, but she’d always loved to dance and it occurred to her she’d missed the weekly ritual.
Her hips swung in time to the blast of horns and the fast infectious drum beat as the band on the stage in the far corner went into another number. She grinned as she wound her way through the packed tables—the soca rhythm an irresistible blend of joy and seduction—and felt the optimism that had always been so much a part of her personality seep back into her soul.
Slipping past a group of loudly dressed guys at the bar, she smiled back when one of them touched his beer bottle to his forehead in a silent salute.
‘What’ll it be, miz?’ a barman addressed her once she had managed to inch past the crush of people and found a spot to rest her elbows on the bar. The thin layer of sweat on his dark skin made the red ink of the snake tattoo on his bicep glisten.
She tapped her toe to the bass guitar riff while checking out the names of the drinks scrawled on the chalkboard behind him—only a few of which she recognised. ‘What would you recommend?’
‘For you?’ The lilting Caribbean accent matched the friendly twinkle in the barman’s café-au-lait-coloured eyes. ‘Only a Rum Swizzle will do.’
‘That sounds wonderful.’ She had absolutely no clue what that was. But tonight Ella Radley was on a mission, to get her flirt on and set it free. And for that, a Rum Swizzle sounded like just the ticket.
He returned a few minutes later and presented her with a tall icy glass of tangerine-coloured liquid, garnished with a chunk of pineapple, a swirl of orange peel and a maraschino cherry. She took a sip and the potent flavour of rum, fruit juice and liquor zinged off her tastebuds. So that was why they called it a Swizzle.
‘Delicious,’ she shouted over the music. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Not a thing.’ A gold tooth winked in the pearly white of his smile. ‘Your first Rum Swizzle in my place is always on the house.’
‘You own this bar?’
He nodded. ‘Sure do.’
A shot of adrenaline rushed through her to add to the hit from the rum. And Ruby’s voice seemed to whisper in her ear.
Above all be bold—and seize the initiative—flirting is much more fun if you own it.
‘Do you know a guy called Cooper Delaney?’
‘Coop? Sure I know Coop. What do you want him for?’ He sounded a bit put out. ‘That boy’s nothing but trouble.’
That was what she was counting on, she thought, the adrenaline more intoxicating than the Swizzle. She took another fortifying sip of the delicious concoction. ‘Is he likely to be in tonight, do you think?’
She heard the eagerness in her tone but didn’t care if it made her sound tarty. Discovering her inner flirt would be so much easier with a guy she already knew could make her hormones wake up and jiggle. And considering they’d been in hibernation, like, for ever, she needed all the help she could get.
The bartender’s gaze was drawn to something past her shoulder. ‘Yeah, he’ll be in tonight.’
‘Really, you’re sure?’ she said, then bit her lip.
Dial down on the tarty—that sounded a bit too eager.
