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“Is that not what you ordered?” The waitress pales. “I’m so sorry, I’ll just—”
“No, no, that’s fine. It’s right. Two signature cocktails,” Steph quickly interjects.
“The Peony.”
“They’re ours. She didn’t know what it was called. Sorry for the confusion.”
“Oh, no worries. I’m just glad I didn’t mess the order up. Here you go.” She places two bud vases filled with pale pink shimmering liquid down on the table, along with two intricate peony flowers which look edible.
“Are those sugar?” I gasp.
“Yeah. Try the cocktail without the flower first.”
I do and am overwhelmed by a bitter citrus fruit taste. I pull a face. “And you guys recommended this?”
“Put your flower in the vase,” Steph says, watching me with a smile.
Again, I follow her instructions and within seconds the stem seems to absorb some of the pink liquid in the glass, turning the pale pink sugar petals a deep, dark burgundy.
“Wow that’s awesome,” I murmur.
“Tap the glass carefully on the table, like this.” I watch Steph and as she taps the bottom of the vase, the petals of the flower disintegrate into the glass. She swirls it around, dissolving the sugar into the shimmering pink liquid, leaving only the light green stem behind, which I realise is really a straw protruding from the glass.
“Shit, that’s amazing!” I quickly do the same with my own drink, marvelling at the almost magical way the sugar reacts to the liquor.
“Now taste it.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, taking a sip. The floral sugar perfectly balances the tartness of the fruit, and I swear I can taste the smell of peonies.
“Good, right. Now you know why we said to try it.”
“I love this place. Peonies are my favourite flower,” I admit, sipping my drink. The others grin at me. “What?”
“This place is called Peony’s. Or just P’s for short.”
I sit in stunned silence, sipping my drink slowly to avoid suspicion. My mind is reeling. It has to be a coincidence, but I’m not entirely sure I believe in those. Glancing over the cocktail menu again, I become convinced that there’s no such thing. Every single innocently named drink has ties to my childhood. From references to my favourite foods, films and colour, to places around town and milestone events I experienced with the boys.
But this can’t be their bar. That would be insane. What twenty-something-year-olds can own and run a venue this successful?
There’s no denying that the signature cocktail is a mean drink though.
“Shall we move on to Trinity’s?” Lucy asks some time and several drinks later.
“Erm, what’s Trinity’s?” I ask.
“Only the hottest club in Black Hallows. It’s a converted church,” Lou gushes.
“Cathedral,” Jess corrects her.
“What’s the difference?”
“One’s bigger and a lot more important,” she replies, laughing.
I’m feeling a whole lot lighter thanks to the alcohol coursing through my veins and I don’t even baulk at the name of the club or the fact that it’s a church…cathedral…whatever. Maybe I’ve drunk too much, but if The Holy Trinity have also managed to set up a nightclub in town, freaking out about it isn’t going to change the facts.
I just hope I don’t see them tonight. It would definitely ruin my buzz.
“Hello?”
