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He can deal with his bat-rats himself when he gets back. I’ve got enough on my plate.
I check the time on the corner of my laptop screen. I’ve to be at The Beach Hut in an hour for my shift. Doubles at the hotel, plus weekends in the bar, plus finishing up my online bookkeeping course and sourcing materials isn’t leaving much time foranythinglately. I press my fingers to my eyes. Money. It’s money. And I’m gonna needallthe money once I get this ball rolling. The inheritance from my grandmother should be enough to buy the land and some of the build. But that’s only the beginning, and I want those hand-painted tiles.
Another bang from through the wall has me reconsidering whatever’s going on next door. If there are rat-bats in his place, they could easily end up in my place. And I definitely do not have time to deal with that. I huff out a sigh. Compromise. I’ll call his landlord on Monday, and she can deal with her missing tenant and whatever he’s got going on through there herself.
Decision made. I close my laptop and get to my feet. My Gran laughs down at me from the framed photo above the TV. She co-signed for the mortgage on this place when my parents were convinced I was too young—too irresponsible—at eighteen to buy my own place. She fought in my corner when I decided not to go to university, but to stay in Clua and get a job. She always had my back. I miss that—I miss her.
I kiss the pads of my fingers, then press them to the photo. She looks just like my mom, and so, looks just like me. Tall, blonde, and blue-eyed. She died last year.
Suck it up, buttercup. Her words in my head make me smile. Time to get back to work.
A quick shower later and I’m pushing through the swinging doors to The Beach Hut. I’m already twisting the length of my ponytail up into a bun before I make it to the big mahogany bar that runs along the side of the space, checking through the completely open beach-side of the building.
It’s already busy with people escaping the July heat for a cocktail on one of our shaded chillout beds, or watching the sun set into the sea from one of the tables and comfy sofas on the terrace.
A smile pulls at my lips and my chest expands, filled with salty ocean air. Living on an island in the middle of the Pacific definitely has its up points.
Ocean Air Bar and Restaurant?
I wrinkle my nose. Close one eye and try to picture it—the sign above my restaurant—but shake my head. A name will come. Eventually.
Grabbing my short apron from the hook behind the door that leads to the stock rooms, I wrap it around my waist over my denim cutoffs and black Beach Hut tank. My feet are already overheating inside my high-tops, but I learned the hard way that flip-flops and beer barrels are not a great mix.
Dale, the other weekend barman, is already serving customers when I walk up behind him, his surfer shaggy, jet-black hair mussed, sleeveless Beach Hut T-shirt showing off the Japanese dragon tattoo that wraps his whole arm.
“Hey, Zi,” he greets me over his shoulder, then pushes a couple of cocktails over the bar to a pretty redhead in a teeny-weeny bikini. “You know that streak you’re always rubbing in my face?”
The redhead hands him a twenty and tells him to keep the change with a flirty wink.
“Thank you, darlin’.” He turns back to me and waves the note in my face. “Prepare to lose it.”
I narrow my eyes. Our Tip War has been going on for years and I’m on a five-week winning streak I have no intention of breaking. “Whatever you say, buddy. Is Fee in?” I take Dale’s place at the bar.
“Said to call if we need him,” he calls from behind me.
Fee has beenon callsince Laia’s due date came and went over a week ago. She’s too pregnant to leave the house, and he’s too nervous to leave her side. Overprotective? Probably. Understandable? Definitely.
“No worries, Zi. I’ll be your terrace bitch for the weekend,” Jo, the day bartender appears at the other side of the bar, her super short dark hair wrapped in its usual pin-up style scarf.
“Jo! It’s been forever, woman.” I grin wide.
“It’s not me who’s always working, friend.” She slides her tray onto the bar top and fixes me with a faux scowl but doesn’t hesitate to bump my fist with her own. “I see Rae more than you, and she’s a Goddamn hermit in the woods.”
My bottom lip escapes out in a pout. She’s right. I’ve been neglecting them. I’ve been neglectingeveryone. “I’m miserable without you guys, if that makes you feel any better?”
A dimple appears in her cheek as she hands me the empties from her tray. “Yes—yes, it does.”
We both turn at a roar of boisterous laughter. A group of guys in Hawaiian shirts and straw hats walk in off the terrace as Dale comes to stand beside me. “Looks like tonight’s gonna be a busy one, ladies.”
He’s right. It’s chaos behind the bar for the next hour.
And I am on fire. The Hawaiian shirt guys are already ordering their third round of drinks, I’ve made friends with the redhead and the group of girls she’s vacaying with, and my tip jar is filling up nicely.
I spin happily back to the bar with the grenadine for a Pink Monstrosity cocktail and bounce on the balls of my feet to the funky house music the DJ has started playing now that the sun has set and the tourists are getting lively. I love nights like this. Live music used to be reserved for special occasions, but since more and more people are discovering that Clua is more than just a speck on the map off the coast of Mexico, it’s become a regular occurrence. The Island is jumping. The Castle Hotel Group has already started to build two new hotels, and holiday villas are popping up all over the place. If there was ever a perfect time to set up on my own, it’s now. I can’t help but grin to myself, the memories of helping my Gran out in the summers nothing but good ones.
“What are the chances of you giving me your number, beautiful?” One of the Hawaiian shirt guys waiting to be served leans over the bar, robbing my grin. His face is way closer than it needs to be. His breath reeks of alcohol, and his stare is fixed on my chest.Charming.
“I’d say less than zero.” I lift the shaker up to block his leering, smiling sweetly when he finally drags his stare up to my face. “Sorry. House rules.” I shrug and split the sides of the shaker to pour the frozen pink drink into two large fishbowl glasses.
