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We had to make five identical copies of our drink, so I made quick work of cutting, mixing, and pouring the passion fruit mojitos over ice. I threw on two extra glasses so we had a chance to try it out. I wasn’t about to serve something that tasted awful. My reputation and name were both on the line. And I’d seen enough cooking show disasters to know that was a necessary step.
The first taste had me wincing and adding a dash more of seltzer before trying again. This time, it needed more lime and a splash of simple syrup. Finally, I ended up with a crisp, refreshing drink. After I made Zath try it and he deemed it perfect, I served up the five glasses for the judges.
With a garnish of mint on top it looked gorgeous. The drink was a slight yellow and the pop of green on top gave it a clean, fresh look.
“Thirty seconds, get your drinks to the judges table!” Stanley called out. That had everyone in a panic, the noise level rising all over again, but Zath and I kept our cool, putting our drinks on the tray before handing it off to our support staff.
The man walked with careful steps to the front of the judges table, placing them on the section labeled table three.
It was interesting to see the differences in not only drinks, but presentations. Someone had gone for a margarita while someone else had a martini. Overall it looked like everyone played it fairly safe this round.
“Time’s up!” Stanley announced to the crowd. The following applause was deafening and effectively raised the tension enough that I was bouncing from foot to foot. Even though I’d tested our drinks my mind was coming up with every scenario that could go wrong.
Stanley approached the judges’ table to take in the drinks, describing them to the audience despite the fact they were projected on a huge screen above the judges.
It was nerve-racking as the judges went through each tray, announcing the drink and the group before tasting. They whispered back and forth, jotting notes on papers in front of them and talking. Their faces were stoic masks that gave nothing away to us. Not a single twitch, grimace, or hum of appreciation could be seen. These were true professionals.
“Jesus, I feel like I'm about to be called to the principal's office,” Zath mumbled under his breath.
I nodded in agreement. “No shit, this is much worse than I anticipated. And honestly, I imagined it would be fucking horrible.” We both had to stifle our laughter for a second before I managed to get my businesslike mask back in place. I didn’t want anyone to think that we weren’t taking this competition seriously.
Though, I also didn’t think we’d win against twenty-year bartending veterans. I was just proud that we’d shown up and were putting our best effort in. This, at the very least, was exposure we needed to succeed. Though, beating Bandit’s Taphouse would be a level of petty excitement that would be unmatched.
“And the judges have their answers!” Stanley called out as he took their papers and flipped through them. “Now, as we said before, the entire week is going to be judged on a points system. So, you can follow your favorites on the scoreboard or the app! But for now, we are going to award points for three categories. Presentation. Taste. And creativity.”
The crowd started murmuring enough that Stanley had to pause and wait for a few beats before continuing. Those pauses felt like they took years and I was half ready to scream at the crowd to be quiet.
“For taste, we are going with team three! A passionfruit mojito is one of, and I quote, the best drinks they’ve tasted in five years of the competition’,” he called out. “Pat yourselves on the back, group three!”
Zath and I both gasped and let out a low squeal.
“We fucking did it!” Zath hissed out.
“Yes! Take that!” I agreed, doing a little dance as the scoreboard changed to reflect our newfound points. It was even more exciting since we somehow managed to get the first points of the competition.
Honestly, after that, I couldn’t even focus on Stanley anymore.
By the time we stopped freaking out, we were neck and neck with Bandit’s Taphouse and team one.
“You have a forty-five minute break between this round and the next,” Stanley called out.
“Come on, we need to go somewhere quiet so I can properly freak the fuck out,” Zathrian said. “How cool was that? We killed it! You, my friend, are a genius.”
I tried to open my mouth and say something but as I glanced over his shoulder, everything seemed to come to a standstill. Right behind Zathrian was the man that I never thought I’d see again. If not for his dad standing right next to him, I might have thought he really was a ghost.
Zath stopped moving and looked down at me, opening his mouth to ask what was wrong but he didn’t get the chance.
“Nyla,” Lance said my name like it was a fragile thing. Or maybe he thought I was. But I was no longer the girl he left at the altar. She was left behind when I moved away from this godforsaken city.
“Coming back was a bad idea,” I said to Zathrian, not even bothering to sugarcoat my words. This was the one thing I feared and we’d made it through one round of the competition. Even the excitement of winning a point felt obsolete.
Just the sight of my former fiancé had blood rushing through my ears and my vision tunneling. Taking in a breath wasn’t just hard, it was damn near impossible. All that pain I’d tucked away when I left was right back at the surface. Rejection, anger, embarrassment, heartbreak, grief. Not the things I should be experiencing during one of the biggest events of my life. Then again, the same could be said for my failed wedding day.
“Lance.” That was all Zathrian needed to jump into action, pulling me into his side and wrapping an arm protectively around me. He tried to turn me around and lead me away but Lance moved forward and wrapped his fingers around my wrist to stop us.
The touch alone felt like it seared right through my flesh. Our bond threatened to snap back into place and I was ready to run on instinct.
This couldn’t be fucking happening. Not here, not now.
