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“That happens less on this remote beach. But it definitely happens.” We both lean on the counter, grudgingly admiring each other for all the things that we understand about each other’s work lives.
The man sitting at the bar clears his throat. “Is it possible to get another round?”
Gabe jumps away from the counter as if he’s been caught stealing penny candy from the five-and-dime. “Absolutely. Sure.”
I tuck away my smile that he’s distracted as I continue pulling the glasses we will need for the competition drinks. Something’s happening here. He wasn’t expecting it. And I certainly didn’t plan on it.
But I’m pretty sure the only way to handle this surprise attraction is exactly what Gabe said.
Wing it.
Chapter 10
GABE
It’s not going to be possible to bring my A game to this cocktail challenge.
Tillie looks too adorable to be working, her hair twisted up in a pile of ringlets, her flowered shirt and denim skirt colorful and perfectly fitted to that lithe body.
Every time she bends down to pull a bottle from the lower shelf, it takes all my willpower to avoid staring.
Anya arrives with the flyers and starts passing them out as we approach the hour. Pete and Bodeen show up with a handcart full of coconuts ready to be hollowed out if needed.
Mendo texts to say June couldn’t come judge, but Morrie and Chuck will be there. Anya will be the third.
At first, I’m not sure anyone’s going to show. We have maybe ten tourists ringing the bar as four o’clock hits. I specifically set it to before the rush, not that things ever get too crazy.
The foot traffic to my hut is steady but limited to the three condo complexes on this stretch of beach. It’s a long walk from the public parking, and most people give out way before they get this far.
Anya returns, having finally depleted her stack, and hangs one of those customizable birthday signs where you can choose the letters from a kit. It readsBOOZEBRAWLUSAVSLAJARRA.
“You’re representing your entire country now,” I tell Tillie, who watches Anya crawl onto the counter to tie the banner to the posts.
“Somebody’s got to do it. Might as well be me.” She tucks a bar towel into her waistband.
Morrie shows up with a speaker and a microphone from his karaoke setup. I’ve never seen him dressed like he is today. He’s a sizable man, normally in some combination of jeans, hoodie, and Converse.
But now, he’s full tropics. Green shirt with parrots. Yellow swim trunks. Flip-flops. He’s even wearing a straw hat with a wide brim that ends with little pieces sticking out to form a pinwheel, the kind you mostly find at the tourist market. It’s pulled so low that the only parts of his face you can see are his mouth and a triangle goatee.
He plunks the black box on the bar and drops the electrical plug over the inside. “Give me some juice, and we’ll get this party started.”
Anya hops back down to the sand. “No party yet. Should we delay until people get here?”
I plug the speaker into a socket below the bar. “We have to wait for Chuck, anyway. He’s a judge.”
“Oh, right.” Anya pulls a black scrunchie off her wrist and ties her long black braids together. I guess judging is serious business.
A few more tourists arrive, most of them holding the flyer. Morrie tests the speaker. “Hello, hello, hello,” he says in his melodic accent. “We will start the booze brawl shortly. Get your drink orders in now if you’ll get thirsty as our two professional bartenders prepare for the challenge.”
Nice. The newcomers take him up on that. Piña colada. Sex on the beach. Three beers. Tillie sets to work, leaving the cocktails to me while she pulls the taps. I intend to intervene, worried she won’t do it right.
But she’s good, getting a good frothy head about an inch deep.
I stuff down my urge to control every detail. It’s fine.
I ring up the orders, and she checks on the rest of the customers, seeing if anyone else needs a refresh. I’ve never had anyone work the bar with me. I vacillate between concern and relief, then finally acknowledge that the experience is nice.
We get caught up, and I realize Chuck has joined the others. Anya is handing the men clipboards and explaining something with a barrage of wild hand motions. All the seats are taken and a row of bystanders fills in behind the stools.
