AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What’s this everyone keeps bringing up about Georgia? Have you been there?” Tillie asks.
“For sure,” Kelly says.
“No,” Anya counters.
Tillie looks at me questioningly. It’s not a time for this conversation.
I try to flash a smile. “It’s old, old news.”
Mendo saves me by standing up. “Where’s that server? I need some grub!”
The conversation moves on. But I can feel the curiosity in Tillie, the way her hand grips me more tightly, how her gaze lingers.
Yeah, I’ll be talking to her about Anita sooner or later. I thought we could go the whole two weeks without the subject coming up.
But I was wrong.
After a long, languorous morning where we took our time and were careful of Tillie’s lingering sunburn, I ride my motorcycle to the bar. Tillie’s headed to a starfish boat tour with her sister and niece. They already had reservations with Mendo’s rival, although I told her she should still do one with Mendo and Zeke to compare the experiences.
The bar feels different without her. A few tourists from the night before tell the others about the off-menu drinks. I mix a swanky and try it with various liquors until I find the one I think works best.
Maybe I can get a chalkboard and cycle through some of these new drinks, adding the favorites to the menu. I’m starting to see Tillie’spoint. While I focus on beach cocktails, I don’t aim for La Jarra–specific recipes.
She texts me late afternoon to see if I would like company. I would.
She arrives with tacos, and we wait for a quiet moment with only a couple of tourists on the stools to eat them together.
She spots the bottles I’ve set out. “Are those for the swanky?”
“They are. I’ve been taste testing.”
“Without me! I want to try.”
“Sure.” We grin at each other, and that easy feeling comes over me. We fit so well together. The dark thought of the end intrudes, but I push it off. This is good. Focus on right now. It’s what I’ve always been good at.
I pour an inch of swanky in several shot glasses and add a splash of the liquors I’ve been considering.
She sips each one, her gaze on the ocean. “Which one did you go with? No, don’t tell me. I choose ... this.” She picks up the tequila. “It makes the drink something between a margarita and a paloma.”
“You’re right. I was going with the rum.”
“I like the rum, but the tequila keeps it refreshing rather than heavy.”
“Consider it done. What should we call it?”
“It doesn’t exist?”
“I did some rudimentary googling, and a few people add rum, but—”
“No rum! It needs to be tequila!”
“Ours will have tequila.”
“Good. So let’s name it. I can add it to cocktail sites. I used to do that a lot.” She walks the circumference of the hut, holding the clear shot glass with the pale-green liquid. “It looks like ocean water.”
“Not the ocean here. It’s too dull. Too green.”
Her eyes get big. “What if we added blue curaçao to make it match the water?”
