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The idyllic love affair on a gorgeous island is outside ofmyordinary existence.
But for Gabe, it’s another day of work in the place where he lives.
The only thing special about what’s happening now ... isme.
Chapter 22
GABE
Tillie walks up to the bar a couple of hours before closing.
“How was the tour?” I ask.
She opens the hinged counter and sets her bag on the floor. “Magical. Missed you being there.”
I wrap my arms around her. “I get it. It’s nice to share something beautiful.”
“It was so amazing.” She pulls back to fix her gaze on me. “Tell me you’ve been there recently. Something like that is too wonderful to leave to tourists all the time.”
“It’s been a while. I’ll admit that.” And she’s right. There’s plenty of time to go when the tours aren’t running.
She releases me and assesses the crowd. “Looks like you’re caught up.”
I grab her shoulders and turn her to face the right side of the bar. High on the post is a small black chalkboard Mom made for me, the edges covered in driftwood to match the bar. It reads, “Thursday special. La Jarra’s own cocktail: Swanky Panky.”
“I love it!” She walks closer. “It’s perfect.”
“I only need five daily specials since I’m off two days and most tourists leave within a week.”
She turns around. “Except me.”
My throat tightens. “Except you.”
She pulls out her phone. “You should have two weeks of specials planned. We can brainstorm.”
She’s right. I pull glasses from the sink to load into the dishwasher. Everyone has fresh drinks. It’s a good time to talk business.
She leans against the counter, studying her screen. “Will you want the mermaid sunrise on double rotation since it’s such a hit?”
“Sure.”
Tillie reaches for the stack of laminated cocktail menus and tugs one out. She studies the drinks. “I’ve never owned a bar and probably never will. But I’m noticing you’re missing a luxury tier. There’s nothing outrageous. Something a customer would buy to show off.”
I wasn’t expecting her critique. “This is a tourist space. Vacationers want to be cheap drunks.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.” She points toward the condos. “Do you know how much one of those costs to rent? I’m only there because my brother-in-law got a place big enough for a bunch of us. The people stumbling upon your beach hut have money.”
A man in a fedora calls out, “I wouldn’t mind a high-end scotch.”
“See?”
“Point taken. What should I do?”
She faces me, elbow on the counter. “You want to give them something to make them raise their eyebrows. Something to say, ‘Holy crap, look at the price of this drink!’ An option or two like that makes the midlist items look reasonable and will come off as a dare to anyone who can blow thirty bucks on a single drink.”
“You’re saying I should add a drink that costs thirty bucks?”
She stands taller. “I am.” She gestures toward the fedora man. “You already have the right customers. I say we choose several new drinks for your secret menu. Have a few friends mention it on some review sites.” She stabs my chest with a finger. “Then you’re making higher daily receipts.”
