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“Too busy, all around. Plus, this way I can take Nell the one that wins.”
Rubbing her hands together, Olivia sat at the counter. “Let’s have it.”
“Okay, first up starts with a nice, dry Riesling, then pear brandy—pear’s the spa fall deal. The pear eau-de-vie—”
“Water of life? I’ve got that much French in me.”
“It’s pear brandy, and gives the Riesling a nice kick.”
“Who doesn’t like a nice kick?” Enjoying herself, Olivia rested her chin on her fist to watch. “It already looks pretty.”
“It’s going to look prettier. A little orange curaçao for zest, some honey syrup for sweet, and five—not four, not six—dashes of bitters for that touch of licorice.”
“It sounds as pretty as it looks.”
“If we go with this, I’ll serve it in the classic Cary Grant champagne glass, with a thin slice of pear as garnish.”
When she’d finished, Morgan held out the glass. “One sip. Consider, let it sit. Then one more to judge. Oh, hey, here’s Mom. Perfect timing. Two judges.”
“Didn’t expect you until four,” Olivia commented.
“Darlie recovered, with apologies. What are we drinking and why?”
“We’re Morgan’s official judges for the fall specialty drink.” Olivia sipped, considered as ordered. “That is very, very tasty.” She sipped again. “Excellent, and I’m not a big fan of the pear.”
“I am, and I could use a drink. We were absolutely slammed this morning, Mom. A group of day-trippers—twenty-three of them.”
“Two sips,” Morgan told her mother. “Because there are two more to come.”
“Oh, that’s really good. Sweet, but zingy. Am I really only allowed two sips? It was a morning. We had two sisters from the group who got into an argument—the edge of a serious fight—over who would buy Lacy Cardini’sSecret Gardenfor their mother’s birthday.”
“That Cardini painting’s priced at eight seventy-five.” Olivia pumped her fists in the air. “Woo!”
“I convinced them to split it, but it took work and every ounce of diplomacy I own.”
“Once I make the other two, you sample and judge, I’ll make your favorite.”
“What are you making now? I’m going to sit down.”
“This one has a vodka base. I’m muddling pear, simple syrup, and nutmeg. Martini glass for this one, chilled. Now the vodka, some Tuaca, and B&B—Bénédictine and brandy mix, well shaken—so you’re going to taste vanilla, citrus, but herbal notes that say fall. Garnish,”she said as she poured and did so, “with three thin crescents of pear, unpeeled.”
Olivia sipped. “Our girl knows her stuff. I can see the leaves changing.”
“Let me.” Audrey snagged the glass. “Mmm. Time to start the fire. It’s just lovely, Morgan. I don’t know which I like best.”
“Don’t decide yet. We’ve got one more in the running.
“This time, I’m muddling pear—peeled—honey, and lime juice into a thick syrup.”
“It already sounds good,” Olivia said.
“Bourbon makes it better.” She poured it into the shaker, added ice, capped it, shook.
“All of them seem like a lot of trouble.”
Morgan smiled at her mother. “That’s why they’re special.”
She poured the drink into a wide-mouthed lowball glass. “We top it off with some ginger ale for effervescence, garnish with a pear slice.”
