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It takes several seconds for me to process and digest that long stream. “That’s… um, a lot to unpack.”
“Uh, yeah. Wow, talk about an info dump. I didn’t mean to blab your ear off.”
“It really fucking sucks that you lost your mom. Do you wanna tell me more about her?”
“Hard pass. I don’t need to cry. Again.” Grace fans her face.
My gut clenches at the thought. “Noted.”
“Sheeeesh, Mister.” She points her straw at me, but it swerves with her unsteady grip. “You’ve accomplished your duty. I’m hammered.”
“And just in time. This is your last call for alcohol.”
“Ah, crud. It was fun while it lasted.” Grace spins on her stool, almost toppling off the leather seat completely, to address the empty room. “Helloooooo, ghost town. Where is everyone?”
I grip her shoulders until she stops wobbling. “We close in thirty minutes. Most clear out once the booze is cut off.”
She whirls to reconnect our gazes. “Did Abbie leave?”
“About four drinks ago,” I chuckle.
“Well, shit. She was my ride.”
“Guess you’ll have to trust me to take care of you. How about a final round?”
“Yes, please.” She tries to purr, which mostly sounds like a lisp in her slurred state.
My fingers dance over the nearest liquor options. “Any special requests?”
Grace taps her lips. “Something with peach? It’s my favorite.”
“Coming right up.”
A trial recipe takes shape. I begin gathering ingredients to create a unique twist on a Fuzzy Navel. A generous serving of vodka, peach purée, pineapple juice, peach schnapps, and lemonade get tossed into a shaker. Grace watches me do her bidding with her chin propped on a flattened palm. Her undivided attention puffs out my chest. It also encourages me to bridge a nonexistent gap for the sake of bonding and share my own sordid past. Or at least a watered-down version.
“I have an ex from hell too.”
“It sucks, huh?” Her eyes don’t stray from my fluid motions as I dump ice in the blender.
The fact I’m willing to use the mess maker just goes to prove my limits are nonexistent where her happiness is concerned. If this frozen delight earns me a genuine smile, the added effort will be paid tenfold.
I transfer the combined fruity liquid from the shaker into the mixer. “She’s the reason I’m done with romantic relationships. Permanently.”
“Did she cheat on you?”
“Big time.” The hollow pang behind my sternum thumps in reminder.
“What a bitch.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“She didn’t deserve you, but what about the girl who does?”
I choose that moment to power on the blender to bypass that quicksand pit. Grace’s eyes widen at the whir and grind of the machine. The frothy creation gets poured into a hurricane glass. But there’s something missing. I grab the whipped cream and spin the can in my grip. Grace watches that practiced move with keen interest.
“Do you play football?”
“Used to. Past tense.”
