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Holly’s brow knitted, her lips mirroring Jen’s. ‘What was that face for?’
‘I was going to say something snarky but I remembered you’re doing me a massive favour, so I decided to stay quiet.’
‘Oh, really? So unlike you. You absolutely certain you didn’t hit your head yesterday?’ Holly jibed.
‘I’m beginning to wonder.’
The bell above the door chimed and a couple entered as hellos were exchanged.
Pouches freshly stocked, Holly hovered behind Jen, one hand on the counter. ‘I want you to show me how to use the till. Please.’ She added the final word like a full stop, aware she sounded bossy otherwise.
‘How come?’
‘So I can take over for fifteen minutes, let you get some food later.’
‘You think?’ Jen asked with a smile.
‘Erm, yes. And the words you’re looking for are thank you.’ She poked Jen in the side.
‘I’m fine, but thank you.’
‘Nuh-uh. I’ve seen your fridge, I know what you’re like.’
‘Circumstantial. I eat plenty.’
‘Well, obviously. You’re in good shape.’ Holly’s cheeks darkened at the unintended compliment. ‘But I want to make sure you eat today.’ She punctuated the sentence with another poke to the ribs.
‘And what happens if I say no?’ Jen replied, her lips curling at the edges.
Holly leaned close to Jen’s ear, the smell of perfume filling her nostrils – spicy, woody, fruity – and kept her voice to a purr: ‘You don’t want to find out.’ She straightened herself, Jen’s eyes locked with her own.
‘I guess I’d better behave then.’ Her eyes lingered before her attention turned to the couple on the shop floor. ‘You guys okay? Or are you needing a hand?’
‘I dunno,’ the guy responded, confusion clear in his voice. ‘We want to make cocktails, and we’ll definitely be getting your pouches, but do we really need glasses?’
‘He wants to use mugs.’ His partner chipped in, her tone and face saying everything Holly needed to know.
‘You can’t serve a cocktail in a mug,’ Holly said, trying to sound professional but wanting to laugh.
‘I know, right,’ he said, placing the set of glasses back on the shelf. ‘But we don’t have any glasses. I’m super clumsy and broke them all. So why would I pay for more?’
The woman rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not drinking a pornstar martini from your bloody Benidorm mug.’
‘Of course not, that’s my favourite mug. I’d be using that. You’d get the one with a cat on.’
‘You see what I’m dealing with?’ She was trying to joke, but the frustration was obvious.
Holly rounded the counter, joining them on the shop floor. ‘Jen’s the cocktail expert but I’ve done my time around alcohol, and I can assure you if you’re planning on drinking these lovely cocktails from a mug you’re denying yourself a first-class experience.’ She picked up the nearest set of martini glasses, tilting the box towards the guy. ‘They’re different shapes for a reason: they affect taste, smell, and temperature. It’s like, you wouldn’t play tennis with a rugby ball and expect it to be the same, would you?’
The guy turned the information over in his head, taking the glasses from Holly as he thought. ‘Makes sense. It just feels like a waste of money when I’ll probably have smashed the set by Christmas.’
Jen chipped in. ‘See them as an investment. Otherwise, why get cocktails at all?’
‘It’s our anniversary, I wanted to do something special,’ he said, to the glasses more than the women in the room.
‘And what cocktails were you thinking?’ Holly asked, guiding his partner to the fridge.
‘What do you suggest?’
