Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
“What’s your zodiac sign?” I asked the woman in her late thirties to early forties with curly auburn hair and charcoal Cleopatra eyeliner who’d said she wasn’t sure what she wanted to drink.
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m a bit of an expert. Tell me more, and maybe we can uncomplicate it.”
“My fiancé was reading an article the other night about new star signs if Ophiuchus gets added to the astrology chart. NASA says they won't add it, and they’d better not because I’m a Libra. I’ve always been a Libra. But then he starts reading the Virgo traits and now I’m having an existential crisis and don’t know what I am.”
I’d also heard about this nonsense and felt the need to reassure her. “Along with NASA, most astrologers reject the change. When’s your birthday?”
“October 1 st .”
“Solidly Libra.” I tapped my temple. “I get a sense about these things.”
“Oh good, because I’m a spooky Libra!”
“The spookiest. I bet you decorate for Halloween early.”
“I love Halloween. The décor and getting all dressed up in my costume. Plus, candy.”
Now that we’d solved her identity crisis, it was time to mix her a drink. “Speaking of treats, sweet or sour?”
“Sweet.”
“See, not a Virgo. They always go sour, like their perfectionist inner—and outer—critics.”
She laughed while I gathered a few supplies.
“Juice or soda?”
“Juice.”
“For your cocktail base, would you choose vodka, rum, tequila, or gin? Or brandy,” I added at the last second, even though I’d bet $100 the woman across from me was not going to say brandy.
“Vodka.”
“How about shots? Do you have a go-to?”
“More vodka.”
Spinning on my heel, I ran a finger across vodka labels until I felt a pull toward a certain bottle, then I snagged white rum and a bulbous bottle of blackberry liqueur, adding an ounce less rum than vodka and a splash of blackberry liquor. I muddled raspberries and lime juice—the acidity of the lime cutting through the sweetness of the raspberries, brightening their flavor. Libras were known for their love of balance and harmony, so I had a good feeling about the combo, and since she’d picked sweet, I poured in an ounce of orange juice with the simple syrup. “You’d choose juice over soda, but how do you feel about carbonation?”
“The top shelf of my fridge is reserved for sparkling water in a whole mess of flavors.”
“Of course, you’re an air sign, and they have all those bubbles.”
With a few last shakes, I poured the mixture into the glass and topped it off with a couple ounces of sparkling water before garnishing it with a lime wedge. Using our fanciest cocktail pick to appeal to her elegant side, I skewered three raspberries and placed them over the rim, along with a sprig of basil to refresh the drinker, its green complimenting the reddish-purple. It’d also call to that cusp of a Virgo be there any in there, though I thought best not to mention it.
“Voilà! Libra’s Lunar Spritz.” I set it on a cardboard coaster with our logo on it with a flourish. “With its light bubbly finish, this cocktail will be dreamy yet playful, just like you.”
Moment of truth, she took her first sip. She held up a finger and tipped the glass back for another drink, then lowered the glass enough to reveal her wide smile. “It’s delicious and exactly what I needed. I love it, thank you.”
Working my magic left me with a happy buzz, until my boss slid over, arms slightly bent as he braced himself on his tattooed forearms. “Have you figured out which cocktail you're making for the contest? It’ll be here before you know it.”
My gut dropped, my happiness vibes tumbling to the floor along with it. “Have you noticed how I'm hard at work making individualized cocktails for your patrons, boss? Why are you being so pushy?”
His falsely jovial facade faded. “While I completely understand why you’d be hesitant to go onstage again, you’ve got to get back up there, Zo. I’ve never seen anybody mix drinks like you do—it’s enough to make a guy believe in all that mystical hippy-dippy shit you do.”
From Zac, this was a huge compliment, despite the wording.
When I didn’t say anything to defend myself, he huffed out a breath—as if I were the one being exasperating—and kept going. “You’ve got a gift at not just making unique cocktails but connecting with strangers insanely fast. It’s why we have more returning customers than any other bar on this strip.”
“Plus the genius name,” I offered, completely genuine. While it’d caught my eye and brought me in, I’d stayed there longer than anywhere because it felt like home.
“Right now we’re talking about you,” Zac said, his tone sterner than he typically used with me. “You’re the person in the bar who cranks the music and starts a dance party with the customers, whether it’s two in the afternoon or two in the morning. It doesn’t make you immature, it makes you unique and amazing and you.”
Tears gathered in my eyes, and a lump took up residence in my throat. Deep from within, the box of memories I’d padlocked and triple-wrapped in chains burst open, releasing an arrow that pierced my heart once again.
“It’s time to grow up, Zoie. Maybe you’re happy going around living life like it’s one big adventure, leaping without thinking and working a job most people leave behind after college.” Briana had paused at my front door on her way out of my life forever. “I want more than this, and I refuse to feel bad about it.”
I’d opened my mouth to point out I also had my Etsy shop, but my ex had never taken that seriously anyway. Off she’d gone, on to bigger and better things, her parting words taking a portion of my confidence and dignity.
Zac’s voice was softer when he spoke again. “I saw a glimpse of the old you, though, last week at the museum. It’s how your cheer-i-o bloke won me over.” While he’d affected a British accent there at the end, it was absolutely awful, with a side of an American actor expecting an Academy Award for an accent they failed to pull off.
“I appreciate that,” I eventually squeaked out, punctuating my gratitude with a sniff.
Zac swung an arm wide, gesturing for me to bring it in, and clearly I’d trained him better than I did my puppy. When I used to have surges of feelings with a ninety-nine percent chance of crying, he used to panic and launch into fixer mode, until I told him what I needed were hugs and validation. “I’m sick of watching you doubt yourself—of you not going after you want.”
“Funny, because the competition seems like what you want.”
Curling both of his hands around my shoulders, Zac met my gaze and said, “Funny, because for months and months, all I’ve heard was how badly you wished you could rent that storefront and see what you could do—the contest is the best way for you to do what you’ve got a gift for and make that kind of money.”
“But what if…?” I hadn’t voiced it aloud, not even in the ringing silence of my bedroom before Nova realized I was awake and pounced. “If I end up traveling internationally a lot this next year?”
His face fell, and my hopes of carrying out an international romance plummeted as well. “I think he’s a nice enough guy, and when we went to Balboa Park, I could see he truly cares about you.”
“But?”
“But I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt at the end.”
Ouch. With those words I felt hurt right fucking now.
Zac rushed on, obviously seeing the distress the statement had caused. “Graham told you himself it was only temporary. With Ethan leaving, too…”
He didn’t say the rest.
He didn’t need to.
My response caught in my throat, the words so thick they scraped on the way out. “That was before we…” I stopped myself short, as I couldn’t speak for whether or not Graham had fallen in love. That all-consuming burn in my chest and the desperation to find a way to keep our romance going confirmed as much. “When I’m with him…”
My tornado of emotions swirled around me, and I alternated between wanting to scream and wanting to cry for reasons I couldn’t even fully comprehend. Zac had always been skeptical about love, and he’d found his soulmate anyway.
Why couldn’t I do the same? I certainly deserved unconditional love like that, I knew that much at least. “Cliché or not, I believe it’s better to experience an intense, powerful connection than to never have loved at all. Whatever happens, I’ll be able to handle it.”
The line of Zac’s mouth grew so grim it almost disappeared altogether, but as soon as he spoke, I wished he’d kept it shut. The words, they flayed me wide open, nothing to shield and protect my heart. “That's not what I remember about your last crash."