5. Drew
5
DREW
I swung open the heavy wooden door of Lusitana, revealing an eager Patrick practically bouncing on his toes. His eyes lit up as he followed me to the bar.
“This is so cool,” he gushed, clutching a leather-bound notebook. “Are you sure it’s okay for us to be here when you’re closed?”
I chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Absolutely. River is holed up in the office, probably drowning in paperwork, but otherwise, we’ve got the place to ourselves.”
Patrick’s grin widened as he set his notebook on the polished bar and fished out his phone. “Mind if I take some pictures as we go? For reference, you know.”
“Knock yourself out,” I said, moving behind the bar. The familiar weight of the cocktail shaker in my hand made me smile. “Ready to dive into the wonderful world of mixology?”
Patrick nodded enthusiastically, his fingers flying across his phone screen. “Born ready. Where do we start?”
I grabbed a highball glass, twirling it with a bit of flair. “Well, young grasshopper, the first rule of cocktail making is”—I paused for dramatic effect—“don’t spill the booze.”
Patrick snorted, scribbling furiously in his notebook. “Sage advice. I’ll make sure to write that down in all caps.”
As I lined up various bottles and ingredients, I felt a surge of pride. I’d struggled with anything academic from a young age until I was diagnosed as dyslexic. I’d overcompensated by being good at other things. After a short stint in a bar in my early twenties, I became hooked on the art of mixology and hadn’t looked for a different job since.
“All right, let’s start with a classic—the mojito. Simple, refreshing, and guaranteed to impress.”
Patrick leaned in, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Hit me with your mojito wisdom, cocktail sensei.”
I laughed, grabbing a handful of fresh mint leaves. “First, we muddle the mint to release those essential oils. It’s like giving the leaves a gentle massage—you want to coax the flavor, not beat it into submission.”
As I demonstrated, Patrick’s brow furrowed in concentration. “So, less Hulk smash and more…mint whisperer?”
“Exactly.” I grinned, adding a splash of simple syrup. “Now for the rum. Remember, measure with your heart.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Is that bartender speak for ‘pour recklessly?’”
I winked, carefully measuring out the rum. “Only on special occasions. For now, we’ll stick to actual measurements. Your liver will thank me later.”
As we continued through the steps, I relaxed into the familiar rhythm of crafting drinks. Patrick’s enthusiasm was infectious, his questions ranging from insightful to hilariously off-base. It felt good to share my passion, to see the spark of understanding in someone else’s eyes.
“And there you have it,” I said, sliding the finished mojito across the bar. “One perfect mojito, ready to transport you to a Cuban beach.”
Patrick eyed the drink appreciatively, then glanced back at his notes. “That is amazing, Drew. You make it look so easy.”
“It’s all about practice. And maybe a little bit of magic.”
Patrick took a cautious sip, and his eyes widened. “Oh wow. This…this tastes incredible.”
I beamed, already reaching for the next set of ingredients. “Just wait until you try a whiskey sour. Now that’s where the real fun begins.”
As I reached for the whiskey, Patrick set down his mojito and fixed me with a curious gaze. “So, Drew,” he said, his tone suddenly casual, “I’ve got to ask—is there a special someone in your life?”
The question caught me off guard, and I nearly fumbled the bottle. “I, uh…what?”
Patrick’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Come on, a charming bartender like you? Surely, you’ve got admirers lining up around the block. Not to mention, you’re gorgeous.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Oh, you know…I keep busy with work and the Foundation…”
“Mm-hmm,” Patrick hummed, unconvinced.
There was a pause, and when I looked up, Patrick was studying me intently. “But there is someone, isn’t there?” he asked softly.
My heart skipped a beat. Was I that transparent? I swallowed hard, feeling suddenly exposed. Slowly, I nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
“That’s a good thing, Drew. Whoever they are, they’re lucky to have you.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, managing a small smile.
Patrick’s face lit up. “You had plenty of guys bidding on you at the fundraiser. Even your friend West, right?”
The memory of that night flooded back, bringing with it a whirlwind of emotions. “Yeah, he did,” I admitted, my stomach doing a little flip.
“That’s got to mean something, right?” Patrick pressed, leaning forward eagerly.
I shrugged, trying to keep my voice steady. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s…complicated.”
As I spoke, I pictured West’s face, the way he’d looked at me that night. Hope and uncertainty warred within me, leaving me off-balance.
“Complicated how?” Patrick asked, his tone encouraging.
I sighed, absently wiping down the bar. “We work together, sort of. And he’s just… He’s West, you know? He’s a paramedic, so he literally saves people for a living. He’s charming and probably has his pick of anyone he wants.”
Patrick scoffed. “And you think you’re not in that league? Drew, trust me, you’re a catch. If he’s smart, he’ll see that too.”
Patrick’s words hung in the air, challenging my self-doubt. I let out a long breath.
“You really think so?” I asked, unable to keep the vulnerability out of my voice.
Patrick nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. Look, the guy bid on you at a charity auction. That’s not exactly subtle, Drew. He clearly wants to spend time with you.”
I chuckled. “When you put it like that…”
“Exactly.” Patrick grinned, raising his expertly mixed cocktail. “To taking chances?”
We clinked glasses. Maybe Patrick was right. Maybe I’d been too caught up in my insecurities to see what was right in front of me.
We worked on a few more cocktails and a couple of mocktails before we finished the lesson. Patrick’s satisfaction was palpable. “Thanks for this, Drew. I feel like a proper mixologist now.”
“Anytime, man. Seriously, if you need any more help or want another class, just give me a shout.”
“I might take you up on that. You’re a cool guy.” Patrick gathered his things, pausing at the door. “And, Drew? Go for it with West. Life’s too short for what-ifs. I mean, it’s not like I’m all that good at dating, but look at me. I’m trying, right? Maybe I’ll impress Oscar…or maybe he’ll like the drinks more than he’ll ever like me.”
With a final encouraging smile, he was gone.
I tidied up the bar, my mind racing with thoughts of West. Taking a deep breath, I headed toward the office to check on River.
The atmosphere shifted dramatically as I stepped into the quiet room. Gone was the lively banter and clinking of glasses, replaced by the soft hum of a computer and the rustle of papers.
River hunched over his desk, his usually bright eyes dulled with fatigue. Stacks of invoices and schedules surrounded him like a paper fortress.
“Hey,” I said softly, not wanting to startle him. “How’s it going in here?”
River looked up, blinking slowly as if emerging from a trance. “Hey, Drew,” he said, his voice carrying a weight I wasn’t used to hearing. “It’s going… Well, it’s going.”
I pulled up a chair. “You look like you’re about to face-plant into those invoices. When’s the last time you took a break?”
River ran a hand through his dark hair, mussing it further. “I don’t know. What time is it?”
“Time for you to spill,” I said gently. “What’s really going on?”
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. The tension in his shoulders was visible, even under his well-fitted shirt. “Adam is staying with his brother,” he admitted after a moment.
“Why? I thought everything was going well between you two.”
He sighed. “It is. He just needs some time to figure some things out for himself. It’s just hard returning to being alone after having him in my space for weeks, you know?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Was it worth it? Taking the risk with Adam, I mean.”
River leaned back in his chair and smiled. “He actually made the first move. I’m not sure I ever would’ve had the guts. He was straight, after all. But no. I don’t regret it. Even if we don’t work out, I’m glad I had him even for a short time.”
River looked at me, a spark of his usual perceptiveness returning to his eyes. “Are you finally going to talk to West about your feelings?”
“I want to, but I’m terrified.”
“Only one way to find out.”
I nodded at the words I’d heard for the second time in maybe ten minutes. “Thanks, River.”
River’s eyebrow quirked up, a hint of amusement breaking through his fatigue. “Glad my romantic woes could be of service. Now go get your man.”
I laughed, heading for the door. “I’m on it. And, River? Don’t worry. Adam will come back to you.”
As I stepped out of the office, my mind raced with possibilities. West’s favorite foods, the perfect wine, maybe some candles and a movie?
The drive home was a blur of planning and anticipation. By the time I unlocked my front door, I was practically vibrating with nervous energy.
I surveyed the kitchen, mentally cataloging ingredients. West loved my homemade pasta sauce, and I had some bread I could slather with garlic butter. As I started pulling out pots and pans, I hoped West would like my surprise. If nothing else, we’d agreed to spend more time together after the fundraiser, and so far, I’d barely seen him.
My hands trembled slightly as I chopped garlic.
Get it together, Drew. It’s just dinner with your best friend. Who you happen to be in love with. No pressure.
Who was I kidding? This wasn’t just dinner. This was me finally putting my heart on the line.
As the water started to boil, I hummed alongside the music playing from my phone, my earlier nerves giving way to excitement.
I nearly jumped when West leaned over me to look at the food.
“What are you cooking?”
God, he smelled nice, like he’d just had a shower. I knew that soap. I’d been tempted to use it so many times, but I always stopped myself because I didn’t want things to get weird if he asked why I smelled like him.
“Drew?”
“Oh yes. Um…I’m cooking dinner. You up for your favorite pasta, wine, and a movie?”
His eyes widened, and he looked away. “I was…actually going out.”