Nick
Twilight already glitters on the horizon as we come to a stop somewhere downtown.
Every street light is wrapped in garland, hazy lights winking at us as we step on to the sidewalk.
Red velvet ribbons with sleigh bells in the center are secured on the base of each pole, and strings of lights hang from tree to tree.
Even Krystal can’t hide the wonder behind her eyes as she takes it all in.
Spirited is the name of the bar hosting tonight’s event: A cocktail-making competition. “I’m excited for this one,” one of the other guests says. I smile at him, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, man. I let my wife convince me to do this, and I need a strong drink,” he laughs.
“I didn’t have to convince him to do shit.
” I didn’t expect the woman standing next to him to have such a deep, raspy voice.
Looking at them both, they’re quite an odd pair.
She, slightly taller than him, a little wild-looking with her frizzy hair whipping her forehead in the chilly breeze.
And he, chubby and well-groomed with calmness in his eyes that shouldn’t be there, considering his wife is chewing his ear off for making it seem like he doesn’t want to be here.
Actually, he looks like he’s enjoying it. He’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Alex, by the way,” he says, ignoring his wife and sticking his hand out to shake mine. I take it.
“Nick.”
“You uh, here by yourself, right?” He asks. “This is Cher, by the way. She must have left her manners back at the B&B.”
My eyes stretch as I notice Cher become visibly enraged. Her pale, freckled skin flushes crimson as she takes my hand and gives it a solid shake. The smirk on Alex’s face tells me all I need to know. Some men are genuinely annoyed by their wives, but he’s toying with her.
I look around to see if I can find Krystal again.
“So you were saying?” Cher pulls me back to their conversation, and I almost lose the fight not to roll my eyes.
I take a deep breath, holding it in my chest while I answer. “Yeah, came by myself.”
“Awww,” Cher coos, holding onto her husband’s arm and leaning into him.
Luckily, before I have to subject myself to any more of this, we finally start to move inside.
The bar is all warm neutrals and low yellow lighting. The lack of seasonal decor is a stark difference compared to what we’ve grown used to. Still, nutmeg, cinnamon, and the smell of liquor hang in the air — fitting for the night’s activity.
There are six bar tables set up, and small trays with tumblers, shot glasses, measuring cups, and mixing devices sit in the center of each one.
I spot Krystal, the low light hugs the contours of her face so perfectly, the warmth contrasting with the cool tones of her hair and the white figure-hugging turtleneck she’s sporting today.
She pulls out a barstool from the table in the farthest back corner and places it with another.
Then she settles into the remaining seat, alone.
My heart thrums as I move to join her. I refuse to let her do this.
“So!” Alex tosses his arm over my shoulder, and I push all the air in my body through flared nostrils. “I’m thinking tonight we spice things up and do a little boys against girls action,” he explains.
I shrug his arm off me. “I’m not a boy,” I correct him. “And I don’t know if the women—” I’m stopped short as I look around at all the men and women, separated, each group huddled together. Before I can compute what’s happening, one of the other women approaches Krystal, asking if she can join her.
“Fantastic,” I mutter, slouching off to one of the empty tables, not really caring who sits next to me. Of course, Alex takes the cue as an invitation. He slides in beside me, immediately drumming his fingers against the table.
“You know.” He leans closer. “I lied earlier.”
I blink down at him, hoping my eyes convey how dead inside I feel right now.
“I’m loving this shit, man,” he snickers, slapping his flat open palm on the table.
God bless his wife.
“Really,” I deadpan. “I couldn’t tell.”
Gayle struts to the center of the room with who I assume is our instructor for the night.
He’s just around my height, so, somewhere between 6’1 and 2…
he’s broad, with sculpted arms and shoulders.
I can only see what’s from the elbow down, but my guess is that those tattoos extend all the way across his chest and up the side of his neck.
The ladies are already giggling to each other about him, and I wonder how soon it will be before the men start regretting this decision.
“Alright, everyone!” Gayle begins. “Tonight is our Christmas Cocktail Competition, and this is your instructor and your judge for the evening, Marco.” She rests a gentle hand on his forearm as the ladies hum conspiratorially.
“Where’d she find this guy?” Alex mumbles to me, not taking his eyes off his wife.
I fight the urge to turn to look at Krystal, not because I care if she’s drooling over evil Rome Flynn, but to see if she’s alright or not…to see if maybe she wished it was me sitting next to her right now.
“Hello gentlemen,” he addresses us, “and ladies.”
As he drones on, shamelessly flirting with the women while he gives a brief introduction to all the tools we’ll be using, I tamp down my irritation. This is going to be a long night.
Everything reduces to an undecipherable hum, and I finally allow myself to catch a glimpse of Krystal.
I shift slightly, looking just over my shoulder.
The Korean woman sitting beside her looks about twice our age.
She’s talking her ear off, and Krystal is resting her chin on her palm, twirling a bar spoon.
I meant to check on her, to see if she’s at least enjoying herself, but I’m stuck staring.
Her beauty is hypnotic, and the longer I watch her, the more she seems to glow.
Feeling my eyes on her, she blinks up and over at me.
The tiniest smirk curls the corner of her lips, and she rolls her eyes, shaking her head.
My mouth stretches in a smile I can’t subdue.
I don’t know how long we stay there, holding each other with a stare.
Marco claps, and the doors on the opposite corner of the room swing open.
A team of servers rolls through carrying various ingredients on trays and depositing them at each of our tables.
“I’m going to show you how to make our signature cocktail and then, you’ll make your own versions.
The winner!” He claps again, and I can’t tell whether he’s genuinely excited or if it’s just for show, but the energy in the room electrifies.
Gayle returns, strutting like a model through the room and holding a bottle of amber liquid to the side like a trophy.
Once she reaches Marco’s side, he takes it from her, caressing the bottle with his eyes.
“The winner of tonight’s competition will receive this bottle of Mount Gay Barbados Rum. This distillery is the oldest continually operating one in the world, and there are only 3000 bottles of this beautiful rum available for purchase,” Marco explains.
I’m not a heavy drinker, but even I’m a little excited at the prospect of winning.
He goes through the motions of showing us how to make the Rosemary Cranberry Cocktail.
It’s a simple enough recipe made up of cranberry juice, rosemary simple syrup, and vodka — poured over ice, stirred, and garnished with a sprig of rosemary.
The sound of glasses clinking rings through the room as we all cheers and taste our handiwork.
For being so simple, the drink is shockingly good.
“Damn, I want that rum, dude,” Alex says, suddenly serious with a laser-focused stare aimed at the bottle. I cringe at being called dude, and I wonder how this all will work since we’ve separated the couples. If we win, I don’t know if I would let him keep it.
The speakers crackle to life, and the jazzy vocals of Destiny Child’s ‘Platinum Bells’ float through the space. The servers return, this time, setting the extensive bar island with all kinds of juices, ciders, syrups, and garnishes for us to make our own versions of the cocktail.
Marco explains the contest again, counts down from three, and signals that we can begin.
Alex speeds to the bar, immediately gathering ingredients.
I hang back, catching Krystal by the elbow.
She spins to face me, a resigned smile on her lips.
I search her face for the answer to a question I’m not sure of.
I think, if I’m being honest, I just wanted an excuse to be this close to her.
“What’s up?” She asks.
I release a deep breath, rocking back on my heels. “I don’t know.”
She chuckles, and immediately my mood lightens. “You trying to sabotage me or something?”
“What?” I reply, genuinely confused until I remember where we are and why we’re here. “Oh! You actually care about the contest. Cute,” I smirk.
She rolls her eyes, and not in the playful way she did before. “The activities are the entire point of the trip. Why spend all this money to come here if you didn’t want to participate?”
It’s a valid question, one that roots itself deep in my gut and twists. My head tilts back as I regard her. “The same reason you are.” She lifts a probing eyebrow. “To make Christmas feel like something other than a reminder of what I’ve lost.”
Her smug expression settles into something more compassionate.
Then, Alex returns with a tray filled with juices and syrups that don’t seem to go together at all. He looks at the otherwise empty station, gawking at me. “You didn’t get anything?”
Krystal snorts, her nose scrunching while she laughs.
I look down at her, smiling like an idiot.
“Tell you what, if either of us wins, we’ll share the bottle.
” Her eyes sparkle under the gleam of the lights, never leaving mine as she waits for my answer.
Warmth blooms in my chest and spreads throughout my body the longer we hold on.