Nick #2
The answer was always going to be yes, but I like having an excuse to stare into her light brown eyes for as long as I want to.
Her face is sharp in all the places you expect a face to sharpen, pillowed by the soft curves of her cheeks and the roundness of her chin.
Her eyes and lips are full, too big for her face, but fitting perfectly at the same time.
Her eyes flutter to my lips for a millisecond before she looks away. Huffing, she shakes her head. “You in? Santa?”
My head falls back in a roar of a laugh. “Deal.”
The remaining options are sparse by the time we finally make our way up there.
I grab an unflavored syrup, cloves as my garnish, and club soda as my chaser.
When I get back to my table, Alex stares at the random collection and shakes his head.
“I would have never left my wife if I knew this was what I would have been stuck with.”
I rest my hand over my heart, feigning offense. “Left is a strong word. But, yeah, you probably should have stuck with your wife, dude.”
His eyes narrow to slits as he looks over at me. “What are we gonna do?”
I regard all the choices he made, and my brows furrow in confusion. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Lemon juice, mint leaves, and a cinnamon syrup sit before me. Not that my selection makes a huge difference, but I have an excuse. “I don’t know, bro, I just grabbed a bunch of shit.”
I find myself feeling sorry for his wife yet again.
Shaking my head, I roll my sleeves up to my elbows and start mixing a drink together. I don’t care about winning, really. But the thought of sharing that bottle of rum with her motivates me to put an ounce of effort in.
“May I have your attention!” Marco yells after a few more minutes, “Bring your candidates.”
I set my glass on the bar next to everyone else’s, standing next to it proudly despite knowing it tastes like spicy toilet water. Marco goes down the line, pausing to compliment everyone’s attempt.
Krystal’s is a mixture of blood orange juice, ginger sugar syrup, with a Maraschino cherry as the garnish.
Marco hums his approval. “Very nice, ladies,” he says before moving on.
When he gets to Alex and mine’s concoction, I watch the blood drain from his tanned skin.
He spits his mouthful back into the old-fashioned glass.
“Okay,” he mumbles, not sparing us a second glance before he moves on to the last couple.
My gaze drifts over to her again, and I find her looking at me with a laugh in her eyes before being pulled back into the ongoing one-sided conversation with her partner.
Marco stands behind the bar now, calling our attention so he can announce the winner. “You all did amazing,” he begins. “Well, most of you.” He looks at Alex and me briefly before continuing.
Modest laughter erupts from the rest of the group, and Alex slumps against the counter, working the frustration out of his jaw. I pat him on the shoulder.
“The drink that stood out the most to me…was…” Marco says, drumming on the bartop to build suspense. “Rita and Cher!”
The rest of us clap, but Alex — he jumps about a foot in the air, whooping and pumping his fist. He runs to Cher, who looks down at him with sparkling eyes, cupping his face and kissing him obnoxiously on the lips.
I blink away from their display, shaking my head. I don’t think I need to feel sorry for her after all. Everyone has their person, I guess.
Marco started to talk about their drink, but resigned when Alex’s outburst stole his thunder. He hands her an unopened box of the rum, fitted with a large red bow.
Cher takes it with her free hand, the other wrapped tightly around Alex’s middle. “Actually, I think I’m gonna let Rita have it.” She separates from her husband to hand the gift to her partner with a hug.
The group ‘aww’s’ at the exchange, and even Alex regards his wife with pride, straightening his posture. Rita and her wife exchange a chaste kiss, and I make an effort to hide my irritation when Marco, once again, calls our attention.
The annoyance disappears just as soon as it arrived when I see Gayle standing next to him again.
I think she’s about to tell us it’s time to go back home; instead, she lets us know that we’ll be sharing the other bottle of rum we saw earlier and enjoying an open bar for another hour — a gift from Emerson B&B.
I thought the price of the trip was a bit on the expensive side, chalking the heavy price tag up to the business being small. If the rest of the days play out like tonight has, I’ll stand corrected.
“Well, guess we’ll be sharing that bottle after all,” Krystal’s clear voice cuts through my deep thoughts. Her head falls to the side as she regards me, holding two glasses of the rum over ice.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting her offering and bringing it to my lips. It’s not too sweet with a slight tartness and a roasted undertone that makes it go down smooth.
“Well, shit.” Krystal frowns into her glass. “I’m kind of mad I didn’t win now.”
She pulls yet another eager smile from me. Everything that comes out of her mouth is like a quick shock to my system that reminds me I’m alive. “Yeah, it’s pretty good,” I agree, taking another sip.
The servers clear all the used ingredients, utensils, and glasses before returning to dress the bartop with an impressive charcuterie spread of prosciutto, salami, brie, goat cheese, an assortment of fruit, breads, and jams. A line forms, and we both join the end of it.
“You seem to be in better spirits,” I mention as we inch forward.
She sighs, nodding her head from side to side. “I am?”
I chuckle. “You’re unsure?”
Her shoulders rise and fall in a subtle shrug.
“I thought Christmas was over for good for me. Being here, though, I can’t help but enjoy myself.
I would be going out of my way to hate it, so I might as well give in and enjoy the trip.
I can’t change what my ex did, but I can learn to love Christmas again. ”
I nod my understanding. “What changed since last night?”
She picks up a small plate and hands it to me before grabbing one for herself.
“When I was sitting with Helen,” she pushes her chin in the direction of the older woman she was paired with earlier.
“She was going on and on about her kids, how they’re doing so well in college, how she’s expecting her first grandchild, how this was her first real vacation in years, and how grateful she is to her husband for forcing her to come.
” She pauses to pile her plate with a bunch of grapes and some fancy-looking seeded crackers.
“I was over it. It was the exact reason I didn’t want to spend the holiday around a bunch of happy couples.
I don’t know why, but something told me to ask her how long she and her husband were married.
” She stops again, turning her whole body to face me and propping a hand on her hip.
“They just got married three weeks ago. This is their honeymoon. She’s here with her second husband. ”
The corner of my mouth turns up in a smirk. Not that I’m particularly entertained by what she’s saying, but because she seems to be. “So what happened to her other husband?” I ask, wanting her to keep talking.
“He left her,” she sighs. “After twenty years and raising three kids together, he asked for a divorce.”
I whistle, low and slow. “Being left is no easy thing to handle.”
She whips around to face me and the scowl twisting her gorgeous face makes my heart skip a beat. “Excuse me?” She inquires.
I realize after a beat that she thinks I’m making fun of her. I usually hate bringing Marie up to other women, but the words come easily as I explain the situation to her. “My ex-wife left me two years ago…a year after our son passed.”
She sucks in a breath. “Oh my God,” she says, squeezing my arm with her free hand. “I’m sorry.”
It’s my turn to choose my fixings. I shrug, drizzling my bread of choice with some honey. “You didn’t know, and it’s not something I go around telling people. But yeah, Krystal, I know what it’s like to be left.”
Silence stretches between us as we make our way through the extensive spread.
When we get back to our seats, I wonder what’s on her mind.
I hope she doesn’t think I feel offended about her reaction earlier.
Instead of asking, though, I return to our initial conversation.
“So, finding out Helen got remarried after her divorce makes you want to make the most of the trip?” I inquire.
She pops a grape into her mouth, her brows jumping and her eyes gleaming with the opportunity for gossip.
The energy shifts to the playfulness I’m becoming used to with her.
“Not quite,” she hums. “It was the way she was so nonchalant about it. Like, her old man left her so she just went and got a new one. She said, ‘Time doesn’t stop passing because you refuse to move on’ and…
I don’t know, it really hit me. I know I’m entitled to feel the way I feel, but I can choose to feel something… different,” she explains.
Helen’s advice echoes through my brain and settles at the bottom of my heart.
“So, I’m choosing to enjoy Christmas this year,” she announces, her shoulders square and confidence lining the strength of her jaw.
For the first time since he passed away, I feel the desire to make Christmas something other than missing Juno, something different, too.
“What if,” I pause, searching her eyes for any signs that she’s about to think what I have to say is complete bullshit. When I find nothing but the quiet glimmers of anticipation, my pulse jitters and my palms become slick. “What if we, maybe, tried doing that together?”
She chokes on her rum, dabbing the corners of her mouth as she looks at her half-eaten plate, then back at me.
“I just…I can’t be stuck with any of them again.” I lie, hooking my thumb over my shoulder to the rest of the group.
“Wait, what?” She leans forward, amusement replacing the alarm that flooded her expression just a second before.
“Tonight, I’m pretty sure they decided to split up because I told Alex I was here alone,” I say, lowering my volume so I don’t end up summoning the basket case.
Krystal’s nose scrunches, that adorable snort of a laugh falling past her full lips. “Wait, that’s kind of adorable.”
“It’s insufferable,” I press, leaning forward. “If we stick together, they won’t feel the need to do that anymore.”
Her throat bobs with a swallow, her eyes squint as she regards me, and I would do anything to know what’s running through her mind.
“It’s just twelve days,” she mumbles as if she’s talking to herself. I straighten, waiting for the rejection I’m almost sure is about to come next.
“Deal,” she says, extending her hand for me to shake.
My face brightens with surprise, and I take her long, skinny fingers in my hand and pull them to my lips, kissing the top of her knuckles.
“I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
“My mother says a promise is a comfort to a fool,” she replies, not even needing to take a breath. My grin grows bright and wide.
“Well,” I respond, “maybe this promise shouldn’t be a comfort. Maybe it should be…invigorating.”
Her eyes widen, sparkling with what I hope is anticipation. She huffs a laugh. “Invigorating? What exactly do you promise to do with me?”
I know the question is innocent, and there’s a part of me that just wants to be around her for the time being.
Even if all we do is make fun of each other and flirt occasionally, enjoying being in her presence and being satisfied with this holiday becoming the first of many not filled with cynicism, would be more than enough.
There’s another part of me, however, that wants to answer her question with a list of all the things I’d be more than happy to do to her if she were a willing participant.
“I think it would ruin the fun if I told you,” I say, matching the dangerous undertone she so bravely laced the conversation with.
Her lids lower just a bit, she nibbles on her juicy lower lip, and my core stirs with heat that simmers at the base of my spine and travels to the bottom of my groin.
Her fingers wrap around her glass, the melting ice sounding like jingle bells. “To making this Christmas different than the rest.” She raises her glass ceremoniously.
I raise my own, tapping it gently to hers before knocking it against the table and tossing the remains of my drink back.
When I find her eyes again, they shimmer.
My heartbeat quickens, and my mouth goes dry with the desire to kiss her.
She’s already made this trip one I’ll always remember.
I can only hope to impact her half as much as I know she’ll leave her mark on me.