Chapter 25
The rest of the night passes by in a blur. Keston has a tablet open on the counter. He’s designing cocktails, recording the ingredients, taking photos of his masterpieces, and writing down scores on a scale of 1 to 5 of how good they are, in taste and presentation.
The clipboards are a lost cause. Scores are being shouted across the bar instead.
“I’ll keep track of the scores,” I tell him.
Opening a Google spreadsheet on my phone, I type fast as people drink and rate the cocktails.
The night air grows more flower-infused as the hubbub of voices intensifies. Islanders arrive and mingle with the foreign guests, forgetting they must work tomorrow.
“Someone passed the word around, Kes,” Dex says returning for more cocktails. “They’re calling tonight Keston’s Kreations, with two Ks.”
Keston beams. “Are they now?”
Leaning on the counter and waving at me are the fishermen, all cleaned and dressed, hair combed, and shirt collars pressed.
“Hi Captain Shaq,” I call out.
Keston’s hands are flying. His phone slips and falls as he tries to take a photo of a lineup of rum cocktails.
I grab his phone off the floor. It’s in a protective waterproof case so it’s fine. “You make the drinks. I’ll take the photos.”
“Get great pictures. I need them for something.”
“For what?” I ask, snapping pics left and right, of guests and islanders cheering with their cocktails.
He doesn’t answer; he just gives me a sly smile. “You’ll see.”
I watch, fascinated, as he bobs from one end of the bar to another, examining bottles, choosing the perfect ingredient, and measuring the right amount of it.
It’s like watching a master chef. Or an artist choosing the right paint from his color palette.
“I never realized how complicated being a mixologist can be.”
He whips around and makes a face. “It’s not life-changing.”
A slew of visitors rotating in and out of the bar clutching his beautiful drinks and smiling broadly would beg to differ.
“It’s life-changing. Just not in the way you’d expect. Look how you’ve brought all these different people together in a bonding experience.”
“Rum is life,” someone shouts as if agreeing with me.
“Oh my.” I burst out laughing.
“I need a name for this themed night,” he shouts as he zips by with two cocktails in either hand before passing them off to Dex.
I barely have time to sneak in a couple of photos of the red swirly drink with the orange slices looking like hot sunsets.
“Dude, you’re moving too fast.”
He drops a kiss on my nose just before he slides to the other end of the bar, like there’s a piano on the floor and he’s playing all the keys.
“Keep up, CJ. We’re on a mission.”
“Who lit a fire in your pants?” I ask.
“You,” he smirks. “Always.”
Dex returns with empty glasses that he drops in a sink of bubbly water at the back of the bar. “Next time we’re having a KK special night, ask them to hire more staff.”
Keston grunts. He’s whipping up something blue-green and frosty looking, adding in bitters and a secret ingredient. It’s secret because the bottle has no label.
“What’s this called?” I ask as he hands me a glass of the frosty blue drink.
“Don’t you remember this, sweetie? I created it just for you.”
I shake my head.
He stops in his tracks and crosses his arms. Biceps, triceps, and all the other ceps pop out.
“The day after you arrived at Cocoa Reef Resort and was mad at me. I walked down the beach to give this to you and you thought I was trying to poison you.”
The memory of his hot body striding across the sand, calf muscles rippling, drink in hand, flashes through my head. “Your apology drink? Yes, I recall.”
“You never forgave me.” He turns around to make more frosty blue drinks.
I don’t answer because I’m too busy sucking down the last dregs of this delicious, cool, tropical gem.
“Well, what’s the name of my apology drink?”
I scribble a ten and make a smiley face with the zero in my ten.
“It’s one to five, babe.” Keston peeps over my shoulder. “But I’ll take it, thank you. And it’s called . . . .” He puts a hand to his chin. “Frosty Mermaid. Just like my baby.”
“Frosty Mermaid?” I scowl. “Since when am I . . . .”
“Cold?” he asks, both eyebrows scanning his hairline. “Icy? Chilly?”
“Yeah, whatever. Just make more, please.”
“Exactly.”
“Good thing I love you,” I mutter under my breath.
He slides past me with two more drinks for Dex. “Good thing I love you too.”
I sip my next Frosty Mermaid as if I am a scientist taste-testing a food sample. I want to help Keston perfect his creations. Meanwhile, my little frosty heart does cartwheels of happiness.
It’s amazing how this man has me giddy with love. I could float right off his stool.
Or does he have me drunk with love, as Beyoncé sings?
Either way, I join the crowd singing along to Bob Marley. Because the best way to enjoy rum is with a little bit (or a lot) of reggae.