Page 7 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

I gesture for her to take a seat at the table. My personal belongings are out. The door to my cabin is open. I keep it neat and don’t have a lot of stuff, but my life is exposed to her. I’ve lived on this boat for the past six months, and on and off for years before. It is the only home I’ve known as an adult. Now everything that matters to me is available for her viewing. I wonder how I measure up. She sits on the sofa bench at the table like she did this morning. Instead of looking around, or back at her phone, her gaze follows me as I remove a bottle of rum from the cupboard. I pour a glass and hand it to her.

“Is this straight rum?” she asks, picking it up, her expression neutral.

“Yes, it’s a blend, and aged. Try a sip. If it’s too much, I unfortunately don’t have much else to offer.” I bet she drinks a lot of wine, since she holds it to the light, examining the color. “I swear it’s not a test if you can handle it or not. I’m just a bad host.”

She smiles and takes a sip. Her eyebrows raise. “Wow, that’s a lot better than I thought. I only ever drink rum in cocktails.”

I pass her the bottle so she can inspect the label. I wait for the pirate joke that always comes, but she doesn’t make it.

“Have you been to Paradise yet?”

“I haven’t, no.” I should tell her I know Alex, the owner, but I don’t. I want this interaction to be about the two of us. She’s concerned how people see her. She’ll find out eventually, but I don’t want to pop this bubble we’ve created.

“It’s super cheesy, so you might wave it off. But there is always space in the locals’ section and the food is amazing. Haley helps with the menus.”

“It’s on my list,” I say. “I loved what she made today. I’ll check out her recipes.”

“You have to try her fish tacos. It’s her most popular, and they’re amazing.”

As much as I find talking about bars and her friends fascinating, it’s not what I’m interested in. “Did you have fun today?” The interior of my boat is spacious enough but it’s still tight. I sit down on the short side of the L-shaped bench to not crowd her. She’s settled into the long side. Her posture is a little slouchy and she tucks one foot underneath her.

“We did, yes. I feel so bad we took over your boat.”

“Don’t be. It worked out, and no one puked in my cabin so it’s fine.”

“I don’t want to know why the bar is so low,” she says with a laugh.

“You have no idea. Did you get the content you needed?” Social media is important to brands. I’ve been told I could monetize my travel by posting more than sunrises. But it was always for me and so my family back home could check in on how I was doing. I have someone else manage the social media for both charter companies. I never deal with it. Now content creation will always be the way Carina moved her body with strength and ease.

It was so fucking sexy. I could have watched her for hours. I still don’t know why she hesitated to get out on the boards. I’m so glad she took the risk, even if it was only for a moment. I understand not jumping off the bow. She might be afraid of heights.

I must have failed in how I asked the question because she gets defensive. “Content is how I sell my products and make a living,” she argues.

“I know, I wasn’t judging. It seemed like the only time you let yourself have fun was when there was another reason behind it,” I answer.

I see her tense as she considers me.

I want her at ease. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

I’m surprised she doesn’t back down, but she softens a little. “You’re not wrong. Which is a little annoying. I’m trying to be a good boss. And this trip was for them. Not me.”

“Well, at least you’re not working now.”

“And here I thought you asked me to have a professional drink,” she says, her tone light. She doesn’t think I’ve misled her. She knows exactly why I asked her to stay.

For all her hesitancy about things, I have a feeling I know what she wants from me tonight. I just have to give her the opportunity. She’s making sure we’re on the same page before she takes a risk. She wants me to say it.

“It could be a professional drink. We can talk about business issues and plan future collaborations.” I use a mock serious voice. “Exactly whose ass do I kiss for prime advertising at the local coffee shops?”

“It’s the ice cream shops you want to get in with,” she responds with a smile and a whisper, like she’s revealing state secrets.

While I’m sure we could share business tips for hours, that’s not what either of us want.

I don’t want to have a professional drink. Neither does she. “Great, tip taken. Now business is over. Let’s have a personal drink,” I suggest.

“What’s the difference between a personal and a professional drink?” she asks.

“Personal drinks are fun for the sake of fun. Not fun for the sake of marketing or product testing.”

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