Page 100 of The Comeback Summer

“See? Easy-peasy,” he says, placing the lid on the shaker. “Now you shake.”

And shake he does—not just the shaker. He gets his entire body into it, doing a crazy dance to whatever music is in his head.

I snort a laugh and cover my mouth, but it’s too late—he heard it.

“Is there something funny about the way I shake a drink?” he asks, mouth falling open in mock surprise. “Show me how it’s done, then.”

He holds the shaker out to me, his eyes twinkling, but I shake my head. I have already embarrassed myself enough in front of this man—but the little Lou in my mind is telling me I need to get my butt off the sidelines and into the game of life.

“Oh, fine,” I say, taking the shaker from Adam. I raise my arm, ready to shake, but something stops me. “I need music.”

“Good idea,” Adam says, grabbing his phone. A few taps, and “Shake It Off” starts playing from the speakers. I sway to the beat and twist my wrist, shaking the shaker as TaylorSwift sings, and he joins in, until we’re both dancing like two dorky teenagers at a high school dance.

By the end of the song, we’re both breathless and smiling, and I hand the shaker back to him. “Think we’re good?”

“I think you’re great,” he says. Our fingers brush as he grips the shaker, and our eyes lock.

My heart stops. I’m frozen in place, unable to look away from the heat in his eyes, slowly melting me from the inside out.

Quickly, I pull my hand away from the shaker, bringing my icy fingers to my face in an attempt to bring myself back down to room temperature. I need to get a hold of myself.

Adam grabs two champagne glasses and pours equal amounts from the shaker into both flutes before topping them with champagne. “Last step is the garnish,” he says.

“I don’t need anything fancy,” I tell him.

“Nonsense,” Adam says, grabbing a lemon from a bowl of fruit on the bar. “If I’m going to impress you, I’ve got to pull out all the stops.”

My cheeks flush, but Adam doesn’t seem to notice as he dips a sharp knife into the skin of the lemon, spinning the fruit around in his hand.

“Careful,” I say. “You don’t want another scar.”

He stops and looks up at me, tilting his head. “Did I tell you about my scar?” he asks, twisting his right palm toward me.

My stomach drops. Dishwashers haven’t come up in our conversations—he told HannahF about his accident and the reason he always loads silverware facing down.

“You didn’t,” I say, quickly landing on some version of the truth. “But I noticed it the other day—and that knife looks pretty sharp.”

“I’ll be careful,” he says, his eyes on mine as he swivels the knife back and forth. He completes the last cut and holds up two perfectly twisted slices of lemon rind. He places one on each of the glasses before handing me one.

“Cheers to a great event,” I say.

“And to Harvey getting lucky,” Adam says, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Harvey’s not the only one who would like to get lucky, I think, and before I can scold myself for having inappropriate thoughts about a client, the bell on the front door chimes—the first rummy player has arrived. Thirty minutes early.

•••

THE REST OFthe night flies by. Adam is constantly in motion—helping out behind the bar and in the kitchen, even settling a hearty debate over whether the dealer should deal seven or ten cards.

I helped where I could at the beginning, but when one player didn’t show, I got roped into taking their spot in the game. It was fun—and I accidentally won three out of four hands.

A highlight of the evening was meeting Harvey, who was as extra as I imagined. The man had the balls to bring three different dates to complete his foursome. His table was behind mine, and I heard him tell the ladies that he would go home with whoever won the most hands. For their sake, I hope he was the big winner and got to take himself home.

Once the last player clears out and Adam sends his staff home, it’s just the two of us.

“Wow,” he says, locking the door. “That was...”

I barely stop myself from saying “ten out of ten.” Instead, I say, “Incredible.”

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