Page 242 of Banter & Blushes

“Anything exciting happen this morning?” she asks.

“Winston pooped in front of the artisan soap shop again,” I say, checking the lemons to see which ones are still living their best citrus life. “I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a coincidence at this point.”

Clara nods thoughtfully, like this is important intelligence. “Bold move. That lavender and eucalyptus bar gave me a rash once.”

“Winston knows things,” I say, like I’m not totally joking.

She laughs and taps the espresso machine. “This place better appreciate the fact that we show up before noon with functioning limbs and sparkling personalities.”

I give her a look. “Define sparkling.”

“Caffeinated,” she replies, taking a victorious sip.

The bell above the door jingles with enthusiasm, and just like that, the day begins. I don’t look up right away. I’m mid-battle with the citrus bin and there’s a lime that has taken it upon itself to leap from the colander and roll across the bar like it’s auditioning for a spy movie. I snatch it before it hits the floor. Small wins.

“Welcome to The Clever Lime,” I call over my shoulder, placing the lime back in the bowl with a warning glance. “We’re open, but the blender hasn’t had its coffee yet. If it was a person, it’d be a night owl.”

No response. Just the sound of footsteps across the worn wooden floor. Calm. Not the flip-flop shuffle of a beach-goer, not the sandy stomp of a family in search of fish tacos. This is more deliberate.

I glance up.

The guy who just walked in is tall, with a ball cap pulled low, sunglasses still on and a beard just scruffy enough to make him look like he either overslept or is about to start a sea shanty.

Something about him feels out of place. Deliberate. Like he's here for a reason, and I'm not sure I want to know what it is.

He sits at the end of the bar without saying a word, and for a moment, it's like the whole room shifts to make space for him.

CHAPTER 3

Irinse my hands at the sink and wander over, towel slung over my shoulder. He doesn’t take the sunglasses off, which is interesting. Most people want to be seenwhen they walk in here. They want someone to notice the tan, or the watch, or the vacation glow they’ve been cultivating since Tuesday.

But this guy?

He reads more like a human shrug. Not trying too hard. Not trying at all. That alone makes me tilt my head and decide to say something.

“You look like a Trust Issues kind of guy,” I say, resting my hands on the bar. “That’s a drink, by the way. Coconut, lime, pineapple, a little cinnamon. Rum. Makes you feel like you’re on vacation while questioning every decision you’ve ever made.”

He gives me a short laugh. “What if I just want something boring?”

“That depends,” I say, pulling a glass from the shelf. “How boring are we talking? Water? Club soda? A dramatic monologue about your kale cleanse?”

He smirks, but the sunglasses stay on. “Ginger ale.”

I blink. “Wow. You weren’t kidding.”

“Figured I’d give my liver a vacation,” he says, tone dry but amused.

A non-answer. Evasive, but not unfriendly. Like someone used to dancing around questions without stepping on toes. Could be hiding a hangover. Either way, I don’t push. It’s none of my business.

I grab a bottle of ginger ale from the mini fridge, pop the cap, and pour it into a highball glass. He doesn’t ask for a garnish, which is good, because ginger ale doesn’t deserve one.

“Here you go. One wildly underwhelming beverage.” I slide it across the bar. “Let me know if it fails to meet your expectations. We strive for mild disappointment.”

He takes a sip. “Perfect.”

I lean against the back counter and watch him for a beat. There’s something familiar about the curve of his jaw under the beard. Not that I make a habit of memorizing jawlines. Except maybe in very specific, very fictional pirate contexts.

I brace myself.

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