Page 51 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

“This is amazing. How did you make it do that?”

Evelyn grins, spreading her arms wide on the bar and watching me in amusement.

“A mixologist never reveals her secrets,” she says.

“I thought that was magicians?”

“Them too.”

I take an experimental sip of the smoking blue moon. It’s sweet, then sour, and then it burns on the way down in the best way.

“Holy crap, that’s good.”

“Careful,” Ginger warns. “They’re stronger than they seem. It’ll sneak up on you if you’re not careful.”

Against her own advice, Ginger takes a large swallow of her blue moon before grinning at me. I take another drink, too, this one larger than my first, but I sit my glass down on the barafterward to keep from drinking too much. I can already feel the warmth growing in my chest and trickling down to my stomach.

“What do you say we go say hello to my brothers?”

“Oh, I don’t know . . .” I start to rebuff but don’t get the chance to finish when Ginger stands and strides right over to her brother's table. “Okay, I guess we’re going over.”

Steeling my spine and trying to push down my growing attraction to Hunter, I slide off my stool, bringing my blue moon with me. My sneakered feet land on the floor, and I smooth my skirt down my backside, making sure not to flash anyone unintentionally.

My white Prada sneakers are soundless as I make my way over to the booth. Ginger’s already seated next to Ryder, leaving the seat next to Hunter wide open just for me.

I slide into the booth, and even with Hunter scooting all the way in my thigh still brushes his denim-clad one under the table. I feel it tense, and I shiver.

Hunter smells amazing. That same woodsy, leathery musk from when he drove me to his parents last night. I don’t know what it is about him specifically, but the smell of him only makes my arousal intensify.

“Hello, Lottie. Are you having a good night?” Hunter asks in his gravely baritone.

“So far.”

“Good.”

We sit awkwardly side by side, looking but not looking at each other. My fingers mindlessly fidget with my glass, trying not to pick it up and chug the blue drink to give myself a bit of liquid courage. Hunter doesn’t have a drink yet, so his hands rest on the table folded tightly in front of him.

Our uncomfortable silence is broken when a server approaches to take the guys' drink order. They both order beers and once again, when the server leaves, we return to ourwordless staring. Ryder doesn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable with the silence. I think he rather prefers it. Ginger also doesn’t seem bothered by it because she’s busy shifting her bright eyes between Hunter and me, suppressing a grin. She’s either trying not to speak to see how long we let this go or is trying to decide what to say to make this even more awkward. I don’t have to wait long to find out which.

“Doesn’t Lottie look pretty tonight, Hunter? When I saw that dress in her closet, I told her she just had to wear it.” Ginger props her chin on her palm, elbow on the table, a teasing, playful grin spreading across her lips.

She’s staring at Hunter, waiting for him to reply while I turn beat red from ear to toe. Poor Hunter flusters next to me but only takes a moment to recover and pull himself together.

“Yes, she does. It’s a very lovely dress.” Hunter turns to look down at me, running his gaze quickly down and back up. “It was a perfect choice.”

The blush that started with Ginger’s question now intensifies, but this time, I smile. My heart flutters in delight instead of embarrassment.

“Thank you, Hunter.”

“You’re welcome.”

The server returns with the guy’s beers, and after we all partake in our drinks, the conversation begins far less awkwardly this time. We talk about dinner at Dottie’s and upcoming plans for the week, of which I have none—other than meeting with Sophie to learn how to cook.

“I can’t believe you burnt toast. You literally just turn the nob down to a lower setting, and that’s it. Burning toast has to be intentional.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not a toast connoisseur, okay. I never really had to cook before. Someone else always did it. Cooking is just not my forte. I’m hoping maybe a few lessons with yourmom can give me enough knowledge to make basic meals, so I don’t always have to order takeout.”

Ginger laughs openly, relaxing more with each sip of her drink. I’m following right along behind her, drinking slowly but feeling the warming effects of the alcohol.

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