Page 11 of The Player in New Zealand
“Thanks for that.” I tilted my chin up toward the door.
“Yeah, no worries.”
Tane sat for a few minutes in silence while I puttered around, wondering why I’d offered him a drink in his own bar. If he wanted his own damn drink, he could get his own damn drink.
“You’ve had a pretty eventful first month,” he said. “It’s not usually like this, I swear. Nina’s pretty good at keeping the riffraff out.”
“Ah, I don’t know...” I drawled, feeling a little cheeky. “She keeps you around.”
A big palm went to his chest, mockingly covering his wounded heart. His face didn’t change, though, and I thought he might be even better at the deadpan delivery than I was.
I suppressed my smile.
“She’s worth keeping around, eh.” He traced the condensation on the glass and I thought I saw the ghost of a smile, the affection for his sister slipping out.
“Have you always been this close?” I asked.
Tane ran a hand over the cropped hair on his scalp. “We weren’t when I was playing, you know, always on tour with the team and I wasn’t around much. Missed her kids being born and stuff like that. But after I retired, she started to get real bossy.” At that, he smirked.
“Nina, bossy? Never.”
“Yeah, you know, most of the players fuck around for a while, but Nina sat me down and said, ‘I want a bar and you’re going to buy me one.’”
His smirk slid into a full-on grin and I laughed. A couple came up to close their tab and I returned to Tane a few minutes later with the patrons’ empty glasses. I submerged one glass with my right hand and began to give it a good scrubbing.
“I looked you up online back when we first met. I don’t know much about rugby except that it’s some pretty tough guys playing. Did you retire because of your injury?”
My tone was teasing, but when I looked up, Tane’s jaw was set, his face hard. Any signs of humor were gone again. He brought his glass up to his lips and drained it. “Well, I think I’ll head upstairs now. Remember to give Ron a shout sooner if you need to.”
“Wait, Tane, I was just asking...”
He stood up, eyes flashing. “It’s just your curiosity, eh? Never mind it ended my career, took away my friends, killed a family legacy, and still gives me pain some days. But, hey, I’m a tough guy, right?” I’d hit a nerve, and Tane fiddled with it like an aching tooth.
“Tane—”
“Nah, don’t worry about it, Claire. See you next time.” Tane stomped up the stairs, leaving me bouncing off the waves and unmoored in his wake.
* * *
My bartendingjob was less complicated than I wanted it to be. I loved cocktails, but sticking with the old-winery theme, the bar served mainly beer and wine. The cocktail menu was clunky and full of the same tired drinks gracing most menus. It baffled me. Haft & Hops was classy, upscale, even, and the menu was doing it a disservice. Yes, the wines fit the theme, with grapes growing on trellises on the back lawn between the lanes of targets. The menu worked well with it too: crudités and cheese platters and fancy finger foods.
But Haft & Hops did a lot of business with tourists during the week, and bachelor and bachelorette parties—hen and stag parties—on the weekends. A revamp of their cocktail menu wouldslay.
As part of the visa rules, I could only work at one place for six months. My reputation back in Boston was ruined, but here was a clean slate. Halfway through my visit, I would have to leave Haft & Hops, but I would still be paying off Iris and searching for a second job.
I wanted to be invaluable to Nina. I wanted a golden recommendation. I wanted to keep my head down, work hard, and save money.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d get to see a little bit of the country.
Two weeks after Tane had kicked the customer out for me, I confidently made one of my favorite drinks at the end of my lunch shift, a gin fizz with egg whites, torched candied orange slices and rosemary, and carried it back to Nina’s office.
“Knock, knock,” I said as Nina looked up.
“What’s this?” she said, leaning away from the desk.
“I made you a drink to try.” I carefully placed it in front of her, mindful not to spill or let the garnish, the orange skewered with rosemary, fall out.
“Wow, it’s pretty.” She leaned over and sniffed, then gave me some side-eye. “This is way fancier than what we serve.”
