Page 12 of The Player in New Zealand
Carefully, she picked up the glass and sipped. It was in a martini glass, though a coupe would have been better. Haft & Hops lacked some of the barware I thought they could use.
Nina’s eyes popped open. “Wooooowwwwwww. What’s your secret? It’s so...” Her eyes unfocused as she was thinking and tasting.
I told her about the ingredients and my techniques, probably going into too many details about the process of infusing the simple syrup. Nina owned her own bar; she wasn’t stupid. But my enthusiasm got out of hand.
“It’s fresh,” she said, after a second sip. “Tastes like summer.”
“We can go seasonal with the drinks. But something crafted like this would sell well here. It fits the atmosphere,” I pointed out. “What do you think?” I tipped my chin at her near-empty glass. “If you want, I can get some more suggestions together, change up the menu a little bit. Or just do a daily special.”
Nina placed the drink back down on the desk and spun toward me fully. “Is this what you did back in the States? These kinds of cocktails?”
“Sometimes. The bars I worked at weren’t always the best. I worked at a lot of dives, but sometimes they were hangouts for the staff who worked at nicer places and were looking for a cheap drink. I served lots of basic drinks like you have on the menu. But Haft & Hops has so much potential. It’s fancy and really pretty inside.”
Nina looked thoughtful. “You made this with things we already had in stock?”
“Not the orange, because that’s been candied. But everything else, yes. I made a flavored simple syrup, which is a lot of work when you can just order them. But everything else you already had.”
I swear something flashed behind her eyes. Anticipation? Mischief?
“I would love to offer some upscale cocktails,” she began. My lips curled with premature excitement. “But we have to run it by Tane.”
My smile fell. “Wait, why?” It came out sharper than I’d intended. I softened my words. “No offense, but he’s not around that much. Do you really need his input on this?”
“Claire,” Nina said in gentle reprimand. “He’s my partner.”
“Yeah, well... I may have put my foot in my mouth with him.” I winced. Tane had been avoiding me. “I think he’s a bit... mad at me.”
“Do you deserve it?” she asked, amused.
“I asked about his injury.”
“Ah,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “That would do it.”
“Yeah... I didn’t realize I was poking a nerve. But he’s also not helping,” I added, feeling the need to defend myself a little bit.
“It’s still sore. Give it time and talk about something else.”
“Tane did tell me he bought you the bar.”
At that, she frowned. “Yes, well, I thought it would do him some good to have a place to belong after rugby. I’m not so sure anymore if that was a good idea.”
I wasn’t one to deliver fake platitudes, so I searched my brain for something positive to say. “He seems to have a lot of friends.”
“Well, when you’re a famous rugby player in your own right and then the son of another famous one on top of that, you tend to make friends easily in New Zealand. Some of those friends I wish would be a better influence. But I think the best ones are still out playing rugby.”
“Right, well, I’ll find something else to talk to him about, then. Any advice?”
She scrunched up her nose, what I thought might be bitterness infusing her voice. “Just rugby and beer.”
Rugby was a big goose egg for me, but I could talk about beer.
“I’m sure you’ll find some common ground. Talk to him about the cocktails.” She nodded at the empty glass. “You’ll win him over,” she reassured me. “Your drinkisthat good.”
FIVE
When I got backto my hostel after my shift, my day got worse. I had booked a dorm bunk, which sounded fun at the time. Hey, I never went to college. This could be like college, right?
Maybe it was. Maybe in college there was always someone getting up early—the ones working agriculture—and someone always coming in late—me and all the other hospitality people. Maybe there was always someone who smelled bad enough to stink up the whole room or someone who spilled an unknown substance on the floor or someone who for some explicable reason decided thatmybed was the perfect place to put their day-old dirty plate of curry when there was a rule about no food allowed in the dorm room and you had to do your own dishes and clean up after yourself.
