Page 4 of Rhett & Moses
Yet here I was, hands slightly trembling as I selected a bottle of Monkey 47, complex, layered, with notes of citrus and spice. Just like the man seated at my bar.
I prepared his drink with meticulous care, hyperaware of his eyes following my every move. When I finally placed the finished cocktail before him, he raised it in a silent toast before taking a sip.
His eyes widened slightly, then closed in appreciation. “Damn,” he murmured. “What is this?”
“Monkey 47,” I answered, a flutter of pride cutting through my anxiety. “German gin with forty-seven botanicals. I like it with just a hint of elderflower tonic and a twist of grapefruit.”
He took another sip, nodding slowly. “You always did have a gift for taste testing.”
The memory hit me like a physical blow, Rhett and I, side by side at a taste testing workshop when we were just eighteen. We explored flavors of chocolates and cheeses that worked together and stole glances at one another when we thought the other wasn’t looking, fingers occasionally brushing as we reached for the same ingredient. The beginning of everything. The beginningof when I realized that when I hit age I wanted to explore gin creations and mixology as a career.
“You remember that?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
Something flickered in his eyes, hurt, maybe, or resentment. “I remember everything, Moses.”
The weight of those words hung between us, heavy with two decades of unspoken truths and unanswered questions. I opened my mouth, though I had no idea what would come out, when Bronwyn appeared at my elbow.
“Moses, we need more pretzels from the freezer,” she said, then turned to Rhett with a wide smile. “You must be Rhett. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“All terrible things, I’m sure,” Rhett replied with a charm I remembered all too well.
Bronwyn laughed. “On the contrary. When this one gets a few drinks in him"—she jerked a thumb in my direction—“he can’t stop singing your praises.”
I shot her a look that promised retribution, but she just winked at me before sauntering off to help another customer.
Rhett’s expression had softened somewhat, curiosity replacing the guardedness. “Is that so?”
“She exaggerates,” I muttered, feeling heat climb up my neck. “Occupational hazard of owning a bar.”
“Hmm.” He hummed noncommittally, taking another sip of his drink. “Speaking of occupational hazards, how’d a small-town scandal-maker like you end up co-owning the hottest spot in Gomillion?”
The casual reference to the past stung, but I kept my expression neutral. “Family inheritance and a good business partner. What about you? Last I heard, you were taking Boston’s architecture scene by storm.”
“I do alright,” he said with characteristic understatement. I knew from occasional Google searches over the years that “alright” meant he’d designed award-winning buildings across the Eastern Seaboard. “Though I’m thinking of scaling back, maybe starting something smaller back closer to home.”
The implication that “home” might still be somewhere in the Carolinas sent an unwelcome surge of hope through me. I tamped it down quickly.
“Well, Gomillion could use a decent architect,” I said lightly. “Most of the new construction looks like it was designed by drunk toddlers with a LEGO fixation.”
That drew a genuine laugh from him, the sound washing over me like warm honey. “Some things never change, huh? You always did have a way with words.”
“Only the sarcastic ones,” I replied with a small smile.
For a moment, it felt like old times, the easy banter, the shared humor. But then his expression sobered, and reality came crashing back.
“Why did you come, Moses?” he asked quietly.
The question caught me off guard, though it shouldn’t have. I gestured vaguely around the bar. “Business obligations. The reunion. You know.”
“Right.” He nodded slowly, clearly unsatisfied with my answer but not pushing further. He finished his drink and stood, reaching for his wallet.
“On the house,” I said quickly.
He hesitated, then nodded again. “Thanks. I guess I’ll see you later?”
“I’ll be behind the bar,” I confirmed. “I need to keep busy and avoid Amber.”
“Of course,” he murmured, and I couldn’t tell if there was judgment in his tone or something else entirely. “Well, until then.”
