Page 116 of Every Beautiful Mile

I top off my mug with it and pass it to Ethan to finish his before stirring the drinks with spoons.

“Last but not least, we come to the garnishes. This is where I see a lot of bartenders get carried away. My rule of thumb is if it doesn’t add to the flavor or experience of the drink, don’t use it. Some people put mint on a mule, but a single leaf isn’t going to add flavor to the drink, and most people aren’t going to eat it straight, so I consider it worthless. I use a lime wedge.”

I hug a green sliver onto the rim of the mug.

“And a piece of candied ginger.”

I open the bag and inhale the spicy scent that follows before grabbing a piece and nestling it next to the lime. Ethan mimics my movement, still in silence.

I hold up my finished drink proudly before taking a sip and smacking my lips in approval. “And there you have it.” I smile proudly, watching him quietly study his mug before shifting his gaze to my face, an emotion I can’t read in his eyes.

My eyebrows pinch together. “Why are you being so quiet and weird? Drink it.”

“You lit up.” He neither picks up his mug nor looks away.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I did not.” I pull my chin back.

“When you talked about every ingredient and how the cocktail was built, you lit up. Like you were doing something you loved. I’ve never seen someone talk about lime juice with such passion,” he teases.

“Okay,” I say, drawling out the word and rolling my eyes.

The pit in my stomach tells me this is leading to something I’m not ready to address.

“So, I like limes? Are you serving canned green beans in your kitchen, Mr. Mills?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying. You don’t just like talking about limes, you like talking about what the limes can do. You told me yesterday you don’t know if you are doing what you should be. I’m saying from where I’m standing, this looks like what you should be doing.” He finally takes a sip of his drink and grins. “And you just taught me to make a drink that doesn’t taste like piss.” The implications of what he’s saying are radical.

Leave my dad’s bar?

The thought alone feels like a punch in the gut, no matter how much I love the idea of seeing where something different might lead.

His tone softens. “I’m just saying that if you are looking for confirmation this is something you could do, I know it is.”

The soft ping of raindrops against the boat picks up again as we stand in a quiet that feels charged.

“It’s raining again,” I say the obvious because I don’t know what else to say.

“Mhm.”

I face him, leaning back on the counter and press my palms against it. “Now what?” I ask, my gaze hooking with his.

“I can think of a few things,” he says as he maneuvers around until he’s leaning against me.

The scruff on his jaw rubs against my neck as he kisses a slow, savory line until his mouth finds mine. He tastes like ginger and lime, and his tongue is cold from the ice.

His fingers slide down my waist and grip the back of my thighs—picking me up effortlessly. Our mouths stay fused as my legs wrap around him. He walks us across the room.

It’s three quick steps before my back hits a wall, feet dropping to the floor.

With a hook of his fingers and a flick of his wrists, my underwear slides down my legs, and I squeak with a laugh.

“Pants. Off.” I gasp between hungry kisses.

“Are you going to use my leg to get what you need again, Penelope?”

His voice is a low gravely sound that makes my brain break.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

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