Page 15 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

I apologize one more time for my scent as I climb into his pickup truck.

“Seriously, Carina. Bristol drives my truck after kayaking. Haley has spilled raw fish in here. You’re the least smelly of our friends.” He’s probably right, but I feel guilty about it. “Plus, isn’t your fabric formulated to reduce clingy odors? Or is it a marketing ploy?”

“It’s real,” I say.

Once we’re at Paradise, a place so familiar to us it feels like a second home, we sit at the square bar in the center of the locals’ section where Alex greets us. Christian hands him the bottle of rum, while I take a moment to admire and appreciate the view. The main level of the restaurant opens out to the beach, giving us a perfect perspective of the gentle waves. I never get tired of seeing it. Inside is decorated with seashells, driftwood, and palm fronds.

“Anyone else joining, or can I open it?” Alex asks, not bothering to hide his impatience as he taps the bottle with his fingertips.

Christian looks at his phone and frowns. “Go ahead. Haley can’t make it. Something about steak marinating.”

“Autumn?” I ask after his wife. She should be here supporting him.

He shakes his head. “School’s back in for the fall. She has theater club.”

I wonder if this moment isn’t important enough for him to wait for her or if something else is happening. They’re a great couple, but she doesn’t hang out with our group much.

“Shouldn’t I get to open it?” Christian’s sister Bristol walks up to the bar with a container of limes. “It’s my grandparents too.” They both have the same sandy blond hair. Hers is tied back in a ponytail. She’s growing out her bangs and often complains about being in the awkward stage where she can’t put them behind her ears.

“My bar. My rules. My rum,” Alex says with a fake stern glare at his bartender. She rolls her eyes and gets out four tulip-shaped glasses.

Christian lifts his after Alex has poured, examining the color in the bright sunlight. “This is our first long-aged rum. My grandfather blended it fifteen years ago. When we were kids, he never let Bristol and me in the distillery. After I turned eighteen, he took me around and pointed to the barrels and told me these were his legacy, even if he’d never get to taste it.”

The emotion on his face is obvious. I find myself fighting back tears.

“To Jake Bailey.” Alex lifts his glass, knowing Christian will go on about the man, and it will be easier if we have a drink first.

“Jake Bailey,” we echo.

I take a sip and appreciate the way it tastes sweet on my tongue. It’s different from the rum I had with Orion but I like it all the same. I can’t think about it without remembering the way his skin felt under my lips. The way I tasted rum on his.

“It’s good.” I refocus myself and scan the bottles behind the bar for Orion’s preferred blend. It’s there on the top shelf, next to another bottle of Wendell Beach Rum.

I smile.

Alex gives me a look as he refills his glass. “I didn’t know you ever drank straight liquor.”

“Not usually, but Christian asked, and this is good,” I say.

That’s the downside of having a friend who is also your bartender—they tend to learn your drinks quickly and how they change with your mood. I drink mojitos and daiquiris at the bar, and wine everywhere else. He knows this and I expect a comment if I stray.

I’m sure if I drank more diversely, he wouldn’t comment. Our friend Sienna drinks everything under the moon. She lives in Boston, and when she visits he goes out of his way to create recipes hoping to find her a new favorite.

I ask Christian a few more questions about the rum, something I can tuck away to casually drop into conversation if I run into Orion.Hey, so good to see you. Small town, right? Wendell Beach Rum Works has a new blend you should try. Oh, you don’t know where it is? No worries, I can take you. I’m friends with the owner.

I shouldn’t be thinking this. I’m not planning on beginning a relationship with him. I don’t have time to commit to anyone. Even a fling with someone in town feels risky. Those purposefully happen away from home. Then I don’t have the chance to get attached. Thinking about Orion like this feels like I’m getting attached. It’s too big of a risk. It’ll blow up in my face.I’ve been protecting myself for far too long to let this man under my skin.

If I run into him around town, I’ll be pleasant and professional and pretend nothing happened, like we agreed we would. I’m sure it will happen. There are only a few thousand permanent residents, and with school just back in session, the visiting crowds have thinned. If I see him more than in passing, I’ll cave to my temptations and sleep with him again. I can’t do that right now.

“You should have a launch party for it,” I suggest to Christian. “Really get people excited.”

Christian shakes his head. “I don’t have time to plan anything.”

“I could help,” I offer. I want to do this. I want something to invite Orion to. Show him off and let him meet everyone I’m friends with.

But I push the thought away. I won’t send him mixed messages, even as I send them to myself. I’ll do this for Christian. He might pretend this doesn’t matter to him, but it does. Someone should promote it. And seeing Orion right now is a distraction I don’t need.

“Don’t you have enough with Sienna’s wedding?” he asks.

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