Page 11 of Merry Little Mishap

Luis and Angela seriously know way too much about my life.

“She wants wine, but I’m guessing she needs something much stronger,” Luis added, side eyeing the TV mounted in the corner of the bar.It’s a Wonderful Lifeflickered on the screen.

“I think she’d settle for horse tranquilizers if you have any,” I muttered, arbitrarily lifting bottles and putting them back down.

I didn’t know why I was so sheepish, but I hesitated reaching into my coat pocket, removing the piece of folded paper I brought from home.

Carefully, I opened it up, keeping it close to my chest.

“One can of condensed milk… one can of evaporated milk… cream of coconut… half cup white rum.” I said under my breath, studying it while moving to the rum section.

I obsessively searched online for an authentic coquito recipe after leaving Mrs. Caporali’s this afternoon, because I just couldn’t shake how Elena’s face lit up when she shared a little piece of her holiday tradition with me.

My face hurt from grinning, my rosy cheeks heated like a crush stricken middle schooler.

What was this spell Elena had over me? This ability to make me melt in the middle of a liquor store aisle, to turn every moment we shared into an impossible task of keeping my hands to myself.

I replayed her day-defining, mood-lifting smile in my head, my memory like a delicate sketch artist to her cherry blossom lip gloss. I couldn’t get over her beautiful apple cheeks, her addicting laugh like a drug I desperately wanted all to myself. Hell, that pretty face of hers, matched with her incredible soul was the very reason I spent hours searching online for the perfect coquito recipe, writing it down, checking it twice.

And no… just because I scoured the internet for this invaluable concoction, didn’t mean I was actually going to do anything about it.

“Valuing Elena’s interest isn’t wrong… nor does looking for the ingredients to her favorite holiday drink mean I’m headed towards some romantic downfall,” I told myself, fearing the inevitable tipping point that would spiral me into some chain of relationship failure like my sister. I cleared my throat. “Luis… what would you consider to be a good choice of white rum?”

“Depends. What’s it being used for? Piña Colada? Mojito? Cajun Lemonade?”

“No. None of that.”

“Is it for a strawberry daiquiri?”

I scratched at my chin. Why was I being so weird?

Luis made his way from behind the counter to the rum rack where I stood, sighing. “Don’t get too specific and bore me with the details,” he said, amused.

Christ. My hands got so stuffy in my leather gloves.

Luis looked down at the paper.

“Coquito?” He nodded approvingly, a shot of realization washing over his face. “We have lots of options for that. Bacardi, Don Q… Havana Club is a good one. Distilled in Puerto Rico.”

“Puerto Rico?!” I gasped, instinctually reaching out and taking it. Why did it feel like I had the world’s greatest treasure in my hand?

Elena would like this one.I held onto it like it was the last life vest on a sinking ship.

“What about the wine?” Luis pointed to the other side of the store.

Wine? I didn’t care about wine at all right now. All I cared about was how this little bottle of rum made my heart skip. My intentions of coming here were totally hijacked with the desire to grab everything I needed for Elena’s favorite seasonal drink.

“Do you know what Tiffany’s wanting?” Luis asked again, taking the bottle of rum from my hand so I could shop easier.

He had to pry it away.

“Damn. I really don’t know.” I patted my pockets for my phone but felt nothing. “I left my cell back home.”

“You can use ours if you want?” Angela pulled out an old rotary phone from behind the bar, setting it next to the register with a loud thump. She grunted from the weight. “Try and keep it domestic.”

“No promises… I’m pretty sure New Jersey is considered its own country at this point.” I checked my watch, realizing how far I had to travel still. From this point it’d take me well over an hour to get to Tiffany’s.

Patiently, I dialed her number, spinning my finger on the janky rotary wheel, waiting for it to reset after each digit. The phone rang and rang.

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