Page 31 of Mother Parker
“Ah, you want to start from the bottom up. Otherwise, measurements are going to be all wrong,” he said when I tried to fill the cup with green tea. “Here.”
He grabbed a bottle of mango syrup and poured it into the shaker.
“Now the sugar machine looks like a spaceship, but I swear it’s super easy,” he said, standing in front of a dispenser with all kinds of touch buttons and a little drip on the side.
Hwan showed me all the buttons and told me which one I needed for the drink, and a tiny amount of corn syrup was poured into the shaker.
I completed the drink by pouring the green tea and filling the shaker with ice.
“Now what?” I asked.
Hwan uncrossed his hands and chuckled.
“Shake, silly,” he said.
I let out an unintentional long sigh, and for a moment, I thought he noticed and was let down. But a second later, the smile was back on his face, and he was helping put the lid on the shaker.
I started shaking, and even with that, he found a reason to correct me.
“Use your elbows. Otherwise, you’ll be exhausted by the time you make your fifth drink,” he said.
“I don’t think you know who you’re talking to, dude,” I snapped back before I could help myself.
"All right, Mr. Dorothy, calm down," he said.
Despite my snap, he didn’t look offended.
"Dorothy? Why Dorothy? This isn't Oz, sweetheart," I said.
Did I really need to add the sweetheart to my reply?
No. No, I didn't. And yet I had, for no reasonwhatsoever.
"I'm not talking about Dorothy from Oz. I'm talking about Dorothy Zbornak. The grumpiest of the Golden Girls."
Golden…Golden Girls?
Was he even alive whenTheGolden Girlswas on?
And how was that relevant?
And most importantly, why would he call me by one of their names?
"Dorothy?” I grunted. “And if I'm Dorothy, who the hell are you? Blanche?"
Hwan was definitely a Blanche. He looked effortlessly flawless. Never mind the constant smile on his face, which I was pretty sure was flirting, but I could be wrong.
Not to say anything of the fact he was completely irresistible. Or must be. I assumed. I wouldn't know, of course. I wasn't gay.
But if the men he dated felt even an inkling of the…frustration I felt around him, then he must be irresistible.
"Bla—Bitch, I'm Rose, and I own it. Now finish that tea, princess,” he said.
I frowned.
Had he really just called me princess?
And had he really just snapped at me?
