Page 87 of The Surrender
“Amelia,” Anouska says, smiling from where she’s perched on the pedestal desk. “Going upstairs?”
“You know, I think I need a drink.” I motion towards the Library Bar as I head that way. “Mind?”
“Of course,” she says, laughing, like, why am I asking?
I point back outside. “Will you let Jude know I’m in here when he’s done on his call?”
“Absolutely. Enjoy.”
“Thanks, Anouska.”
When I enter, I find Clinton’s showing off his cocktail-making skills to a couple sitting at the bar, delighting them. A few stools in between them and another couple are free, so I hop on, plucking the menu from the gold stand, browsing. At the very top, taking first position from Hey Jude, is the Amelia. I still can’t believe he named a cocktail after me.
“The Amelia is officially our most popular to date,” Clinton calls, pouring.
The couple claim their glasses and sip, and the woman smiles at me. “You should try it.” She looks to the heavens. “Divine.”
Clinton chuckles, placing a napkin down for each of them, then a small bowl of olives. No nuts. “Do you want one?” he asks. “I’m told it packs a punch.”
“Ha ha,” I drone, closing the menu and waving a hand in playful order. It’s hardly past noon, but it’s the weekend. I’ll cut myself some slack. Besides, I’m in shock. “Get me the Amelia.”
“Oh, you won’t regret it,” the lady says, giggling. “This is my third. It’s our anniversary weekend.”
“Aww, congratulations.” I smile as she places her hand on her husband’s knee, and he clasps it. “You’ve come to the best place.”
“Right?” she says, gushing. “Isn’t it incredible? It’s been on my bucket list since it opened!” She offers her hand. “I’m Denise. This is my husband, Leroy.”
“Pleasure,” I say, accepting. “I’m ...”
“This is Amelia,” Clinton says, smiling at the shaker as he prepares my drink.
“Oh, like the drink!” Denise laughs. “How funny!”
I smile, awkward. “Yeah, like the drink.”
“Notlikethe drink,” Clinton pipes up. “Sheisthe drink.”
I look at his grinning face tiredly. “What’s taking you so long?”
He lets out a bark of laughter, shaking vigorously, and poor Denise falls into a state of total confusion.
“I hope you have the best weekend,” I say, making her smile again.
“Thank you.” She turns to her husband and some hushed whispers go down.
“Anytime today,” I call, increasing Clinton’s amusement, and on a dramatic pour and over-the-top twirl, he slides my drink towards me. I waste no time taking my first sip, sighing. I hate how good it is, especially at this time of day.
“You look like you’ve had a rough day, and it’s only just afternoon.” Clinton gets on with polishing some glasses. “Come on, get it off your chest.”
“Well, yesterday, the man I’m seeing turned up at my office and has put me in a bit of a sticky situation.”
“The man you’re seeing?” he asks. “I heard he was your boyfriend.”
“And who told you that?”
“Jude.”
I laugh. “Was he growling when he put that out there?”
