Page 9 of Keeper
“This drink is different, I promise,” she coos. “It’s a proper recipe from the Teeling Whiskey Distillery in Dublin. A group of us went there on holiday once and we all fell in love.”
She says “all” like she has a close-knit group of mates that I know nothing about. I’ve never had many friends. By choice mostly. Poppy’s pretty much the only outsider I ever committed any time to. It’s strange to think she’s created this whole other life without me while she’s been away. Sure we kept in touch via email and the occasional texting, but we never got into too many specific details. It was more just talking about things we thought the other would find amusing or ridiculous. I did tell her when Vi had her baby, and she saw the papers when Tanner and Camden both had their media scandals this past year. Cam’s wasn’t quite as major as Tan’s, but that’s bloody twins for you—they have to do everything the same. Aside from that, our chats have been pretty impersonal.
Poppy dumps some ingredients into a shaker before grabbing a couple of rocks glasses from the cupboard. She cringes as she goes to the ice dispenser on the fridge and then thrusts a fist in the air when it spits out ice. “I wasn’t sure there’d be ice in here since you just moved in and all. Did you know the key to a great mixed drink is lots of ice?”
Her face is so serious, I laugh and then laugh some more when she sticks her tongue out as she works. Poppy has always had this great way of turning the most mundane tasks into a show. Like her everyday life is a performing art.
I watch curiously as she pours the ruby mixture into the glasses. She seems to really know what she’s doing. “Did you learn to bartend over there in Frankfurt, as well as become a bilinguist?”
She hands me one of the drinks and narrows her eyes. “Ja, habe ich.” She winks and adds, “Yes, I did tend bar. It was a great way to meet people while being forced to learn the language. Although, most speak English around the campus, but they were happy to slip into German for me if I asked them sweetly.”
“I’m sure there are not many people who would ever say no to you, Poppy.” We clink glasses and take a drink. It’s got a raspberry flavouring to it, but it’s not overly sweet. The burn of the whiskey sets it off perfectly. “This is much better than tequila and cream soda.”
Her giggle is adorable.
“How’s your hair?” I ask as she hoists herself up beside me on the counter and runs her hand through the locks.
“It’s fine, thanks to you.” She takes a sip. “Good God, I was in a panic thinking I’d have to shave my head to get myself out of there.”
“And then you thought you might look like a boy.” I mimic her whiny tone and can’t hold back my immature chortle.
She nudges me with her shoulder and then asks, “Do you remember that boy on the playground in primary school who said I sounded like a boy?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “I’d almost forgotten him! What a fucking wanker. What was his name again?”
“Giles Windsor.” She gets a weird look on her face and drums her fingers on her dewy glass. “In all fairness, he was only nine. You were more upset than I was.”
I puff out my chest in defense. “Well, he was ridiculous. He deserved the Harris Shakedown we gave him. You have a great voice.”
“I have a raspy voice,” she argues and licks a dribble of whiskey drink off the side of her glass. “I sound like Lindsay Lohan on a bender.”
“You do not!” I argue and stare at her mouth as she licks her lips. “Your voice is sexy.” My face heats. I’ve never used the word sexy to describe Poppy. I take another drink. How quickly things have shifted. To get the attention off of me, I add, “It makes you a brilliant singer, too.”
Her eyes find mine as she laughs around the rim of her glass. “You would know. God, I can still remember singing at the very top of my lungs on that fallen tree when we played in the park. I can’t believe you even liked hanging out with me. I was such an odd little duckling.”
“You were normal compared to Cam and Tan.”
She smirks and grabs the shaker to top off my drink that I didn’t even realise I’d finished. “We had some great adventures growing up, didn’t we?” She pins me with a twinkle in her green eyes. Man, they really pop out so much more. Must be because of her short hair.
I roll my glass in my hands and silently muse for a minute. “Except for that time we got caught by the park warden.”
Her eyes fly wide. “Oh, I know! What a twat! None of the other wardens ever looked twice at us being back there after eight p.m. Then one tiny prick fopdoodle who flunked out of copper school thought he’d make an example of us. What a dick.”
“You can say that again,” I reply.
“What a dick!”
We both laugh and cheers and drink again, slipping back into the comfort of our memories.
Around a chunk of ice, Poppy adds, “That was the warden who wanted to break down our fort. Do you remember?”
I nod. “That was the first time my dad actually gave two shits about anything besides football. He completely reamed out the council about the wardens treating the park like the ‘wild fucking west.’”
We both giggle at that. “This drink is good, Poppy.”
She slides off the counter and throws her hands up in the air. “Redemption is mine!”
A song she likes comes on the radio at the same time, so she rushes over and cranks up the volume. She begins dancing with her drink in her hand and I can’t help but laugh at her cheesy moves. To help set the mood, I reach back and flip the overhead light off in the kitchen. The room is cast in blue hues from the backsplash lighting, giving the perfect illusion of a nightclub.
