Page 71 of The Stipulation
I glance around, taking it all in, my eyes wide. “This place is perfect,” I whisper.
“Good. Now let’s see if they can make a mean Martini.”
We take our seats at the bar, and the bartender approaches, offering us cocktail menus with a flourish.
“What are we feeling tonight?” Axel asks, his eyes twinkling, glancing at me and then at his Drinks menu.
I scan the extensive list, quite awed by the descriptions of each drink - hints of elderflower, smoked citrus, exotic spices, the list goes on.
“Something different.”
He nods. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
When the bartender returns, Axel orders a smoked rosemary martini, and I choose a hibiscus-infused gin cocktail, something I imagine will taste tart and floral. I watch as the bartender makes our drinks. The fragrance of fresh rosemary curls through the air as the bartender mixes Axel’s martini with great flair. When my drink is prepared, he pours both concoctions into two glasses. Axel’s is clear with the tiniest tinge of green. Mine is bright orange, catching the light like a jewel.
I take a sip of my drink. Nice. It’s what I thought it would be and more – tart yet sweet, and it’s so unexpectedly moreish. I could have another dozen of these. Axel watches me, a knowing grin playing at his lips.
“So? Worth the adventure?”
“It’s absolutely divine,” I murmur as my eyes meet his across the table. “It’s the kind of thing that makes you forget everything else exists.”
He chuckles. “Exactly. That’s the idea.”
“How’s yours?” I ask.
“Not bad at all,” he says, and we momentarily switch glasses and try each other’s drinks.
The rosemary martini tastes like a standard martini at first, but once I swallow, I get a hint of the rosemary, just enough to tantalize my taste buds but not enough to overpower the drink’s main flavors.
“Guilty pleasure. Go,” Axel says, catching me off guard.
Right now, the answer to that would be him, but I can’t say that. I glance down at my drink, gathering my thoughts. “Fine. I have a weakness for terrible romance novels.”
“Terrible how?”
“Predictable. Overly dramatic. The kind where the brooding billionaire falls in love with the shy but secretly brilliant heroine.”
He coughs lightly behind his glass. “It sounds kind of unrealistic.”
“Utterly,” I agree solemnly. “And yet I devour them.”
He leans back, amused. “Let me guess. He has a tragic past.”
“Obviously.”
“Commitment issues.”
I nod sagely. “Deep ones.”
“An inconvenient amount of money.”
“An obscene amount.”
He shakes his head, but I can see the amusement in his eyes. “And you, an intelligent modern woman, an art conservator with impeccable taste, indulge in these unrealistic fantasies?”
“I do. Don’t knock what you haven’t tried,” I say primly.
He smiles at that, really smiles. Not the controlled, strategic version. Something warmer. “I like that about you.”
