CHAPTER 2 - The Manuscript (featuring a lime)

10 Years Ago

I hand the drink over the bar to the piece of human filth that tried to make a joke about not only my ethnicity but also a global pandemic with his “A vodka soda thanks, but make sure you don’t put any COVID in there, you know because you’re Chinese and all.” I force a smile because it’s my job, and immediately regret not spitting in his drink when he doesn’t even offer me a “thank you”.

​

“Guys suck,” I mutter as I take a deep breath and move on.

​

I need this job after all because my parents are the worst and refuse to pay for anything unrelated to the degree in Medicine they had always planned I would do. Just like my older brother, the cardiologist and the Li family’s pride and joy. I’m so glad, even as the failure my parents tell me I am, that I’m still able to contribute to the family by being the low bar Mum and Dad can compare my brother to. Lucky fucking me.

I turn my eyes back to the physical bar in front of me, which is still bursting with university students left, right, and centre. A typical Saturday night in Newtown. The staff on this side of the bar seem to be in routine, handling the onslaught of eighteen to twenty-somethings who are mainly ordering the cheap mixers and beer. It gives me the chance to scan the crowd for my next customer, and that’s when I notice him.

​

Tall. That’s the first thing that catches my eye. He’s nearly a full head taller than the growing mosh pit of blonde girls who have really committed to the Back to School theme. This guy isn’t looking at any of them though, even the ones whose boobs are centimetres from spilling out of their white button-up shirts tucked into tartan skirts that I would argue are glorified belts. Instead, his brown eyes are staring into space as he uses a free hand to push back his very neatly coiffed blonde hair. This guy looks like he needs a drink.

​

“Hey,” I say, and he immediately knows I’m speaking to him.

​

Even in the craziness of this pub. Even over the terrible Baby One More Time remix playing. I know I’ve got his attention because those brown eyes lock on mine before I even get the entire word out.

​

He frowns at me. Like actually frowns, which either means he is much more socially awkward than I originally thought and this is the friendliest facial expression he can muster in this crowded, noisy space. Or he’s just a dick and he doesn’t care whether I know it. Either way though, I’m curious.

​

“Let me get you a drink,” I smile at him, figuring a little alcohol might make this guy relax.

He goes to open his mouth but I hold up a hand, ready to give him my best flirty bartender line, which makes the words die instantly on his lips. They’re replaced with a furrowed brow and somehow that sliver of vulnerability and confusion has made him ten points more approachable and nearly twenty points cuter. I go to say something but that’s when I notice tall, blonde, and gorgeous isn’t looking me in the eye anymore. His gaze has caught the necklace sitting against my collarbone.

​

“Is that a green sea turtle?”

​

His voice is surprisingly soft under the noise, but his words are actually the most surprising part. It was definitely not what I thought the first words out of his mouth would be, which makes me a little nervous. It’s something I am definitely not used to when I’m tending the bar, even when I’m talking to guys that are getting more and more attractive as time goes on. What are we up to, thirty points now? He’s said six words to me and already he’s the cutest guy I’ve seen all night. Alright, the cutest guy I’ve seen ever.

​

I snap out of my thoughts, glancing down at my necklace, my fingers brushing the small gold pendant at the end of the chain.

​

“Very close,” I say, slipping into lecture mode before I can stop myself. “It’s actually a hawksbill turtle. You can tell by the beak – it’s sharper, more like a bird. They eat sponges and…”

​

I stop myself mid-ramble when I realise something is different about his face. What looks like a smile is pulling at the corners of his mouth, and I can’t be sure because I haven’t seen this guy smile before but there’s no mistaking the flicker of amusement in his eyes. As I continue to look at him, trying not to smile myself, I notice something else there in his facial expression. Interest maybe, or perhaps that’s just my best-case scenario talking. My cheeks heat.

​

“First drink’s on me,” I say, changing the subject as I reach for a small glass behind the bar, “but only if you let me guess.”

​

He raises an eyebrow, sceptical but clearly curious.

​

“You’re going to guess what I want to drink?”

​

The more I get to listen to the melody of his voice, the more points for cuteness accumulate until we have moved well into the hundreds. It’s deep and smooth, and for a second it makes me not only forget I’m meant to be making drinks, but I briefly forget to breathe.

​

“I have a gift,” I reply, knowing full well I’m genuinely flirting now, at least more than I normally do behind this bar.

​

We’re in triple digits after all, so I’m motivated by more than just my job description of selling as many drinks as possible.

​

“For guessing people’s drink orders?”

​

I start with the ice and then reach for the Bombay Sapphire.

​

“I’m almost never wrong,” I say, resisting the urge to check my hair in the mirror behind the bar.

​

The longer this guy stands there giving me his undivided attention, the more I want him to start seeing me as a prospective date rather than just a flirty bartender. His brown eyes look intently into mine, almost unblinking as I watch the tension in his shoulders lift just a little, and then a little more as he opens his mouth to continue our conversation.

​

“Almost never?”

​

I smile, turning my attention momentarily to his drink to make sure I don’t spill the gin, before I glance back at him.

​

“I’m working on my average.”

​

I place the Bombay back and source some tonic water and lime juice, two more things I need for his drink.

​

“If I’m right, you give me your name,” I say, looking at him over my shoulder as I continue to work.

​

His frown is back, and I’m starting to think it might just be his default. It’s definitely growing on me, though. It’s almost reaching the point of being a little endearing.

​

“And if you’re wrong?”

​

I feel myself biting down on my bottom lip because I’ve run out of ideas to stop myself from smiling like an idiot. I know I’ve hooked him and now it’s just a matter of reeling him in, which appears to be working so far. I try to focus on the task at hand, the tonic water and lime juice conquered, as I reach for the tongs and lime wedges and slip a couple into his drink.

​

“If I’m wrong,” I smile as I slide his drink across the bar, “you can have mine.”

​

He stares at me for a moment and I make myself keep his eye contact even when he brings the drink to his lips and takes a sip.

​

“Gin and tonic. Impressive.”

​

I feel a victory dance coming on, but stop in my tracks when he takes another sip. I see the tension in his jaw as he swallows. I see the thin line of his lips as they purse just a little too tightly together, but he doesn’t say another word. I see the conflict in his eyes, which makes me narrow mine at him.

​

“What’s wrong?”

​

He blinks.

​

“Nothing.”

​

I lean my elbows forward on the bar so we’re closer and I see his throat bob as he swallows again, which confirms my suspicions.

​

“There’s something wrong with your drink.”

​

He goes to open his mouth but I can already hear the lie on his lips.

​

“Tell me.”

​

He sighs, placing his drink down on the bar.

​

“The ice.”

​

I raise an eyebrow at him.

​

“There’s not enough?”

​

His frown gets more severe, and I need to bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing.

​

“You don’t like ice.”

​

“I fucking hate ice.”

​

Even as I purse my lips together, the smile I was trying to suppress finds its way onto my face anyway. As terrible as he apparently is at it, he tried to lie anyway. He tried to make me think the drink I made him was right when it clearly wasn’t. So either he doesn’t care what my name is, or he does but wanted me to be right more. Considering no one’s making him stay here at this bar with me right now I’m figuring the latter, but then again that’s probably just my self-confidence talking. I have had three gin and tonics since I started my shift two hours ago.

​

 I look at him curiously before I reach over and grab his drink. I pour the contents down the sink and start again.

​

He watches me carefully as I work in silence, trying to think of possibilities other than this guy not telling me I was wrong because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. He didn’t want to embarrass me, even though my cockiness definitely could have been taken down a peg. It always does, particularly when I’m working behind this bar.

​

“Gin and tonic,” I finally say, pushing the fresh drink toward him. “Lime. No ice.”

​

And that’s when he smiles again, only a smidge more but it’s definitely wider. The score keeps going up, especially when I notice that dimple. I clock the creases on either side of his eyes. I memorise the shape of his lips even though the smile lasts for no more than a second. He brings the drink to those same lips and I notice the way his hand now rests comfortably on the bar between us.

​

“Now considering I was wrong,” I say, “I believe I owe you a consolation prize.”

​

“I just want your name.”

​

My stomach flips over, my heart racing in my chest at how forward he’s being and how fucking hot it is. I can feel his eyes on me as I reach for a full lime on a shelf just above me. I need to stand on my tiptoes to reach into the glass bowl, and I am very much aware of how my stretch causes my black T-shirt to ride up my midsection. I can feel just how much of my tanned skin is exposed because I feel his eyes on it immediately, something I am definitely not mad about.

​

I retrieve one lime from the bowl and grab the Sharpie from my front apron pocket. I uncap it with my teeth because if he doesn’t have the skin between my pants and shirt to stare at he might as well be staring at my lips, which is exactly what he does. I smile as I scribble away on the lime for a few moments, capping the marker when I finish and raising my eyes to meet his. There’s that curiosity again, swimming around in those unbelievably rich, golden-brown eyes. I hold out the lime toward him and even though he’s clearly confused, he takes it anyway.

​

“A lime?”

​

I smile as I turn to the next customer, who immediately rattles off their drink order before I even have a chance to greet them. The usual. I nod and reach for my first fresh glass before he speaks again.

​

“A lime with your name on it?”

​

“And my number,” I wink at him as I reach for three more glasses and the Vodka.

“Consider it a ‘pick up lime’.”

​

And that’s when he laughs, and I know immediately that I’m a goner.