For the better part of two hours, Nas taught me how to make several of the standard order drinks. She told me it was okay if I forgot what went in which drink then showed me recipe cards for all the drinks she’d taught me to make and more. With each additional drink, my confidence was boosted, and soon enough, I was mixing, muddling and shaking drinks like I was born to do it.
As I finished mixing my last drink of the day, Nas leaned her hip on the bar, looking extremely pleased with herself, and I bowed happily. “Thank you. Thank you. I’ll be here all week.”
An accented voice sounded from behind me. “And with a view like this, who could resist.” When he said ‘this,’ it came out as zis.
I turned to face the man, who was smiling widely over the top of my head to Nastasia. She gasped, ran, and then threw herself into his waiting arms. Laughing, she pulled back and kissed him, smack on the mouth. Cupping his stubbled cheeks, she all but yelled, “Philippe Neige, you son of a gun! And looking hot as always, I see.”
He was hot. Like, smoking.
The man smiled, and the lines around his eyes deepened. He looked to be in his forties, was as tall as Sasha, had dark blond hair, and smiling green eyes. I gathered he was French, not only from his accent, but also from the way Nas said his name. He wore a pair of dark blue jeans. His white shirt was left untucked, and he finished of his polished look with a pair of dark brown loafers.
He kissed Nastasia’s cheek for a second too long. “I missed you, my dove.”
All of a sudden, Nas pulled away, her expression turning arctic. “Heard you’re working for Laredo.” It sounded like an accusation.
His smile fell and his face turned stern. He didn’t deny it. “Oui.”
She stepped away from him, her face as pained as her voice. “How could you, Philippe? After what he did…” It became too much to speak about it, and I was stunned by the emotion she was showing. Nastasia seemed hard as nails. Whatever this Laredo guy did must’ve been pretty bad to warrant that kind of reaction.
Sasha walked in from the door behind the bar. He looked from an unrelenting Philippe to an emotional Nas, over to me, and then back to Philippe. “Back away, Nas.” She looked over at him, her eyes a raging fire. Sasha spoke coolly as always. “Philippe came because I needed him. Don’t disrespect him. You’ll regret it.” Although the words came out in threat form, the way his voice changed, softening slightly, suggested Nas didn’t know all the facts.
She blinked away tears then turned her face down to stare at the ground by Philippe’s feet. “I missed you, too,” she whispered. And then she was gone, rushing out of the bar and down the hall to the ladies’ room. We all watched her leave.
A long silence followed.
Sasha let out a sigh. “I told you to come straight to me, Neige.”
Philippe responded miserably, “I never stopped loving her.”
At my soft gasp, all eyes turned on me. I flushed and sputtered, “H-hi, I’m Mina.”
Sasha glowered at me.
I glowered right back then followed Nas into the ladies’ room. I sat on the bathroom vanity, looking at the closed door that separated us, waiting patiently for her to stop crying.
In Nas style, she flung open the door, her face blotchy and her eyes a nice shade of red, and uttered angrily, “Makes sense for men to have cocks since they’re all dicks.”
Chapter Twelve
Mina
Our bartending lesson had concluded with the arrival of Philippe Neige. I was curious about the man who could bring a woman like Nas to tears. On the way home, I asked carefully, “So, I’m guessing Philippe is an ex-boyfriend?”
Nas tried to ignore me, but the silence was too thick to overlook. “We were engaged for a short time. It was a whirlwind romance. It was over before it even began.”
“What happened?” I queried in my most sympathetic tone.
She sighed, aggravated. “He did what all men do eventually.” She paused to add quietly, “He disappointed me.”
“Did you love him?”