She pretended to catch it.
On a downswing, Carly shouted, “You look pretty in purple, Mommy.”
Julia glanced down at her silky purple top. Her signature color, and yet another reminder that if she remained Miss Purple Snow Globe, that’d be all right, too. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world to have created a popular drink. If her biggest worries were topping a cocky bartender and deciding what to get her husband for their wedding anniversary, she had nothing to complain about at all.
Carly slowed and hopped off the swing, grabbed her mom’s hand, then her dad’s, and dragged them over to the seesaw.
After thirty minutes in the playground, dusk began to settle in Manhattan, pink-orange fingers tugging the sky to the horizon.
They stopped for sushi on the way home—a regular habit, since neither Clay nor Julia was particularly interested in cooking with any sort of regularity, and then it was bath time and bedtime for the munchkin.
“Good night, Mommy,” Carly said from her bed, reaching out for a hug. Julia tugged her close, savoring the lavender smell of her daughter’s shampoo, and that clean, fresh scent of her little girl. Then it was Clay’s turn, and he got an even bigger hug.
Julia leaned against the doorway, her heart thumping harder as she watched the two of them. Carly was a daddy’s girl, and that delighted Julia. Little could make her happier than seeing her baby girl worshipping her father. A smile spread across her lips as she watched her big, strong husband, the man who had the filthiest mouth in the land, easily slide into his other role as the kindest, most loving father.
Seeing how he treated their girl not only made her heart warm, it kind of turned her on.
Well, who wouldn’t find it sexy when a man took care of his family?
14
With Carly conked out, Julia poured a Scotch for her husband and was about to make it a double—one for her—when she remembered the note Clay had left her this morning.
Honey.
Yes. Honey. That might just do the trick.
Setting down the bottle, she grabbed some whisky, then a splash of absinthe, then swirled a dab of honey in it. She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip.
She hummed a note of approval. “Not bad,” she said out loud, then brought the drinks to the balcony where Clay relaxed on a wooden bench, gazing up at the New York sky, stars twinkling even through the city lights.
She sat next to him, tucked her feet under her, and handed him his glass.
“Lucky me. I’ve got a good drink and a good woman,” he quipped.
She wiggled her eyebrows. “And I think I have an idea for a recipe,” she said. Because even though winning wasn’t everything, and even though she’d be content if that son of a bitch beat her, she still had her sights set on the prize. She simply wasn’t going to let it become her obsession.
“Excellent. I have every faith in the world that you’ll pull off the next Purple Snow Globe.”
And there it was. The essence of her concern. The foundation of why she’d been strung tight earlier today. The stress wasn’t about supporting her family or beating that guy. Her nerves stemmed from something internal. From her own worries that the best days of her career were behind her.
She swallowed, took a breath, and let the truth spill out, all raw and messy. “What if I never do better than that one? What if I am a one-trick pony?”
Clay dropped a hand to her knee, bare since she wore a skirt. “So your worry is that you’ll never top an award-winning cocktail that has made you wildly successful and something of a legend in bartender circles?” he asked, playfully.
“When you put it like that it sounds silly.” Her voice faltered. “But I don’t want to feel like a has-been. I don’t want to be obsolete. Just some bartender who got lucky once and can’t manage any more success.”
He squeezed her knee. “You’re not a one-hit wonder, Julia. You have it in you to make another hit drink. Stop thinking about the Purple Snow Globe. Just do your magic.”
“But what if I don’t have it anymore? What if I lost my mojo?”
He threaded his other hand through her hair. “You are all mojo, Julia Nichols. There is not an ounce of missing mojo in you.”
“You don’t think I’ve become complacent? Just going through the motions every day with my job?”
He arched an eyebrow. “No more than I have. Am I not a good lawyer because Tyler likes to take bigger risks than I do?”
She shook her head adamantly. “No,” she said, her voice strong. “That’s how you run the ship. Is he being Bungee Jump Tyler again?”
Clay laughed at her nickname for his cousin. “A little bit. And if I don’t want him to jump without a helmet does that mean I’ve lost my mojo?”