Or he could stop haunting that bar stool and trust that Bonnie could make this thing work.
‘Well then. Crystals await. I look forward to seeing drinks sparking on the patio and a surfeit of coasters making their way across the square.’ Raising his hand goodbye, Uncle Oswald grabbed his cane and strode out with the trip-trap, trip-trap sound of a billy goat crossing a troll bridge. Only Bonnie was pretty sure that Oswald was the troll.
She sighed. Well, she definitely had some homework.
Bonnie set about preparing for today’s opening when sherealized that she hadn’t seen Bobby leave. Was he still in the storeroom?
Her heart squeezed. Had he had a bad reaction to her spell?
Heeled boots clattering on the floor, Bonnie hurried to the storeroom, shoving open the door.
‘Bobby? How’re you doing in there?’ she called, trying not to let panic tinge her voice.
There he was, perched on a beer keg towards the back of the storeroom, looking dazed. Dazed, but alive. And not even transformed into a frog. Bonnie had never felt more relieved. She hurried over and wrapped her arms around him, whispering a thanks to the universe for not turning him into a slimy amphibian. Or worse.
Surprised, Bobby blinked at her, then smiled his easy smile.
‘I’m fine, I promise. Just had a bit of a head-spin. Too much bending, maybe. Weird.’
‘I’m just glad you’re okay.’
Bobby chuckled. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? Although if I get a hug every time I need to sit for a moment, I’m going to start fainting all over the place like some sort of Victorian lady.’
‘Please do,’ said Bonnie. ‘That sort of thing is great for my Yelp reviews. Suggests the drinks are strong.’
‘Hey babe! Your girl’s here to save the day!’ came Kirsty’s voice from the main bar, together with some overstated air kisses that Bonnie could hear from the storeroom.
‘Where are you?’ Kirsty’s designer sneakers squeaked as she wandered around the bar, looking for Bonnie. Momentarily, she poked her head into the storeroom, jumping in surprise as she saw Bonnie and Bobby squeezed together on the keg.
‘Oh, it’s not...’ Bonnie leapt up, grabbing an armful of lemons for reasons she couldn’t articulate, but which sort of made sense in her head. ‘I was just...he’s not feeling well.’
Kirsty raised a slightly too thin eyebrow. Bonnie, being an excellent friend, would never inform her that her brows were anything less than perfect. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s going tobe like eighth-grade camp all over again. Because I still have PTSD from the bus trip.’
‘He’s fine,’ said Bonnie. ‘Just light-headed.’
Kirsty shrugged, which she probably would also have done had Bonnie told her that Bobby had suffered a severe head injury. Compassion wasn’t her strong suit.
‘Here, Bobby,’ said Bonnie. ‘Let’s get some ginger beer into you.’
Kirsty strolled ahead of them as Bonnie helped Bobby out to the bar area, holding out an arm to stabilize him, just in case. He was steady enough on his feet, but seemed dazed.
‘What have you been cooking up here?’ asked Kirsty, waggling the drink that Bonnie had prepared for Bobby. She leaned over the bar, poring over the ingredients that Bonnie had left out: the blood-red citrus, the gold-dusted herbs, the rows of Perrier.
‘I’ll take that.’ Bonnie took the brass mug from Kirsty and set it aside. Were those lipstick marks? Either the dishwasher wasn’t working properly – ugh, another bill – or Kirsty had taken a sip. ‘You didn’t have any, did you?’
‘As if,’ said Kirsty, looking offended. Although shediddab absently at the corners of her mouth.
‘The drink’s strictly a work in progress,’ explained Bonnie. ‘It’s part of a series of family recipes that Uncle Oswald dug up. We’re calling the line “Perfectly Charming”.’
Kirsty was now regarding the costings Bonnie had been working up. She jabbed a perfect nail at the total at the bottom. ‘For that price, it’d better come with a prince.’
If only, thought Bonnie. There was an unfortunate shortage of princes in Yellowbrick Grove, where the closest anyone got to a ball were the silent auction nights up at the Toto Hotel. Or a drunken party by the grotto at the quarry. Besides, there was only one guy in town who could in any way be considered princely, and he’d been hanging out at the library, of all places.
‘It’s a fair price,’ said Bonnie, an edge to her voice. ‘Quality ingredients aren’t cheap. And then there are the overheads.’
‘Like all the free labour your friends provide?’ asked Kirsty sweetly.
Bonnie set her hands on her hips. ‘I pay you.’
