The bartender pours our drink into the glasses, and it comes out a light pink color that’s actually pretty cool. Then we set our drinks on the judges’ table, fill out a name card, and go back to our table.

We both take a seat, and I loop my arm over Scottie’s shoulder. “What do you think? Do we have a chance?”

She looks around at the competition. “I don’t know. Brad’s using a smoker with his wife, and Duncan rimmed his glass with something. Looks like…crushed-up graham cracker. Should we have done that?”

“I have no idea.”

“Margaritas are usually lined with something.”

“Yeah, but I hate that, don’t you?”

“Despise it actually. I don’t want a mouthful of salt as I drink my drink.”

I turn to her. “Scottie, are we…are we meant to be?”

She chuckles and says, “I think we might be.”

That makes me smile. I press a soft kiss to her lips just as the judges come out and Sanders introduces them as if we don’t already know them. It’s Ellison and the keeper of the quarters at the front desk. Sanders takes a seat as well but lets us know he’s just trying them in case there’s a tie.

We all wait patiently and quietly as the judges go through each drink, taking sips and making notes on a notepad. Their faces reveal nothing. They remain stone-faced the entire time, indicating zero favoritism.

So when Sanders stands with the results, we truly have no idea who the winner will be.

I glance over at Chad, who’s rubbing his hands together like the tool that he is. Brad is rocking back and forth. Duncan has his fingers crossed in front of him. And Finky’s holding hands with his wife and covering his eyes at the same time.

Clearing his throat, Sanders addresses the room. “Thank you for all your entries. There was quite the variety up there tonight and some real innovation, but there was a clear-cut winner.” He looks over his shoulder and says, “Drumroll please.”

Ellison and Quarters both drum their hands on the table in front of them, and then Sanders holds up his hand to stop them.

“The winner of tonight’s mixology competition is…”

I hold my breath, hoping we can go three for three.

“The Prickly Pair.”

I leap up into the air, toss Scottie over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and start spinning her around while I whoop it up. She laughs the entire time, and I bring her up to the front, where we address the room.