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A wave of relief washes over you. For a moment you thought you'd be stuck in the lobby waiting for your room to be ready. Instead, you grab your day back and ask the receptionist the way the nearest beach.
In the courtyard outside, you lance back over your shoulder and marvel at how different the main building looks from this side. The mature banyan tree in the entryway disguised the building's three-storey height perfectly. On the ocean side, a peaked window spans the upper two floors through which staff prepare tables for service.
You make a mental note to look at dining options as you head past the fountain. The soothing intent of its bubbling water has nothing on the sound of the ocean waves on the shore. There are plenty of beach loungers to choose from, each with their own sunshade and table perfect for beach drinks.
Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes, enjoying the taste of salt on the air. Nothing like the spirit-clogging fumes at home. You could stay here all day, warm and relaxed.
"Excuse me," a friendly voice says next to you. Everything about this place is perfect, including its timing. A beach attendant stands next to you, his uniform as white as the few clouds that streak high in the sky. His nametag reads: Ric. "Would you like a refreshment?"
You wonder briefly how Ric keeps so pale and not lobster red if he works outdoors all day. A fleeting whiff of coconut sunscreen is the closest answer you'll get next to asking him outright.
Instead, you ask, "What drinks do you have available?"
"Anything you like," he replies, then lists off the usual alcoholic and non-alcoholic suspects you'd expect at an all-inclusive beach resort. "Or, we have the House Specialty. There's a little bit of magic in the making, so I can't you exactly what's in it."
"What if I have allergies?"
"What is your name?" Ric asks, tapping the device he's holding. When you tell him, he shows you the profile you submitted to the resort that specifies your allergies. "It's our job to know what our guests do and don't like, and what they have to avoid. The bartender will take good care of you."
Feeling reassured, and the tiniest bit adventurous, you reply, "Okay. Why not? House Special it is."
Each minute you wait for the mysterious concoction, your interest increases. What could possibly be in it? Tropical fruit? Edible florals? There has to be loads of crushed ice. How else would the resort be able to pedal lots of individualized beach drinks without watering them down? You bet it'll be like that place in Las Vegas you went to with your bestie where they had boozie slushies on tap.
Ric heads back in your direction. From your vantage point on the lounger, you can't see what's on his tray. It certainly isn't a tall, ice-filled drink. The hint of an drink umbrella raises your curiosity, although you're not surprised to see it being used as a decoration.
"I've taken the liberty of processing the order to your room," he says, setting the drink down on the table under your umbrella. "Enjoy. And if there's anything else I can do for you, please don't hesitate to let me know." Ric leaves you to enjoy your drink without asking for a tip.
You set the paper umbrella on the table. Within the tumbler, a single ice cube floats in the top of two layers of liquid. The upper layer is pale yellow and the lower one is turquoise. As the ice melts, it slowly swirls the interface between the two layers, not unlink the movement of the ocean.
As you reach for the glass, a gust of wind blows the umbrella off the table. The decoration spins on one edge, heading for the waterline.
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