Curaçao Kiss
"Liqueur maker Mariela's blue curaçao is famous across the Caribbean, but when cocktail writer Evan visits her distillery, she mixes him a personal recipe that's even more intoxicating."
The blue color wasn't natural—Evan knew that. But Mariela made it seem like magic.
She stood among her copper stills, thick and confident, dark skin contrasting with the vivid liqueur. Her family had made curaçao for generations.
"Taste," she commanded, handing him a glass.
"Incredible."
"That's the standard. Wait until yuh taste mi special batch."
The special batch was in a locked cellar. Unmarked bottles, amber and gold and impossible blue.
"These never leave the island," she said. "Family only."
"Then why show me?"
"Because yuh write about spirits with love." She poured something gold. "And I want yuh to love mine."
They tasted through the cellar, each bottle a story. Her fingers brushed his as she poured, her body closer than necessary.
"Yuh married?" she asked.
"No."
"Good." She set down her glass. "Because the best taste comes next."
She tasted like her liqueur—sweet, complex, with heat that built slowly. That thick body in the cellar's cool dark, surrounded by centuries of family craft.
"Been wanting dis since yuh arrived," she gasped.
"Show me everything."
She showed him among the bottles and secrets.
Against the aging barrels. On the tasting table. Standing in blue shadows cast through ancient glass.
"Yes! Evan! Like dat!"
Her thick thighs gripped him, her family's legacy witness to their passion.
"More! Don't stop!"
His article made her famous beyond the island. Orders flooded in.
But Evan got the real treasure—residency on the island, partnership in the distillery, and Mariela herself.
"Best batch yet," she says every morning.
"Which one?"
"Yuh, baby. Always yuh."
Curaçao blue.
Their color forever.