Springtime Seduction
05 November 2025
As far as backpacker jobs went, it could have been worse, Leonardo thought to himself as he polished cocktail shakers in the sunshine. He had bartended back home in Italy so it only made sense that he should stick to what he knew and keep his wallet happy enough that he could make the most of his holiday. The bar manager Tom had skimmed his CV and new RSA certificate for less than a minute before telling him he had the job as long as he could start as soon as the renovations finished a week after the job interview. Spring was Love Story Bar’s busy season, Tom had said, and it would only get busier with summer on the way as it would bring a slew of corporate end-of-year parties, plus the usual influx of Christmas and New Year’s bookings. Leonardo had always been a romantic with a passion for spring and was very much enjoying the warmer weather, but he was still quite confused about the idea of a hot Christmas.
Well, at least now the renovations were done, and as of this spring, Love Story was a rooftop bar and he could still work on his tan. He finished the shakers and began slicing lime wedges to refill the fruit tray before service.
“Hi, sorry, don’t tell Tom I was late,” a girl with long blonde hair said all in one breath. Leonardo barely had time to look up from the limes before she had dashed up the stairs and into the staff-only area behind the bar. Ingrid was never late, a trait she attributed to her home country of Norway where tardiness was considered disrespectful. Leonardo liked working with her. Everyone did. She was polite and funny, and she had a way with customers, always managing to convince them to upgrade from the house liquor to the more expensive brands—those customers usually bought her a drink too, which she downed with a radiant smile. Leonardo had a sneaking suspicion that all the staff Tom had hired to work the bar this season were chosen for their exotic good looks and charm. He felt flattered to be considered part of their company.
As Ingrid rushed past, Leonardo caught a whiff of her perfume; it was unlike any scent he’d ever encountered before.
Zesty top notes of grapefruit and something like nectarine, or maybe apricot, danced in his nostrils while floral middle notes developed he recognised the fruity tang of hibiscus petals from his travels through India and the rich, creamy sweetness of jasmine from his mother’s garden back home. An intriguing hint of what he thought might be peppercorn injected some punchy spice to the scent trail before warm, musky sandalwood and amber were all that was left in the girl’s wake.
It was a perfect perfume to encourage springtime desire, not sickeningly sweet or floral for the sake of floral, but complex, bursting with new life and a heady sensuality that could surely awaken even the hardest of hearts to the possibilities of a spring romance story. One of Leonardo’s new British friends at the backpacker hostel had recently taught him a new word that he felt was fitting for this scent: moreish.
Ingrid returned to the bar, her hair tied in a loose braid that draped haphazardly over one of her shoulders. Her brow was furrowed, and she was tearing open a box of pre-mixed G&T cans with considerably more force than normal, slitting the packaging tape with the nail of her thumb instead of the box cutter hanging on the magnetic strip behind the bar.
“Hey, nobody ever orders those, we don’t need more of them,” Leonardo interjected as Ingrid made to slice open another box. “We probably need to make room in the fridge for beer, it’s spring racing today or someth—are you alright?”
Ingrid’s face was flushed and her chest shook as she took in deep, shuddering breaths.
“It’s stupid. So stupid.”
“What is? What’s wrong?”
She sighed angrily. “My stupid boyfriend, no, EX-boyfriend… who I basically moved COUNTRIES for, is cheating on me!”
Leonardo didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t even known she was seeing anybody because she never brought him up, but it made sense, she was gorgeous, how could she not be seeing someone? His hands were frozen half-chop above the limes on the cutting board. “Oh, shit, that’s…that really sucks, Ingrid, I’m sorry.”
“HE is the one who will be sorry,” Ingrid fumed, now stocking the fridge with beer bottles so ferociously Leonardo was worried the glass would break as she knocked them into one another. “Not only does he cheat on me, he cheats on me with someone he met when I took him to Norway to meet my parents!”
Whoever this guy was, he must have been a complete moron because on top of her magnetic personality, Ingrid was stunning, a classic Scandinavian woman with blue-green eyes and a delicate smattering of freckles across her oval-shaped face. She was tall enough to reach the top-shelf liquor (Leonardo had caught many customers eyeing the exposed sliver of her stomach when she reached up for the good stuff) and had a trim figure in a lightly tanned shade of gold that would surely be the envy of many people from her home country.
“I was splitting the rent to stay with him at his place, and now…” Ingrid’s lower lip trembled. “Oh, Leo, what will I do? Where will I go?”
“You’ll be okay, Ingrid,” Leonardo said, putting down the knife and placing his hand on her arm. He gave her a comforting squeeze. “Why not do what every young foreigner does and stay in a hostel? It’ll be way cheaper than rent, and the people there are much cooler.”
Ingrid offered a weak smile in return. “Are you meant to be one of these supposed ‘cool’ people?”
“Hey!” Leonardo punched her lightly in the arm. He liked that Ingrid wasn’t too precious. She could take a joke just as well as she could make them.
There was that smile of hers at last, breaking through her sour expression like the sun through the clouds. “I do need some people to get blind-drunk with soon. Are your dorm mates fun? And are any of them good-looking?” she added as an afterthought.
Leonardo laughed. “Depends. Do you like girls?”
Ingrid raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Mmm, a little, but I like boys more. Then again, men are drittsekker, so maybe I should switch teams. Why are you staying in the girls’ dorm?”
“My hostel has mixed-gender dorms, but there are also private rooms if you prefer.” Leo didn’t have to ask what drittsekker meant.
“I’ll see how much space I need once I pack my stuff and what I can afford, if I can find my own place or if I’m going home.”
Leonardo caught himself hoping Ingrid would stay. They spent the rest of the shift describing Ingrid’s ex with curse words in their native tongues, trading colourful phrases and chuckles between tap pulls until close, when the last group of patrons stumbled down the stairs to the street below around 1am.
As the pair stacked bar stools and shut the tabletop umbrellas, Leonardo plucked an almost-empty bottle from behind the bar and poured the last of the Wet Pussy house mix into two shot glasses. “Won’t taste good enough to serve tomorrow anyway,” he said, holding up his glass in salute to Ingrid as he waited for her to come do her shot with him. The two cheersed and clinked their glasses against the bar in unison before gulping down the sugary yet acrid blend.
“Barely good enough to serve now,” Ingrid gagged as she pulled a face, flipping open the fruit tray lid to fetch some lime wedges. “When you take me out drinking, no Wet Pussy shots please!”
Leo nodded in agreement as they bit into the limes, chasing the shots with a refreshing burst of acidity. “What about some gin and tonics then?” He reached down into the box Ingrid had been mangling earlier, pulling out two of the surplus cans.
“I didn’t realise you were in the mood to party tonight, Leo,” Ingrid said with a sly smile that slowly faded. “But…I probably should go home. I mean, not home. Just…I should go and get my things. From that…figlio di puttana’s house,” she added, her grin returning as she repeated one of the swears Leonardo had taught her.
“Good pronunciation!” Leo remarked approvingly. “But your stuff will still be there tomorrow, and even if you were already packed, it’s too late to check in anywhere, you’d just be stuck on the street with all your bags. Besides, do you really want to stay another night in that rumpehull’s place?”
“Rasshøl,” Ingrid corrected him. “Rumpehull means ‘butthole’, I think you meant rasshøl for ‘asshole’. And…no. I guess not. But won’t Tom get mad that we’re drinking the stock?”
Leo jerked his thumb to the bar fridge, which contained a small number of the G&T cans sitting alone on the shelf since all the surrounding beers had been bought. “Tom says those cans have been there since the start of the year. I think he’ll just be glad the stock is going into people and not down the sink. You want it cold or room temperature?”
“Cold, please.”
Leonardo let the unopened cans slip gently from his hand back into the box and vaulted gracefully over the bar to get a chilled pair from the fridge. Just because he was on holiday didn’t mean he’d given up his workout routine, and he felt a surge of pride as his strong core carried his momentum forward effortlessly. He wondered if Ingrid had seen the back of his biceps flex.
He cracked open two refrigerated G&T cans that fizzed softly into the warm night. Despite how late it was, the air was still slightly thick with humidity, and both of them were glistening with a light sheen of moisture. A cold drink was just what they needed.
“Hmm. It’s actually pretty tasty,” Ingrid said, licking her lips after the first sip, staring at the can’s stylised wolf logo. “Why doesn’t this stuff sell?”
“Based on today, I’d say it’s because everyone who drinks at Love Story after the spring racing carnival only wants cocktails, champagne, or beer. Other than that, no idea.”
“We should tell Tom to market these better, people would probably like them if they just tried it.”
“Ah, but then what would he let us drink without guilt and without paying after close, Ingrid?” Leo said with a wink, leaning his muscly forearms on the counter.
She rolled her eyes at him in the soft, warm glow of the fairy lights strung above their heads, interspersed with hanging flower baskets that were just beginning to bloom in a variety of bright and cheery colours. Their perfume wafted pleasantly through the night. “You are a scoundrel, Leo.”
“I’d rather be a scoundrel than a testa di cazzo like your ex.”
“I doubt I’ll ever be involved again with anyone who’s as much of a dickhead as my ex.”
“I’m impressed you remembered what that means.”
“Not just a pretty face.”
“I know. You even smell pretty.”
Ingrid giggled. “Oh, you like my perfume?”
“Yeah, it smelled good when you ran past me earlier. What is it?”
“It’s called ‘Springtime Seduction’. Kind of a cheesy name, but at least it smells good.”
“What’s cheesy about ‘Springtime Seduction?’ Maybe whoever made it just wants the wearer to experience many romantic spring moments!” Leo gestured wildly with his G&T, rolling his r’s and miming a stage actor pouring out his heart while reciting an epic love ballad.
“Well, spring intimacy is the best kind of intimacy,” Ingrid said with a knowing smile.
“Oh really? What do you mean?”
“In Norway, the spring melts the snow and makes all the rivers and waterfalls super-strong. There are lots of jokes about it being the, uh, wettest time of year, y’know? Plus, the longer daylight hours makes nighttime feel more secretive, like you have to make the most of the cover of darkness when you want to get down to business.”
“‘Business’? In Italy, lovemaking is not a business, it is an art! Spring is the best time for it because all the stockings go back in the drawers and the legs come out, the skirts get shorter, and of course, the warm weather puts everyone in a good mood, it makes them want to indulge their…their springtime desires…”
“So…does this weather make you want to indulge your ‘springtime desires’?”
“What makes you think I’m not already doing that?”
Ingrid looked at Leonardo for a moment as he rested his arms on the counter. He certainly wasn’t bad-looking with his muscled form filling out his tight black T-shirt, perfectly imperfect hair, and strong jawline with just the right amount of stubble. And he was nice. There were definitely worse people she could rebound with.
He noticed her staring and set his drink aside, leaning over the bar so their faces were closer. “Are you going to let yourself indulge yours?”
Neither of them had had very much to drink at all, and so they both felt confident that this wasn’t the worst idea ever as their lips met under fairy lights and flowers. They both tasted of gin, the botanical notes mingling with their saliva as the kiss intensified, hands caressing faces and necks, running fingers through hair. Ingrid’s already-loose braid came undone, leaving soft waves in her long blonde locks. Her hair seemed to also carry the scent of her Springtime Seduction perfume, Leonardo thought as he buried his face in the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply while gently swirling the tip of his tongue over her earlobe, drawing a breathless gasp from her.
“Do you have a condom?” she asked, staring into Leo’s chocolatey-brown eyes.
“Not on me, but Tom has for sure brought his girlfriend back to the staffroom so there’s probably a stash in there.”
Ingrid slipped through the bar and into the staffroom, holding out her hand behind her for Leo to take. The two of them found a pack of condoms in the top drawer of the bathroom counter and Leo tore off a strip of three.
“That’s optimistic,” Ingrid teased.
Leo smirked. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Italian stallions’?”
Ingrid shook her head.
“The rest of the world doesn’t call us that for nothing, because when we get ridden, we can just keep going, and going, and going…”
Ingrid punched him in the arm playfully. “Scoundrel,” was all she said.
“Let’s go and…what was it? ‘Melt the snow’.”
Bring this Bedroom Fantasy to life with:
