“No,” she said, not wanting to let go of her Christmas buzz, wanting to ride this crest of joy a little longer. Joy. It had been a while. “Let’s go for negronis.”

Chapter Two

“I think negronis are supposed to be more . . .” Dani scrunched her nose as she searched for the word she wanted. “Spitting drinks. Spitting drinks? That’s not right,” She laughed, shook her head, picked up her glass, and took an exaggeratedly dainty sip.

“Sipping drinks?” Max suggested, as they seemed to be playing charades. Playing charades with Daniela Martinez at a bar in the Bronx—this was not how he’d expected this evening to end. He was going to look back on this as a bright spot in the New York trip he’d made to placate his parents.

She pointed at him. “Yes! I don’t think you’re supposed to chug them like I’ve been doing. You’re supposed to sip them!” She demonstrated again, but this time she tried to get her pinky to extend, as if she were a caricature of a tea-drinking aristocrat. But her little finger wasn’t cooperating. It kept springing back in line with the rest of her fingers, which were clutching her highball glass. She tried to use her other hand to hold it up, but she came close to spilling her drink.

“Allow me to assist.” He was matching her pace, so they were each on drink number two, but she was smaller than he was. He set down his drink and arranged her hand so her pinky was fully extended and let go. It sprang back.

“It isn’t listening!” she said with seemingly genuine dismay.

The Dani who deftly flayed the outer layer of skin off full-of-shit students was a delight, but so was, it turned out, Drunk Dani. An unexpected delight. Though he wasn’t sure why he’d thought to add the “unexpected” qualifier. He knew all too well how alcohol could exaggerate people’s underlying personalities.

He shook his head. No reason to go there tonight. He reached for Dani’s pinky again, and this time when he got it extended, he kept hold of it lightly with his thumb and forefinger. Together, they lifted her drink, her holding the glass, him holding her pinky. It was ridiculous.

As was the gratification that followed when she successfully took a sip and they reversed course until the drink was safely returned to the bar.

“Yes!” After the glass made contact with the bar, she lifted her arms in victory, turned, and held a hand out for a high five. He laughed and slapped her hand.

The bartender showed up to check on them, and Max asked for a menu. “We should eat something.”

“Pro . . . buly,” she slurred, making a self-deprecating face at him, “Sorry, I’m kinda tipsy.”