His heart beat unnaturally fast in his chest. It was the same feeling he had when he bombed that board meeting. He was bombing this social interaction. Gigi couldn’t bail him out now. He exhaled. What if he tried not pretending?

“I didn’t want what I just ordered,” he blurted out.

Liza nodded as if that was what she expected. “Why did you order it?”

“I thought that’s what I should order. My dad always ordered whiskey neat. It just seems like a drink I should like.” Dorsey did not know why he was suddenly telling her this.

Liza tapped his forefinger. “What do you actually want?”

You, he thought, but dared not say. At least not tonight. So close to the holidays, the loss of his family was most acute. His loft in the city was too cold and empty. He dreaded going home. But some kinds of honesty were not useful.

“I wanted that drink that was on fire too,” Dorsey said instead.

Liza smiled and slid her mug across the table. The setting sun hit the reddish highlights in her hair, and Dorsey wondered how long she had to sit to get her hair so intricately twisted. He remembered his sister getting braids, and it seemed like an all-day affair. Liza’s eyes found his. “Taste it, then, and order again.” The teddy-bear-brown pools were so soft, the heaviness seemed to lift a little from his chest.

He took the mug of Mexican Sunset a fuego from her and encircled her entire hand with his in the exchange. She didn’t move away. What the hell kind of parallel world had he walked into? She didn’t pull her hand away and slap him or laugh. Reluctantly pulling his own hands away, he lifted and turned the glass until he saw the rosy half-moons of her lip gloss stained against the rim. He took a sip and squinted.

“A lot of mezcal,” he said. Dorsey unrolled the napkin and placed it on his lap. He only stopped when Liza looked at him laughing.

“You’re so precise with that napkin,” Liza teased. Here we go.

“Do you mean correct?”

She tucked her napkin into her collar. “I mean persnickety.”

“If you keep that around your neck, I’m going to have to report you.”

“Oh no, not the napkin Five-O.” Liza pulled the cloth down. “I definitely can’t make bail.” She still placed it on the table like some kind of napkin heathen.

Liza squinted. “Speaking of bail, why did you sponsor my program?” Her question was direct. Her eye contact was direct. He wouldn’t bullshit this question.

“David came up with the idea of a care hotline for the community to voice its concerns, and we needed to publicize it. I thought I could discredit you and help us by forcing you to tell the community about it.” Dorsey didn’t flinch under her stare.