𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀
I took a sip of my Negroni cocktail at — I glanced at the old grandfather clock in the corner — two in the afternoon. Lucky for me, my family owned this damn restaurant, and no one who worked in Biloxi would question my motivation for drinking a cocktail this time of day.
"It's a bit early for you, isn't it?"
Except for Daniel.
I shrugged. "I don't know. According to whose standards, mine or yours?"
He took a seat next to me at the bar and eyed my cocktail. "Negroni. Gin. That's some hard liquor."
I ignored him and took another sip.
"Everything okay?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"Oh, I don't know." He held up his hand, signalling to the bartender to give him one of his usual—bourbons. "Maybe it's because you're not a big drinker, and you hardly ever come down to the restaurant."