“Pretty Poison?” I throw my head back as I laugh. It’s her own drink, really—Malibu rum, pineapple juice, cranberry juice, and a splash of orange juice. It’s been her specialty for years. And when we were coming up with the menu, the name just felt fitting. Because that’s what she’s been for me—a pretty poison. She runs through my veins and attacks every inch of me, making it so I can think of nothing and no one but her.
