“It’s considered good manners to bring something for the hostess. Like wine,” I say calmly, with as little judgment as I can muster in my voice. He levels me with that icy gaze for three long beats. “Aggie doesn’t drink. Your dad will have the occasional beer.” “Great.” Maybe if I show up with a six-pack, he’ll feel obligated to talk to me for more than a minute. “Where can I get—” “You can’t. It’s a dry community. They don’t sell alcohol in Bangor.” “What?” I feel my face twist with shock. “You’re lying.” His eyebrows arch. “You’re arguing with me about this?” “What the hell is this, the
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