“I wouldn’t say no to a stiff pour of whiskey,” she said, “but unfortunately I do not think Mrs. Ashbrook kept any in here.” Drake’s lips twitched. He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a small flask. “Unlike your father, I keep actual liquor in mine,” he said, handing it to Beatrice. She took it and looked down at it. She had never actually drunk from a flask, and certainly not from a man’s flask. It felt intimate to imagine his mouth brushing against it.
