She shakes her head, offering him a polite smile. “I don’t drink.” “Aw, come on, it’s almost nearly Christmas—” The combination of Gabe’s chair scraping back and the crack of his fist connecting with the table sweeps a deafening silence through the cave. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Angelo rise to his feet. “She said, she’ll have a lemonade,” Gabe growls.
