Peter leaned forward and took a slice with his teeth, nipping Ethan’s fingertips. “Weird,” he said while he chewed and furrowed his brow. “Reminds me of a funny grape. Like, a sour one you get on New Year’s for a bad month, you know?” “What?” Nico asked, then mumbled, “Thank you,” under his breath as Peter handed him a drink. “Las doce uvas de la suerte?” Peter frowned, sighing patiently. “Bad luck not to eat grapes on New Year’s Eve,” he said, like a parent would to a child. “You eat one every minute for the first twelve minutes of the new year. Each grape represents a month. The grapes
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