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Andy sipped from his mug. The liquid looked like coffee, which was fine—he was pretty sure nothing would keep him awake that night—but he tasted brown sugar, butter, honey, cinnamon, nutmeg and…rum?

“What is this?”

“Hot buttered rum.” Quinn swallowed a mouthful and wiggled his eyebrows. “Pretty good, right?”

“People really drink hot buttered rum? I thought that was just in books.”

Quinn shrugged. “But you like it, right?”

Well, actually, yeah. It was surprisingly good. Warm and sweet and homey-flavored.

“It’s not bad,” Andy admitted.

“The secret is freezing the butter batter ahead of time.”

“Butter batter?” Andy blinked. “How often do you drink these?”

“Every night before bed.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. It’s called a nightcap.”

“Or raving alcoholism.”

Quinn laughed.

“Every single night? You drink these year-round?”

“Actually, I trade off when it gets warmer.”

How weird to be sitting here in Captain Rafferty’s house, discussing cocktails with Quinn…

Andy asked gravely, as if it was of monumental importance, “What do you drink in the summer?”

“A summer nightcap.”

“So…a beer?” Because back in the day, it would have been a beer.

“Nope. Cognac, dry gin, white crème de cacao, and lime juice over ice.”

Andy shuddered. “That soundstrulyawful.”

“Stick around till the summer, and you can decide for yourself.”

“Ha.” Andy sipped his hot buttered rum. He couldn’t imagine any scenario where he was still in Safehaven come summertime.

For a few minutes the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire and the occasional clump of snow hitting the side of the house. Neither man spoke. They drank their nightcaps, and Andy thought yet again how unbelievable it was to be sitting in the Raffertys’ living room, drinking hot buttered rum with Quinn.

At last Quinn finished his drink and rose. “Did you want to try to go through the ledgers tonight or save it for tomorrow? I think we should hold off until we’ve both had some sleep, but it’s your call.”

“I’m starting to see double,” Andy admitted. “I think I need sleep.”

Quinn nodded. “Smart choice. I changed the sheets, so you can take the bed upstairs. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Hell, no,” Andy protested. “I’m not taking your bed.”

“I’ll actually sleep better down here where I can keep an eye on things.”