"Mrs. Fairfield—"
"Mimi," she insisted.
"Mimi," he said, then hesitated.
"Mimi," she prompted.
"I forgot what I was going to say," he admitted. "Cheers."
"Don't gulp," she said. "Here, I'll pour you another one, but sip it, now promise."
"God, it does taste awful, doesn't it?" he said, grimacing. "I don't think I ever tasted one before. Do you think limes might help?"
"We have some in the kitchen, but it doesn't sound like a good idea to me. Why don't we just throw the mess away and whip up something else? I just wanted you to think I was chic this season to serve martinis."
"What season? Football?"
"Hunting," she said, and the eyes and lips smiled together again.