The waiter rolled his eyes, “That is for old Italian men.”
Andrea didn’t miss a beat. “Perfect. We’ll have two served however the old men drink it.”
Our drinks arrived straight up in dessert wine glasses. They were the color of long-neglected motor oil. They tasted like a mishmash of vanilla, caramel, juniper berries, peppermint and Vicks VapoRub. If we believed in past lives we might claim that we were once old Italian men because we fell instantly in love.