DANTE turned a full and increasingly horrified circle with his hands on his hips. “This is… unexpected.” The Hope & Anchor was decked to the rafters in an explosion of red and green. Holly, pine, and mistletoe fought swathes of tinsel and ribbon, weighted with baubles and lit with pinpricks of colored lights. A barman in a snowman jumper sported felt antlers and a flashing red nose. Kitsch, Dante could tolerate. Tacky, he could not. “Would you like to go somewhere else?” Lucas’s tongue was poking all too suggestively into his cheek. In this place, it was liable to get him mistaken for a strip-a-gram, especially in those jeans. Lucas in jeans. Looking him over, Dante’s mouth watered again. “I think it’s a little late for that, unless you don’t care to eat tonight.” Dante searched the bar. Vera had been close to eighty years old the last time Dante had been here. He’d stubbornly assumed she’d be here forever. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that she too had gone to meet her maker.
