A slice of lemon dropped into the rum. You tell yourself it is not so bitter this way, and you savour your cup of frustration. Bergamot and fennel, first—bright, and sweet. But his sweet nothings have already slipped out onto your skin, infiltrating the nerves like invisible vines. Leather. Rum. And then, somehow, caramel. Soon the drink in your hand tastes sweet. Vanilla, warm and forgiving. Ambergris beneath it, salt-touched, holding everything in place.
