"Thank you for permission," not that she needed it. She scanned the bottles, picked out the Bacardi 151 and slid it across the bar to him without a glass. "I'll wait for the sangria to be ready." Which meant she needed to mix it. Back at the peaches she started to muddle some of the slices into pulp with mint leaves and sugar.

"Don't give yourself alcohol poisoning. And if you pass out I'm leaving you where you fall." She wouldn't be able to lift him even if she cared enough to try to move him. She might call for help.