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Summary
Delaying the inevitable, Welt asks, “What’s it called?”
Gallagher’s lips curl. “Lights Out.”
“I can’t say the name inspires a lot of confidence. Will I be finding myself laid out on the floor after drinking it?” Welt inquires dryly.
Gallagher leans in, elbows on the bartop. “I wouldn’t let you fall, sweetheart. You’d find yourself somewhere much more comfortable than the floor.”