"May I recommend the Kir as an apéritif?" the waitress asked, adding when Sara and Grissom looked up from their menus, "It's a measure of crème de cassis topped up with white wine."
Sara turned a questioning frown to her husband.
"It's blackcurrant liqueur," he explained. "Try it. You'll like it."
Sara pursed her mouth appraisingly, before nodding her head at the waitress. "Thank you."
"Make that two," Grissom said, peering at the waitress over the top of his glasses, "but substitute the white wine with champagne."
Sara looked at him in surprise, but his attention was on the waitress.
"Two Kir Royal, certainly sir," the waitress said with a hint of surprise in her voice, giving Grissom a smile and Sara a quick glance.
Grissom lowered his gaze to Sara and smiled tenderly.
"Champagne, huh?" she said, when the waitress was out of earshot.
His stare was intense and piercing, almost disconcerting. "Why not? You said no expense spared."
Her brow rose playfully. "Are you…trying to get me drunk?"
His smile widened flirtatiously. "What if I was?"
"Then I'd question your motives. As you're well aware, alcohol lowers your body's core temperature and in these arctic conditions hypothermia would set in minutes."
"Who's the party pooper now?" he asked, laughing, and then his expression turning earnest, "I'm sure I can find ways to keep you warm."
Her dark eyes boring into his, Sara fingered the bow on her blouse enticingly. "Which is exactly why I wore this."
