"As strong as you dare," Graham replied, because really, did it matter? Alcohol was frivolous fluff - he wouldn't get drunk, he wouldn't even feel a buzz. It was simply for something to do, and the taste - which he actually did enjoy; the tea-infused gin was pleasing to him.
Besides, straight gin tasted like either paint thinner or rotten Christmas trees. He'd pass.
"I'll also have a Bailey's hot chocolate, but that's for takeaway," he added, long fingers folding, hands coming to rest on the (immaculately clean, how impressive) bartop. "Interesting atmosphere you've got here." Made sense that Maeve owned the place - it suited her. It wasn't a ritzy sort of place, but Graham didn't need ritzy all the time. He was too old to not have learned to be well-rounded.