“Pumpkin,” Midge confirms. “It’s usually served around Thanksgiving and is sweeter than it sounds.”

One of Midge’s hands rests briefly on Jaskier’s thigh before she decides that she ought to behave herself. It would be so easy to snuggle up against him here.

She’s nodding along to Jaskier’s very overly detailed description and smiles when Ciri interrupts him. “Not all of them. New York happens to be a hub for arts and culture.”