The snowstorm outside had settled into a gentle hush, and the faint amber glow of the streetlights illuminated the frosty world beyond the window. Inside, Nora’s apartment radiated warmth, the scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the crackle of the fireplace. Her friends were nestled in the living room, their laughter and conversation rising and falling like a melody against the backdrop of the winter night.

Nora loved hosting, especially during the cold months when her cozy home felt like a haven. Tonight, she had promised her friends something special—a cocktail she’d been perfecting over the past few weeks. “I call it Death and Taxes,” she said with a wry smile, setting down a tray of empty Nick and Nora glasses. “It’s bold, complex, and perfect for a night like this.”

Her friends exchanged intrigued glances. They had come to expect nothing less from Nora, whose cocktail experiments often straddled the line between adventurous and downright genius. She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving them with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

In the kitchen, Nora laid out her ingredients: a smoky Scotch whisky, a sharp London Dry Gin, the bittersweet Punt e Mes, and the rich herbal tones of Benedictine DOM. A small bottle of orange bitters completed the lineup, and a fresh lemon waited nearby for the garnish. She admired the array for a moment before setting to work, her movements deliberate and precise.

She began by filling her mixing glass with ice, the cubes clinking together as they settled. First, she poured in an ounce of Scotch whisky, the deep amber liquid carrying the faint aroma of peat and smoke. Next, she added an equal measure of London Dry Gin, its crisp juniper notes providing a sharp counterpoint. A half-ounce of Punt e Mes followed, its bittersweet complexity lending a touch of intrigue to the mix. Finally, she added a quarter-ounce of Benedictine, its honeyed, herbal warmth rounding out the flavors, and two dashes of orange bitters for brightness.

Nora stirred the mixture with care, watching as the ice and liquid danced together, chilling and blending the flavors into harmony. She strained the cocktail into the waiting Nick and Nora glasses, the golden-brown liquid settling elegantly. With a practiced hand, she twisted a strip of lemon peel over each glass, releasing a burst of citrus oils before perching it delicately on the rim.

Carrying the tray back into the living room, Nora presented her creation with a flourish. “Death and Taxes,” she announced, handing out the glasses. “Because, as they say, those are the only certainties in life—and this cocktail is a close third.” Her friends chuckled as they raised their glasses for a toast.

The first sip brought an immediate wave of approval. “Wow,” said Mark, savoring the interplay of smoky Scotch and herbal sweetness. “It’s like a winter evening distilled into a glass.” Sophie nodded, her eyes lighting up. “The gin and Benedictine balance each other so well—it’s bold but smooth.” Even Emma, who tended to shy away from whisky-based drinks, found herself smiling. “It’s complex, but it’s so easy to drink,” she said, holding her glass up to admire its golden hue.

The conversation flowed effortlessly as they sipped their drinks, the warmth of the cocktail reflecting the comfort of the evening. Nora couldn’t help but feel a quiet satisfaction watching her friends enjoy the creation she had so carefully crafted. It wasn’t just a drink—it was a moment of connection, a shared experience that turned an ordinary winter night into something memorable.

As the fire burned low and the glasses emptied, the storm outside seemed even further away. Later, as she cleaned up in the kitchen, Nora took one last sip from her own glass, the flavors lingering on her palate like a final toast to the evening. Death and Taxes, she thought with a smile, might just become a new tradition.