Jim was certain whoever his secret admirer was had given up when there wasn’t an envelope tacked to the bulletin board the following morning, when he arrived at Bannock’s. He sighed in relief and got to work. The restaurant was busier than usual, for whatever reason. That was saying something since there were always dozens of people waiting—inside, and out on the sidewalk—for Logan, the host on the weekends, to tell them their table was ready. By the time Jim’s shift ended at two, he was more than ready to go home and collapse.
Which he did, settling on the sofa, with a cup of coffee, and Callie curled in his lap, while he watched some mindless sports show on TV. He was half asleep when the news came on. He snapped awake moments later when he heard Vic’s name. The reporter was apparently
