Chapter Eleven
Jarrod drummed his fingers on the table in the far corner of Gino’s Trattoria. It was empty tonight, probably because of the afternoon’s wake. Food and booze had been liberally distributed — wine from the local vineyard across the road from the Hansens and Sinclaires, beer from some guy named Mike McSomethingorother. It had nearly killed him, but Jarrod had refrained from gorging on his sister’s food. He even refused a slice of Dottie’s pie. But now Lexi was fifteen minutes late. Surely she wouldn’t stand him up? That wasn’t her style. He’d always seen her as a woman of her word. But maybe that’s because he was looking for it, hoping for it. She might label it a ‘professional dinner’, but to him, it was anything but.
In fact, he suspected it was anything but that for her,
