We took Lucas to Nic’s in old town Cottonwood, since it seemed like the kind of place he’d enjoy. He did look right at home in the old-world atmosphere of the place, coaxing Connor into sharing a bottle of chianti after I swore it was okay for them to drink in front of me, then ordering grilled rib-eye and crab legs as if he did that sort of thing every day. Who knows — maybe he did.
Midway through dinner, though, his phone rang, and after shooting an apologetic glance at both of us, he pulled his cell out of his pocket, scanned the display briefly, and said, “I need to take this.”
Connor and I both murmured, “Go ahead,” and Lucas put the phone to his ear.
“Hey, Lester, you have something for me?” A pause. “Really? In Williams? And the address? Great, text it to me. Thanks for everythin
