21
Caden
WHEN WE ARRIVED at the restaurant, we were seated at a secluded spot in back, which was normally reserved for special guests. I definitely owed Jackson, the owner, for hooking us up. Especially on such short notice. The restaurant was usually booked out, but not only had he found me a table for the night, we were getting the V.I.P. treatment. There was even a bottle of Dom Perignon chilling on ice and waiting for us at the table.
“Wow, impressive,” Sage said, sliding into the booth, her eyes sparkling.
“Yeah, very.” I thanked the host, Bernie, who I also knew pretty well, and asked if Jackson was in.
“No, but he sends his regards,” Bernie replied. “He also wanted me to tell you that he’d be in your store Monday morning. He has his eye on a pistol he saw online and wants to se
