Abby
When Karl finishes telling me about the amazing revelations that he had with Reginald—his father, as I’ve now learned—over coffee, I’m too stunned to speak for a long time.
“So,” he says, “I think I’m going to go to his estate. And I’d like you to come.”
I blink in surprise, swallow, and sit up a little straighter on the couch. “N-Now?” I ask. “You really want me to come? But the restaurant—”
“It would only be for a couple of days,” Karl assures me. “Besides, the restaurant will have been up and running again for a while by the time we go, and the others can handle it.”
Karl is right; the others can handle the restaurant. They’ve actually been doing swimmingly without me, which is a strange feeling.
“Come on, Abby,” Karl says softly. He leans forward and brushe
