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Again the lot is at capacity—and when Gretchen sees the dumpy Piewalker pickup against the fence, her grin widens. “Ah-haaa. The plot is revealed. You know, I called from Italy to get those reservations at Papa Haydn.”
“I wanted to do something casual.”
“Casual as in Luke falling into your underwear.”
Laughter. Because that’s all you can do with Gretchen since justifiable homicide is still considered rude in most jurisdictions.
Holden and Tess have a high-top table saved for us, and Leia’s band is mounting an attack on the health and safety of eardrums everywhere. When Holden greets me with a beer, he says close to my head, “He’s not here, Jayne. Sorry.”
Which is double-edged: I can relax because I know he’s not here, but then I’m sad because I won’t see his cheeky grin while he f
