dinner.
I nearly refused.
Rowan didn’t pressure me.
That was one reason I agreed.
The restaurant was beautiful.
Warm wood.
Cream walls.
Plants near tall windows.
Not extravagant.
Thoughtful.
Mara Voss greeted us at the entrance.
Finally, I met the mysterious bookkeeper.
She was energetic, in her fifties, and completely unaware that her unanswered calls had caused so much speculation.
“I’m so glad Rowan finally called me back,” she said.
I looked at him.
“You did?”
“Yesterday.”
Mara smiled.
“I needed his updated address for the guarantee release paperwork.”
That
