Jake grinned. “Definitely a psychic phenomenon.” And the fact that he wanted a restaurant with a prime location on the Mississippi River.

“No shit. I finally must be living right,” Chaz said with a grin. He put out his hand. “Since I have a two o’clock flight to paradise, I’d better hit the road. Good luck, man.”

Jake took Chaz’s hand in a firm grip. “Same to you.”

“Check out my new place next season,” Chaz offered. “The views are a helluva lot nicer than the ones here. Not that I’m knocking river views.”

“Hey, each to his own,” Jake said with a smile. “And don’t be surprised if I show up in Saint Barts.”

“You always have a place to stay, amigo.” Chaz turned to go. “Not to mention prime room service,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

A minute later, the front door shut on Chaz Burnett, and Jake surveyed his new restaurant space with that feeling of anticipation and impatience he always experienced when taking on a new venture. He’d given the staff a month’s vacation so he had time to start renovating the bar and redoing the menu. With luck, the River Joint would be open for business in six to eight weeks.

And this time, he wasn’t interested in pleasing the food critics or decorators or even a certain segment of the population that followed, lemminglike, each new entry onto the restaurant scene. This place was for himself alone. No pretensions, no sleek decor. He wanted it to be comfortable and laid back, a neighborhood joint that just happened to have world-class food and wines.

He’d earned the right to indulge himself in this labor of love. The fact that he used to spend summers near here with his aunt was only a nostalgic bonus to his new creative endeavor.

Everyone in his organization had tried to talk him out of buying in the Midwest. The profits wouldn’t compare to those in major metropolitan centers, they’d argued. But he’d lost interest in profits alone a long time ago-or he’d been fortunate enough to be allowed that luxury.