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She gulped more oxygen, but her nerves were wired from Mr. Pinstripes. Perhaps his pheromones had some insane effect on the opposite sex. Glancing around, she eyed other women at the café. None ofthemseemed to have noticed him. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn she was dreaming. Then she thought back to the message that had slipped out of her journal. It had to be a coincidence, right?
She finished her café and allowed her body to settle down. Then she checked her phone again. Nothing more from Brooke, but Dean had texted her. She couldn’t wait to see him. He was like a Ferris wheel, always fun but forever turning in a circle, barely stopping.
She clicked on his text.Hey sweetie! Heading straight to Nanine’s. Probably fifteen minutes out. Can’t wait to see you.
Heartened, she decided to head over to Nanine’s herself. The walk would do her pheromone-crazed body good, right? She would be the first one to welcome Dean, and Brooke would arrive soon as well. She would have loved to have had someone waiting for her. Plus, she could take care of Doughreen. Her starter needed to go into the cooler, stat.
And maybe she’d run into Mr. Pinstripes again. There was no harm in looking, was there?
When the waiter finally appeared, he said, “Antoine says it’s on the house.”
Her eyes grew wet again. “Tell him thank you,” she said as she didn’t see the older man hovering in the doorway.
He gave a little incline of his jaunty chin as she eased out of her chair and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, taking off down the sidewalk as a quartet of tourists on rented bicycles angled by.
The way to Nanine’s was familiar, but her eyes took in the new bar around the corner called Speakeasy with its crisp navy awning. She’d bet Mr. Pinstripes frequented the joint, and her heart rate spiked again at the thought.
Her luggage wheel caught on the sidewalk as her attention wavered before she dragged it along. La Maison de l’Entrecôte emitted the familiar scent of grilled steak, green pepper from its succulent sauce, and frites in the air as she passed. A new tea salon called Old Hong Kong had her wanting to cross its threshold simply because of the name. Besides loving tea, she’d never been to Hong Kong but had always been curious about it. Heck, she’d never been to anywhere but France and Canada.
More bucket list items, Thea.
Next door, The Little Black Dress Shop ironically displayed a slinky one-shoulder dress inblue. She stopped short. Holy moly, it was gorgeous. Something she’d wear on a date with a man like Mr. Pinstripes in her fantasy world.
She rolled her eyes at herself and kept going. Walking on Paris’ golden streets was like wrapping herself up in bright, shiny wrapping paper tied up with a big red bow. Her excitement spiked as she neared Nanine’s restaurant and her old home. Picking up her pace, she turned the next corner and stopped cold.“Oh, my gosh!”
The burgundy awning was gone, the one that had sported the simple but somehow comforting sign readingNanine’s. The menu placard on the wall by the double doors was missing, and the curtains were gone. The windows looked grim and dusty, as if the building had been abandoned for years.
Her stomach started to burn. What had happened? Nanine hadn’t mentioned any changes when Thea had spoken to her last month.
She rushed across the street to look inside.
The restaurant was gutted, the tables gone, the walls torn open. And was that exposed wire hanging out? Had there been a fire? Her hand flew to her mouth.
Was this why Nanine had had a heart attack?
She stood breathing harshly. Brooke and Dean were going to freak when they saw this. Everyone was. “Okay,” she assured herself. “We’ll figure it out.”
Unsteady, Thea headed to the alley. She had to get inside. Reaching the back of the restaurant, she tucked her luggage out of sight. Nanine had always kept a spare key taped below an old loose brick under the back steps. Thea found it and tore the tape back, grasping the brass key. She prayed Nanine had fixed the lock. The key was notorious for being difficult, something the older woman had intentionally not fixed as she found it a satisfying battle of wills on occasion—something to get the blood pumping.
She faced the old lock.Here we go.She inserted the key. It stuck like it always had. “Oh, come on,” she pleaded softly. She pressed the key harder and heard the metal scrape. Then it finally turned.
As she walked inside, her knees went weak with relief. The kitchen was exactly as it had been—except covered in dust, she quickly realized as she scanned the stainless steel prep counters and let her eyes wander over to the industrial range and ovens.
Nanine’s famous chandelier gave a faint jangle of its crystal, almost like a weak pulse. Thea’s gaze traveled across the room to where it hung in the small hallway leading to the dining room. Nanine had kept the small chandelier in the kitchen because the former owner had said it had a personality all its own, like many unexplainable things in Paris. The crystals served as a weathervane of sorts for the restaurant’s atmosphere.
She coughed as dust reached her nose, and when she inhaled, she could have sworn she smelled roast chicken. Nanine was known for her roasted chicken laced with butter and herbs de Provence. Just like that, her mind flashed back to sitting at the large wooden farm table in the kitchen with her roommates, all of them laughing and drinking wine while stealing bites of chicken and roasted potatoes as Nanine smiled from ear to ear at the head of the table.
The kitchen was eerily quiet except for the sound of the antique Horloge on the wall. Nanine had hung it there because it had a second hand that new staff could watch for time-sensitive sauces like béarnaise or hollandaise.
She knew she was putting off going to the front of the restaurant. But she couldn’t make her feet move in that direction. Dean and Brooke would both be arriving soon, she assured herself, and they would all face that disaster together. She could distract herself by taking care of Doughreen. She silenced any thoughts about her being a coward as she went back for her luggage and dragged it back to Nanine’s walk-in cooler.
“Doughreen, you’re going to be so happy here,” she told her starter after unzipping her suitcase on the floor. Her airtight plastic container was perspiring in the Ziploc bag, but Thea gave a moment of thanks that Doughreen hadn’t exploded like her bottle of shampoo.
She set it aside with a grimace and then shot to her feet when she heard staccato-like footsteps in the kitchen. Dean! The crystals in Nanine’s famous chandelier gave a sudden clang as she raced toward the back door.
Only to be faced with three men in police uniforms scowling at her with their feet braced, as if ready to take down a dangerous intruder. It took her a second to realize who the intruder was.
Her.
* * *
