“What do you mean it isn’t possible? What about all those last-minute losers whose names get announced over the intercom like they’re so important and ultra-special and basically Brad Pitt?” She turned to Jake. “Right?”

“Totally . . .” he said, doing his best to support her sudden outburst.

The clerk at the check-in counter remained calm. “As you did not show up on time, your seats were given to passengers on the standby list. Therefore, it is, as I said, not possible.”

She stumbled away from the counter. “Fuuucckkk.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Jake whispered.

“Let me search for another flight,” the clerk offered, still unfazed by Mira’s breakdown.

She felt a sudden headache coming on. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

A minute later, the clerk seemed rather pleased with himself. “All right, mademoiselle, I have found two seats on the next available flight. It will be tomorrow at three p.m.”

Mira burst into laughter. Once she’d recovered, she smiled like a woman on the edge. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

The clerk was deeply unimpressed. “Do you want the flight or not?”

Her intense vibe switched to utter panic. “How is there nothing for today? There should be tons of flights that go to New York!”

The clerk made no effort to hide his disdain for the fact that Mira continued to exist. “There are not tons, there are several. But with so many Americans who are coming back and forth during Haute Couture Week, and with it being the high season of tourism, this is the flight we have.”

“What about one seat?” she asked. “Like forget about him,” she added in a whisper, “just find one for me.”

“Not cool,” Jake said, his wounded eyes of little consequence to Mira.

“This is the only flight,” the clerk repeated.

“What about a stopover?” she pressed.

The clerk started typing. “Let me see . . . ah yes, you can leave today and have a thirteen-hour overnight stopover in Iceland.”

“Fuck that,” Jake grumbled. He elbowed Mira. “Let’s just go for tomorrow’s flight.”

She lowered her head in resignation.

Surge pricing . . . the potential cost of another flight . . . a hotel stay—the unexpected expenses were adding up in a major way. “Okay. Book it.”

Jake nodded to the clerk. “Two tickets for tomorrow’s flight, please.” He turned to Mira and grinned. “Ready for another twenty-four hours in Paris?”

Five

M

Twelve p.m.

“Watch out for that pile of garbage,” Mira cautioned.

Her words of warning to Jake said it all, as they dragged their luggage up a sketchy street in the 18th arrondissement. Their flight had now been officially booked, and they were freshly back in Paris for another twenty-four hours.

“Is that a used diaper?” Jake wondered aloud as they passed by the trash.