As she walked, her stomach rumbled, and she realized that it had been a good eight hours since her meal at the hotel. She stopped in front of a place with a sign that said Café Saint-Germain and, on a whim, stepped inside.

Despite the late hour, the place was packed. Definitely a good sign, and the smells wafting through the air promised good food. Though Diana’s stomach was screaming for food, her head ached for a quiet place to sort out everything she’d learned. This wasn’t it. She made out a note or two of piano music, but couldn’t see the piano through the bodies waiting for a table, or make out the song because of the noise level. Her first thought was to turn around, but before she could, a woman at the hostess stand waved to her, “Bonsoir!”

“Hello,” Diana said. “I just wanted a quick bite, but it looks like you’re booked for the night.”

She picked up a menu. “We don’t have tables, but there is room for one at the bar?”

Diana nodded. The case could wait for an hour while she took care of her stomach. “That’s fine.”

The woman guided her through the throngs and packed tables to the edge of the bar. She sat down and opened the menu. Her stomach immediately pointed her to the salade niçoise, a perfect complement to a glass of sparkling white wine and a nice, light change of pace from the heavy coq au vin she’d consumed earlier.

When the bartender appeared in front of her with a flute of champagne, she wondered whether he was reading her mind. “Thank you . . .” she said, taking a sip. “I needed that.”

He smiled at her and pointed toward the opposite end of the bar. “From the gentleman over there, at the end of the bar.”

“Oh?” She blushed a little to find an older man, his bald spot shining in the overhead light. When he smiled at her, she noticed he was missing a couple of important teeth. He was well-dressed, at least, in a white shirt and tie.

Lily probably would’ve told her to go for it—what did she have to lose? But Diana was not in the mood to be charming. Not at all. In fact, she wasn’t really in the mood to talk at all. It was too late to decline the drink, though, since she’d already taken a sip. So she asked, “Could you tell him I appreciate it, but I’m in a relationship?”

He nodded, “And what can I get you?”

“The salad. Thanks,” she replied, digging out her phone. Of course, she had about forty missed calls and twelve messages from Lily, each getting significantly more frantic, and, later, similar messages from Bea, who Lily must’ve dragged into it. She quickly jabbed in, Everything is fine! I’m tired. I’ll call you tomorrow.

She looked over to see the bartender speaking to the lothario on the other end of the bar. As he spoke, they kept looking over at her.