“You can just seat yourself, dear,” the man, Sean’s, voice called behind her. He strolled in and took a seat at the bar. “Fancy a pint?”

She walked in, a little dazed, and slipped onto the barstool next to him. She hadn’t liked beer before she came here, and she’d never envisioned wasting her few chances to explore the French culinary scene by having one now. “I’m actually starving,” she said. “I came here for lunch.”

“Well, let me tell you, lass. I’m thirsty,” he winked.

Magically, a man appeared behind the bar. Sean looked at her and said, “The lady was here first.”

“Oh—” She grabbed a menu. “You can go. I’m not sure what I want yet.”

Sean grinned at the man and lifted a finger. Somehow, that was signal enough for the bartender to pour him a draft of thick stout with a heavy brown foam. Something told Diana that this was not his first stop in this establishment.

“You’re Irish?” she asked him, looking up from her menu. The bartender was standing there, so she just said, “Coffee. Black.”

“Aye. You’re . . . American,” he said, seeming pleased with himself for making the connection. He rubbed his gray beard. “I’m thinking New York?”

“Impressive. How did you know?”

“I’m good with dialects,” he said, smiling. “I know cawfee when I hear it.”

She laughed as the bartender poured her the coffee, then leaned forward, and took a sip. When she looked up, he was extending his hand.

“Sean. What’s your name, lass?”

She shook it. “Diana. Are you here on vacation?”

“You could say that. I’m just tottering about. Had a bit of business to tend to but that’s over, so now I’m just taking it easy. Thinking I might extend it a little, go all over this fair land of ours,” He took a big gulp of his beer. “You?”

“Oh, this is my first day in Paris. Hopefully the first of many days in Europe. I’m planning to stay the year if all goes well.”

“Is that right? Well, good on you. How’re you liking it so far?”

“It’s a little different from what I imagined,” she admitted, “But I haven’t really done anything on my itinerary yet.”

She patted the notebook, which she’d laid on the bar by her purse.

“Itinerary? Let me have a look.”

She slid it over to him, sure he’d rib her when he saw just how uptight she was when it came to planning. Judging from his relaxed manner and wrinkled shirt, he seemed more like a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants guy. But he simply looked it over, nodding.

“How much have you seen so far?”

The bartender stopped by. She looked over the menu, ordered the salade Parisianne, since it sounded quintessentially French, and shrugged at her new friend, “Nothing, actually. I got a little lost in the cab, and I just checked in. Not to mention, the rain . . .”

“Right. It was bucketing down, before. But you’ve got all the good ones in here,” he said, turning the page. “You’re going to Versailles tomorrow, eh? That’s a nice place.” He whistled.