“I know. I got so caught up in the soulless competition of working for the architectural firm, thinking I could make a difference that way, I forgot the passion that got me into architecture in the first place.” I had Xavier to thank for waking me up to that. “I’m doubling down on doing what I love.” Then I rattled off the titles of the next five niche topics I planned to write about regarding foreign influences on classic architecture by country.

“I have no idea what you just said, kinda zoned out there, but it sounds great.”

“It just means I’ll be focusing a lot more on my interests. And if, big if, I happen to visit France one day again or anywhere else in Europe, I’ll be doing so for legitimate research purposes. And maybe I can even consult on building projects that are trying to conform to local architectural ordinances or aesthetics. Wherever the projects may be.”

Meredith glanced at me sidelong, and I could sense her biting her tongue. Instead, she squeezed my arm to her side. “Great. I’m happy for you.”

We approached the corner to our street, and I fished in my purse for the keys to the apartment. My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out. I had three missed calls and a voicemail from an unknown number. “Ugh,” I said. “Someone trying to sell me a warranty on that car I don’t own.”

I handed Meredith my keys and swiped over to the voicemail page where a message was transcribed. Josie, set stuffing. Silty play. Unable to transcribe remainder of message.

“Weird,” I said aloud to Meredith. Then I stopped still. Silty play? S’il te plait?

“What is it? Are you coming up?” Meredith stood holding the door open.

“Um. I think … I think Dauphine just left me a message. I can’t tell.”

“Listen to it then. Did you give her your number?”

“I did. I told her she could call me anytime.”

Meredith stared at me, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “As much as I like to stand on street corners …”

“Sorry.” I shook my head. We went inside and I pressed play and held the phone to my ear as we took the narrow carpeted stairwell up to our third floor apartment. Sure enough it was Dauphine’s voice, thick with tears and whispering. “Josie. It is Dauphine. S’il te plait, please you call me. I am so sad. I had a very bad dream. And I am awake. S’il te plait?”

“Oh, God.” I put my hand to my chest. “It is Dauphine. She woke up from a bad dream. I’m going to call her back.”

“So no Taye Diggs for you?”

“Start without me?”

Meredith rolled her eyes with a knowing smirk. “Fine.”

“What was that look for?”

“Nothing, Josie. You go and call back the daughter of the guy you’re in love with.”