Every time I was on East Bay Street, I looked to see if the builders had broken ground on the hideously designed hotel. But today, jogging past, sweat dripping off my chin, I saw all the developer signs had been removed. I slowed and called Barbara, Donovan and Tate’s assistant at my old job.

“Barbara, it’s me, Josie. Don’t say my name,” I hastily added.

“Jo—hiii!”

“Johigh? That’s a new one.” I laughed.

“How are you?”

“Great, actually. You?”

“Mr. Donovan isn’t in today. It’s just Mr. Tate.”

“So, pretty shitty?”

“That’s exactly right,” she sang.

“What can you tell me about the East Bay Street hotel job?”

“Um … it’s a doozy. Whoo boy, I’ll have to check the schedule. But could you perhaps do something later in the day?”

I frowned, and then realized she must not be alone. I played along. “Today?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Meet at King Street Tavern at five?”

“About a half hour later, and I can fit you into the schedule.”

“Perfect.” I grinned, though she couldn’t see me. “See you then. I’m buying you your favorite Margarita, so plan on grabbing an Uber home or have Jeff come get you?”

“That’d work wonderfully. I have you on the schedule. Okay, bye now,” Barbara sang and clicked off.

I chuckled as I put my phone away. It was true, every day was better than the last. I would come out of this broken heart stronger. I continued my jog up toward King Street. As I ran past the window of the fancy yacht company, I couldn’t help thinking about Xavier. Ugh. That was why I didn’t normally run this way. Then I saw the French lady I recognized from Armand’s coffee shop just heading to the glass front doors and coming out. I slowed.

She came out and flicked open a silver cigarette case. Her lips were bright vermilion.

“Hey,” I said. “Sylvie, right?”

“Oh. Oui. How are you?” She removed a cigarette and offered one to me.

“Oh, no thank you. I’m doing great. You?”

She snapped the case closed. “I don’t see you at Armand’s anymore.”

I smoothed my damp and frizzing hair back off my forehead. “I still go, but my schedule has changed. I don’t have to be in officially for an hour later, which is nice. How about you? How’s …” I laughed, because it was odd having a conversation with someone you barely knew more than to say hello to every day. “How’s life? Are you French or French Canadian? I’ve never been sure.”

“Both. I spent lots of time in Paris.” She said the word exactly as a French person would, with no S. Paree. The sound of the accent caused my stomach to clench.

“I know your name, but we’ve never been properly introduced.” I held out my hand. “Josephine Marin.”