She paused in the act of putting her silver case away, her unlit cigarette dangling between two fingers. She narrowed her eyes at me.

“What?” I asked. My hand dropped between us.

She shook her head. “The strangest thing. Someone—one of my clients—mentioned your name the other day. Actually, yesterday, uh.”

“Oh? Did I do some architectural design for them?”

“Him.” She chuckled. “I don’t think so. He asked if I knew you. Of course, I said no. I didn’t realize I did.” She looked closer at me, her gaze moving from my sweaty face down over my shirt sticking to me, my leggings, and my dirty running shoes. “Huh.”

“Umm…” I raised my eyebrows. What a peculiar moment.

“You know the name Xavier Pascale?” she asked.

My blood drained, and I swayed. “What?” I whispered. “What did you say?” But I’d heard.

Sylvie looked past my shoulder, her eyes going round.

And I knew. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

She looked at the state of me again and winced. “Desolée. But yes.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Bonjour, Sylvie,” he said.

Oh.

My.

God.

His voice.

Right here. In real life. In my city.

His tone was jovial and friendly.

Why are you so happy? I screeched in my head. How dare he come here? He should be home, back in France, crying into his leek soup and regretting letting me go. Bitterness and pain rose up. I should keep moving. He wouldn’t recognize me from behind.

Plus, I looked like shit.

And I was mad at him, dammit. I was light headed with the intensity of both shock and anger in equal measure.

“Joséphine?” His voice was rough. Unsure. Incredulous.

It was too late to move. I took a brief look down at my outfit, the sweat on my scalp making my head itch. There was no God. Then I turned. “Xavier,” I managed, my voice feeling like sandpaper.

Chapter Fifty-One

“It is you.” Xavier’s face was alight with wonder and relief and joy—emotions I simply didn’t understand or expect.

“Why do you look like that?” My hand came up and vaguely waved at him.

His eyebrows pinched together slightly. “Like what?”

“Happy to see me.”

“Because I came to America to see you, and here you are.”

I looked at Sylvie, who had one perfectly plucked eyebrow arched as she took us both in. “So you didn’t come to see Sylvie and check on your yacht? Because apparently you didn’t just arrive today.” Bitterness crept into my tone.

“No. I mean, I did, but there were some things I had to take care of.” His blue eyes pinned me. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”