Philippe flipped open to the article and pointed at her professional photo—Colleen leaning against a pillar in some faraway and nameless place with an azure sea in the background. Her hair backlit and lifted lightly by what appeared to be a breeze but had actually been a fan, appeared like a halo. She wore a sarong and sandals—“forced casual,” she called it. “And your photo.” He held up his hand for a high five. “Well done, my love.”

“Thanks, I’m really proud of that piece.”

“Well, the advice tips don’t matter so much to me. It’s the stories you wrote to go with them that make it interesting.” He kissed her cheek. “I felt like I knew you better with each one.”

Colleen ran her fingers along the edge of the counter. “How about the stories where I wrote about the travel mistakes I made?” she asked. “Was it too much?”

“Nope. Made it even better. I loved it.”

“Me, too.” Colleen nibbled on the end of her croissant. “If only my piece about Mexico had flowed as easily.”

Philippe reached her side and pulled her close against his long, lean body. “You can ditch me if you must, but you have to tell me what’s going on. It’s like another woman replaced the one who left for Mexico. Did you pick up a virus there that changed your heart?”

He was endearing and funny. Why couldn’t she fall in love with the endearing and funny ones? Why did they bore her? Why did she instead want to call Daren, the guy who had constantly stood her up while they’d dated? She smiled at Philippe. “No, I’ve just been so buried in work, and I told you before I left—I’m not sure we’re right together.”

“You don’t look so well.” He squinted. “Have you been crying?”

My God, she had been. She touched the edges of her eyes. How had she not realized? “It’s my dad.”

“You have a dad?”

“What the hell does that mean?” She moved away, putting space between them. But she knew what he meant. She never talked about her family. “Yes, I have a dad. The best dad in the world.”

“And what’s wrong?”

“I’m going home to find out. My brother won’t tell me much until I get there other than Dad might have Alzheimer’s. So it’s either the worst trick in the world to bring me home or . . .”

“No one would lie about that, would they?”

“Not Shane.” She shook her head, crumbs falling from the croissant in her hand.

“I’m sorry, Colleen. What can I do to help?”

“There’s nothing.”

“And your mom?”

“Mother to me. And sadly, I lost her two years ago.”