The inquiry contained genuine interest but none of Harry Duggan’s nosiness. That made it easy to answer. “Pennsylvania. Do you know it?”

“Is that where they make the chocolate?”

She laughed. “You mean Hershey! Yes, that’s in Pennsylvania. But I grew up in New Orleans.”

“New Orleans?” His smile widened. “I always wanted to see Mardi Gras. I expect everyone tells you that.”

She couldn’t deny it. Nor would she say, yet again, that there was more to her hometown than the French Quarter and plastic beads. It was a losing battle. “Looks like you settled somewhere pretty different. You’re not local, are you?”

“What gave it away?” He handed back her card. “I’m from London originally. Name’s Arjun. My husband and I came up from Edinburgh about two years ago. Wanted to take advantage of the culture shift and get away from it all. We sure did, didn’t we?”

My husband and I. Madeleine’s fingertips went cold as she took her card. Her spine stiffened.

No, she ordered herself, don’t be rude, don’t be ridiculous, don’t let him see…

But he did see. Her face had frozen, and it must be obvious, because Arjun’s own expression closed.

“Sit anywhere you like,” he said.

What was she supposed to say? I’m sorry, when she hadn’t actually said anything, and an apology would only hang an ugly wreath on a door that should have stayed shut?

Instead, she whispered her thanks, and when the other owner—a white man, the husband named Jeremy—brought her coffee and hot roll to her table, she whispered it again. He said, calmly, “You’re welcome. We close in fifteen.”

She’d been hungry, close to starving. Now, even though the sausage roll was delicious and the coffee hot and fragrant, she could barely get it down. Could she have handled that worse? Maybe if she’d actually jumped back and screamed.

You don’t understand, she wanted to tell them. I didn’t expect to find it here. I wasn’t ready.

She couldn’t say that. Madeleine managed to get down her food and flee the coffee shop within five minutes.

This trip was off to an inauspicious start.

Her first thought was to run back to the Merryweather and dodge Harry Duggan’s questions as best she could. She could lie down, take a nap, and wake up to find the whole humiliating incident was a dream.

Instead, Madeleine hung a right out of the café. The cool air soothed her burning cheeks somewhat.

You’ll have to deal with this, her inner voice whispered. It wasn’t talking about the café. You’ve put it off all your life, and now it’s here. Here, you’ll face yourself.