“Was it David again?”
“Probably.”
“Look, either turn off your phone or read his message before you start dropping plates.”
Mia took out her phone to read the message, and smiled as she typed her reply.
I’m fine. How about you?
Do you have a minute?
I’m in the kitchen.
It won’t take long.
Fine. But if I call you, it doesn’t count!
Because you asked me to.
Don’t call. I’m on a bench at Place du Tertre.
No raincoat this time.
Are you OK?
Yeah. Can you come?
Give me five minutes.
Daisy, ladle in hand, was watching Mia.
“I’ll be right back,” Mia said suddenly. “I need to run out to the store. Do you need anything?”
“Apart from a waitress, you mean?”
“The tables are all set and there are no customers,” Mia replied, taking off her apron. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
She looked at herself in the mirror above the bar, patted her hair into place, and grabbed her purse and sunglasses.
“Pick up some Krisprolls,” said Daisy.
Mia winced. “Um, I wasn’t going to go to the supermarket. Sorry!”
She walked quickly, passing the caricaturist without saying hello, and finally located the bench where Paul sat waiting.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, sitting down next to him.
“I came to bring you the first chapters of my novel, but, like an idiot, I left them at home. It seemed a waste to leave without at least seeing you, though.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“You look tired. Do you have a lot on your plate? No pun intended.”
“I didn’t sleep much last night. I had a nightmare.”
“A nightmare is merely a dream that has outstayed its welcome . . .”
Mia stared at him in silence.
