‘Do you think it had the side effects it was rumoured to have? Was it truly so dangerous?’
‘I think writers and artists liked to think it helped them to be creative. Hemingway called it the literature drink, and once it became hard to come by, demand rocketed,’ he said. ‘I love the history of it. It’s why we started to serve it in the bar. But at the end of the day, it’s no different to any other spirit. It’s more about how much an individual consumes.’
She was about to ask him more when he touched her hand and pointed ahead.
‘Our little walking tour is almost over,’ he said. ‘It’s time for you to eat the best crepe of your life.’
A tendril of excitement curled through Mia’s stomach as she stood back and watched Joe order for them. To her untrained ears it sounded as if he spoke rapid French, so fast and impossible to catch even one word of, but there was something about listening to a man speak in another language that made it sound so romantic.
When he turned back to her and held out both plates, the decadent crepe covered in chocolate had her stomach growling.
‘I have one chocolate and one sugar,’ he said. ‘You choose.’
‘Chocolate,’ she said, her eyes widening as she forgot all about how full she’d felt only a short time earlier. ‘It looks divine.’
They walked a few steps away from the street vendor, and Mia followed Joe’s lead and folded her crepe, taking a bite and groaning in delight. It was heavenly, and somehow she’d had space in her stomach after all.
‘Good?’ he asked, laughing as she nodded and tried to wipe the chocolate from the side of her mouth.
‘Sogood,’ she replied. ‘Possibly the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.’
He just shook his head, and she marvelled again at how much she’d stepped out of her comfort zone by even being in Paris, let alone sharing crepes with a man she didn’t know. It was as if she’d arrived in France and become an entirely different person; or maybe she’d just found a way to connect with the old her. Because that girl had been missing for so long, she’d almost forgotten what she felt like.
‘So who told you to look for me?’ Joe asked, as he wiped his hands clean on a napkin. ‘You never did say how you came to find me.’
Mia finished her mouthful, dabbing at the corners of her mouth and hoping she didn’t have chocolate covering her teeth.
‘It’s a funny story, but I was in a bar in London, and the bartender saw the bottle and randomly told me that you were an absinthe aficionado. He said if anyone could help me, it would be you.’ She laughed. ‘And so here I am.’
She finished her crepe, aware that Joe was watching her. When she braved a glance up at him, she found him smiling.
‘And just like that, you took a trip to Paris? On the word of a bartender you’d never met before?’
Mia shrugged. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but it was the only lead I had.’
Joe studied her for a long moment, his eyes on her, as if he was trying to decide an answer to a question.
‘You’re really determined to find out how your family was linked to that little bottle, aren’t you?’
Mia nodded. ‘It’s as if the questions are burning inside me, and I can’t stop until I’ve at least tried to understand my great-aunt’s past.’
He nodded. ‘I get that. My brother was adopted, and when he found out as a teenager, he said it felt like his body was on fire with all the questions he had. We grew up with parents who loved all their kids fiercely, and gave us everything a child could want, but he still needed to know where he came from. He couldn’t not find out more.’
Mia let go of the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. What were the chances that the one man who might be able to help her had such a connection to adoption and searching for family himself?
‘My great-aunt,’ Mia began, feeling for the right words, ‘she ran a house for unmarried mothers, and she found adoptive parents for their babies. She dedicated her entire life to helping women, and I want to understand where she came from.’
He nodded.
‘So does that mean you’ll help me?’ she asked, her voice soft. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask of a stranger, and you have no reason to assist me, but if you’re such an expert on absinthe…’
He gave her a look that she found almost impossible to decipher, before he raised an eyebrow and held out his hand. She stared at him, not sure what he wanted her to do.
‘Come to a party with me tomorrow night, and I’ll help you find out the origins of that bottle,’ he said. ‘There’ll be someone there who might be able to help you even more than I can.’
Her breath hitched, and she immediately panicked that he was asking her out. ‘Ah, I’m not sure.’
‘If I don’t take a date, my sisters and mother will spend the entire night introducing me to women they think I should be interested in, but if I take you…’
