The imaginary TV anchor’s announcement reverberated in Amanda’s head as if it had been real. Last night, she had watched a documentary about black holes. The husky voiceover had explained that a black hole possessed such enormous gravity it sucked in everything around it. Any celestial body or a spaceship that had the misfortune of getting too close would be swallowed up. The hole would haul the poor thing inside and pulverize it.

Kes’s eyes were like that—black, bottomless, and endowed with an irresistible pull. Even when she glanced into them sideways during their daily jogs in the André Citroën Park, her brain became muddled afterward.

Just like now.

“Want a sip?” He held out a half-full bottle of water.

“What?” Amanda forced herself to focus. “Ah. Yes, please.”

She drank most of the water and handed the bottle back to Kes, who took a big gulp and emptied the rest over his forehead.

“Getting hot, huh?” He pulled the hem of his T-shirt up and wiped his face, revealing his toned abs for a few seconds.

Amanda’s gaze lingered on them, and suddenly, she was out of breath and a little lightheaded.

She stopped moving. “I need a break.”

“Sure.” He backtracked to her and pointed to a spot under a big tree. “We could watch the Eutelsat Balloon from there. Come.”

He headed to the corner of the vast central lawn where some trees offered a spot of shade. Amanda followed.

They sat on the ground and leaned back on the tree trunk. Amanda breathed in the incomparable smell of freshly cut grass. Yummy. She stretched her legs. A few days ago, she’d started wearing shorts for their morning jogs. The idea was that they would do double duty by keeping her legs cool and allowing them to tan.

She glanced at the golden skin of her thighs. The results were highly satisfactory. Suppressing a smug grin, she leaned forward and peered at the loading area for the tethered helium balloon. There was no sign of human activity around it. The thing wasn’t going up any time soon.

Amanda fell back against the trunk and pulled her white sports cap over her eyes. “I’m going to take a power nap.”

“Me too,” Kes echoed.

She heard him shift and then felt the back of his head press onto her lap.

“Can’t sleep without a pillow,” he said.

She tipped her visor up and gazed down at him. His eyes were closed, his expression content. Her fingers ached to delve into his lush hair, comb through his black locks, and then rest on his cheek. The temptation was so strong she nearly gave in.

Something landed on her shin, making a soft, slurpy sound.

“Merde!”

Kes lifted his head to see what was going on. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what it is, ma belle,” he said, his lips twitching.

“I hate pigeons!” Amanda stared at the mustard-colored stain on her leg, her eyes wide and her mouth contorted in disgust.

He sat up and chuckled. “Pigeon is a species—not a generic term for birds. Your assailant could be a number of other Parisian bird species.”

“I don’t care if this poop was dumped on me by a pigeon or a penguin—it’s revolting.”

“A penguin,” he echoed, bunching his eyebrows. “Really?”

She wrinkled her face and gave him a pleading look. “Got any tissues?”

He shook his head. “But I’ll do you one better.”

“What, a tuft of grass?”

He gave her a sly smile, pulled off his T-shirt, and wiped her leg with it.

She kept her gaze down.

“Voilà.” He surveyed his handiwork. “As good as new. By the way, bird poop brings good luck.”

“Says who?”

“Gypsies.”

“Must be true, then.”

He bundled the T-shirt, folding the clean edges over the dirty middle.

“I’ll wash it for you,” she offered.

“Don’t bother—I’ll just throw it in the trash. It was worn-out, anyway.”

She nodded absently, her eyes darting to his bared torso. This was worse than at the pool. As if his eight-pack wasn’t impressive enough, his chest was smooth and broad, and his pectorals were well defined. To say nothing of his muscled arms and his graceful shoulders.

He was too close, too appealing . . .

She turned away sharply. “There are too many birds in this city.”

“Look at the positive side.”

“There isn’t any.”

“If an army of zombies besieged Paris and the population ran out of food, we could start hunting them with slingshots.”

Amanda considered the scenario. “I guess we could. The pigeons are so fat and lazy and totally unafraid of people it shouldn’t be too difficult to shoot a few down for dinner.”

“I’m sure they taste better than that plastic supermarket chicken Parisians are used to.”

“And when Parisians are well fed, they’re capable of great things.” She winked at him. “Including kicking some zombie ass.”

He grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

“I need your advice,” she said, surprising herself.

“Sure.”

“I’m having trouble finding a job that wouldn’t be a huge step down from the previous one . . . And my savings are drying up.”

“You should’ve told me earlier. I’ll be happy to lend—”

“That’s not what I meant! I said advice, not help.”

He cocked his head. “OK. Go on.”

“It’s my apartment. I bought it only a year ago, and I love it. But it confines my job search to Paris. And there’s the small matter of the mortgage.” She hesitated. “The bottom line is I won’t be able to keep the apartment unless I find a job soon.”

“I’m not sure what kind of advice you expect from me.”

“A friend of mine offered me a waitressing job. It sounds wild, but I fear it’s that or a secretary position.”

“You could sell your apartment.”

“I could, even though I’d probably lose money by selling so soon. And I’d have to move in with my mother.”

“There’s a fourth option.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You could move in with me.”

And share your bed . . . Yes, please. “No way.”

His smile slipped. “Take the waitressing job.”

“Really?”

“Judging by the way your face contorted when you said ‘secretary’ and ‘my mother,’ waitressing would be the least evil for you.”

She stood up. “Thanks for your advice. I’m not sure I’ll take it, but I’ll consider it.”

“Anytime.” He stood, too. “Ready to jog back?”

She was—provided he stayed outside of her peripheral vision.