“We didn’t see you at the wedding breakfast,” Jeanne said when Amanda entered La Bohème the following Monday.

“I’m so sorry. I had one of those terrible hangover headaches . . .”

“We didn’t see your friend Kes, either.”

Amanda racked her brain for a plausible explanation.

“Mat has a theory.” Jeanne’s lips twitched as she struggled to maintain a serious tone. “The poor fellow sacrificed himself to help you nurse your headache, like any good friend would.”

“Very funny.” Amanda sighed, giving up. “Just, please, don’t you and Mat jump to conclusions. We’re not dating. Kes and I, we’re not . . . an item.”

“Whatever you say.”

“We’re just friends.”

Amanda looked around, trying to find something to do—hopefully at the other end of the room. Where was Manon with her lists when she needed her?

“Kes and I made a deal,” she said, turning back to Jeanne. “He agreed to be my date at your wedding, and I agreed to accompany him to his nephew’s baptism next week. That’s all there is to it.”

Jeanne gave her a sympathetic look. “I didn’t mean to intrude, honey. I’m going to shut up and show more respect for your privacy.”

Thankfully, Daniela—Jeanne’s concierge and friend—walked in with her son, Liviu, and another little boy Amanda had never seen before. Liviu was seven or eight. His peculiar mixture of childish innocence and emerging rational thought was most entertaining.

“What’s up, young man?” Amanda asked him. “And who’s your friend?”

“My name is Denis,” the other boy said.

“I’m Amanda and this is Jeanne.”

“I’m hosting a playdate this morning,” Daniela said with an apologetic smile. “And I need some strong coffee before I spend the next couple of hours chasing these two around the park.”

Jeanne nodded and began to pack coffee into the filter basket.

“Are you enjoying your summer holiday?” Amanda asked Liviu.

“I went to Romania,” he said with pride, “to visit Grandma.”

“That’s great. Does she visit you in Paris sometimes?”

Liviu shook his head. “Uh-uh. It’s too far for a bus trip.”

“What about planes?” Jeanne asked.

“She can’t. Grandma has . . .” He turned to his mother for help.

“Fear of flying,” Daniela explained.

“Yep,” Liviu confirmed. “She’s afraid she would fall out of the plane during tabulance.”

“Turbulence,” Daniela corrected him.

“Orange juice or apple juice?” Jeanne asked the boys.

While they named their preferences, Daniela helped them climb onto barstools and stood behind them.

Amanda handed the boys their drinks. “If you can sit quietly for the next fifteen minutes, I’ll play foosball with you.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart. But beware—I’m going to destroy you.”

Liviu grinned.

“Can I play, too?” Manon yelled from the kitchen.

Amanda glanced at Liviu, who nodded his consent.

“OK!” she shouted back.

The boys behaved, and when the bistro hit its midmorning lull, Amanda was only too happy to keep her promise. She was brimming with energy and needed something more active than folding napkins to skim off the excess.

The players formed two teams—girls against boys.

“Prepare to lose!” Liviu boasted with a gleeful expression.

“This is a boys’ game,” Denis chimed in with a patronizing smile. “You have no chance.”

“Why is this ‘a boys’ game,’ sweet thing?” Manon asked just as she sent the tiny ball past Liviu’s skewered goalkeeper.

“Because there are no ponies in it. Girls only play games with ponies in them,” Denis explained. He didn’t look so smug anymore.

“Girls play all kinds of games,” Amanda said. “Especially the big girls.”

Jeanne guffawed from behind the bar.

Amanda scored another goal. “Take that, gnomes!”

Ten minutes later, it was over. Amanda and Manon had scored ten goals to Denis and Liviu’s measly five, and Daniela announced their unquestionable victory.

Manon turned to Amanda and raised her hand. “Well played, partner! Girls rock!”

Amanda high-fived her.

The kids looked as if someone had just told them the holiday was over and they were going back to school tomorrow.

“Who wants ice cream?” Jeanne asked.

“Me, me!” Liviu began to jump up and down.

“Me, too!” Denis ran to Jeanne.

“Me, three,” Amanda raised her hand and then turned to the smirking Manon. “What? She asked who wants ice cream, not who among the losers wants ice cream.”

“We need to get back to work,” Manon said, pulling rank.

Amanda looked around. “There are just four customers, and Jeanne has the situation under control.”

“I certainly do,” Jeanne confirmed. “And I have just decided that everybody gets ice cream—the boys’ team, the girls’ team, and the referee.”

Manon cocked her head. “Marriage has mellowed you, boss.”

“Heat has mellowed me,” Jeanne said as she doled out generous blobs of pink and cream goodness.

Denis and Liviu swallowed their portions at lightning speed and went back to play another round of foosball.

The grown-ups took their time, savoring the welcome respite from the heat.

“I’m getting this place air-conditioned before next summer,” Jeanne said and licked her spoon.

Amanda watched Daniela. The woman could do with a little more grooming than she currently displayed. A lot more, actually.

“Do you ever wear makeup, Daniela?” she asked.

“Never.”

“Well, you should. You’d look pretty with some makeup, better clothes, and a good haircut.”

“I can’t afford good clothes and a haircut,” Daniela said. “As for the makeup . . .”

“You can buy it from discount shops,” Amanda offered.

“I know. It’s just . . . My current boyfriend doesn’t want me to wear any.”

“Why ever not?”

“He says that when I wear as much as a bit of lipstick, I remind him of Romanian hookers.”

“Dump him,” Amanda said. “How can you be with a man who puts you down like that?”

Jeanne nodded eagerly. “That’s what I keep telling her.”

Daniela sighed. “Anyway, I don’t care if I look pretty. I just want to look . . . ordinary.”

Manon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to stick out,” Daniela said. “Either in a bad or a good way. I don’t want people to laugh or gawk at me. I’m not even sure which would make me more uncomfortable.”

Amanda stared at her bowl, remembering the conversation she’d had with Kes last night on the train back to Paris. She’d told him she wished he’d been less flamboyant. More ordinary and within the norm.

He’d spread his arms. “I’m afraid it’s quite impossible.”

“Could you at least try?”

“What would you have me do? Renounce my Gypsy family? Bleach my skin and dye my hair?”

“God, no!”

“Quit doing what I’m really good at?”

Amanda looked at him. “You make it sound like you’re an expert at something worthwhile. You go to casinos and gamble, Kes.”

“Didn’t you, two months ago? Doesn’t everyone, all the time? Every decision we make is a gamble. Living is gambling. We bet we’ll have a good life if we work hard.”

“True, but you don’t work, strictly speaking.”

“Would you make the same reproach to an artist who paints or sings for a living?”

She chewed on her lip, considering his question. “I guess not. But it’s different. Artists make art.”

“And I take advantage of casinos that make their owners heaps of easy money while ruining a lot of people.”

“So you’re a clever little parasite feeding on a monster.”

“That’s exactly who I am.”

He had sounded so proud when he said that.

What a shame.

Why couldn’t he be more like Daniela, preferring normalcy to difference? Why couldn’t he see the point of being ordinary and fitting in?

Amanda stuck the bowls in the dishwasher and began to set the tables for lunch.

What a crying, bloody shame.