“Two things make or break a guest’s experience: the quality of the food—but that’s Claude’s worry, not ours—and the level of service.” Amar paused, giving Amanda time to internalize his statement.

Her lips twitched slightly, but she kept a straight face as she held up her pen and notepad. “Should I write this down?”

He shook his head.

She lowered her notepad.

“Right. Where was I?” Amar scratched his head. “Oh yes, I was going to kick off your apprenticeship with good news: smiling at customers is not mandatory in this establishment.”

Amanda nodded, delighted, until Amar’s meaning hit her: he didn’t think her a friendly sort.

She schooled her features into an annoyed frown. “I spent three hours last night practicing my perfect waitress smile. What a waste of time!”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t smile, just that you don’t have to”—he sighed—“if you don’t feel like it.”

“Do I have to chat with them?”

“No. Just say hello and answer their questions politely. No need to go beyond that.”

“Hang on a sec.” Amanda began to scribble in her notebook, filling one tiny page after the next and pausing to think. She watched Amar from the corner of her eye. The poor guy looked unsure.

Great.

She was successfully destabilizing her mentor.

When she’d filled four pages, she stopped and looked up. “You may continue.”

Amar cleared his throat. “I have more good news. If a guest is too slow to choose her dish, you don’t have to stand there while she’s agonizing over the possibilities.”

“No problem.”

“A good waiter doesn’t hover by a table like a fly over a cake. Parisians don’t like it. You should keep your distance until you’re called.”

Amanda’s lips twitched again. “It’ll be tough, but I think I can do that.”

Amar plowed on. “Don’t bring the main courses out while people are still eating their starters, and don’t clear a course until everyone at the table has finished eating.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Constantly observe all your tables to make sure everyone has enough bread, napkins, and water.”

“What happens if they don’t?”

“You bring them more.”

“Hmm.” She pinched her chin, trying to look perplexed. “Doesn’t this instruction contradict what you just said about not approaching guests unless called?”

He sighed again. “Use your judgment, Amanda. Even you can do it, I’m sure.”

Jeanne walked in holding a large, newspaper-wrapped frame against her chest. She approached them, grinning. Amanda smiled back. It looked like Amar would have to postpone the rest of his tutorial.

“Will you guys give me a hand?” Jeanne said, carefully setting the frame on the floor.

“Sure,” Amanda said, glancing at Amar. “Did you buy a painting?”

“It’s a poster.” Jeanne began to remove the wrapping. “I spotted it in a shop window on my way to work, and I kept thinking about it all morning. I had to go back and buy it.”

She removed the last bit of paper. “Ta-da!”

The poster was a photo of a huge steaming mug. The caption below the mug said, All you need is LOVE. Oh, and coffee.

“Ah. I see why you like it,” Amanda said.

“It’s genius.” Jeanne stepped back to admire the masterpiece. “It should fit into the space between the wine rack and the dresser.”

“I’ll get the hammer,” Amar said.

“I’ll tell you if it’s even,” Amanda offered. “I have an accurate eye.”

An hour later, the lunchtime crush descended on the bistro, and Amanda did her best to keep up. Thank God, she was in good shape; otherwise she would have collapsed from the exertion.

The most exhausting part had been staying alert enough to get all the orders right and not drop, spill, or break anything. When she finally sat down to her well-deserved meal and coffee at the end of her shift at four, she felt rather satisfied with her second day at La Bohème.

Truth be told, Amanda was finding she didn’t mind her new job as much as she’d expected. Amar certainly took his mentor role a little too seriously, but she didn’t mind that, either. Her being older by seven years—and the proprietor’s friend, to boot—gave his tutorials a slightly comical touch. She listened to him carefully and did her best to memorize every piece of advice he imparted, but she played her apprentice role with a tongue-in-cheek excess of zeal.

How else was one to take lessons from someone so young?

The first drops of rain hit the terrace awning at the same time as a tall, dark-haired male began to take shape in the distance. As he approached, Amanda’s last doubts vanished—it was Kes. The drops turned into a torrent, and by the time he stepped under the awning, he was soaked.

And gorgeous.

He smoothed back his damp curls, pulled a chair next to hers, and ensconced himself comfortably. “Hi.”

“I told you not to come here.”

“And I told you I would.” His expression became mutinous. “If you kick me out, I’ll complain to your boss.”

She blew out her cheeks. “I finished my shift, so I’ll be leaving as soon as I drink my coffee.”

“Braving the elements?”

“It’s just rain. It’ll stop any minute now. Summer showers never last.”

“Oh, trust me—this one will.” He winked. “We werewolves have the moon on speed dial.”

“The moon has nothing to do with rain, you ignorant nomad.”

“Says who? The scientists who fabricate their data or the ones who misinterpret it?”

“Smartass,” she mumbled, and took a sip of her coffee.

“Can I have a glass of red wine, please?” Kes asked Amar, who was clearing a table next to them.

“A Bordeaux?”

“You read my mind.”

Amar nodded and disappeared inside.

Kes sat back and stretched his legs. “How was your day?”

“Not bad, I guess.”

“Are your colleagues friendly?”

“They’re OK. It doesn’t take much to be OK compared to some of my former colleagues, especially my former boss.”

“The one who fired you?”

She nodded. “I miss my job, though. My real job.”

“What do you miss most about it?”

She shrugged and began to play with the untouched sugar cube. “Where shall I begin? I miss the strategizing and decision making. The thrill of going on a business trip. The brainstorming sessions. I miss some of my colleagues. Even my desk.” She sighed. “It was a great desk. Large, trendy . . . neat.”

He covered her hand with his, a smile crinkling his eyes. “I can see why you’d miss your desk.”

She considered pulling her hand away. She truly did. But his palm was warm and incredibly comforting. Its touch against the back of her hand made her want to sway toward him, melt into his embrace, and let him do wild, passionate things to her. Things that stole the strength from her legs and made her cry out his name.

Things that made her lose control.

She pulled her hand away. “It’s not just my old job; I miss the company, too.”

He stared at her. “Why?”

Was he asking about the company or the hand?

She went with the safer assumption. “I happen to believe in its mission. ENS is a green-energy pioneer in France, and it actually contributes to making the world a better place. And you know what? I think it could do so much more if it were run by someone competent.”

He didn’t comment—only nodded and picked up the Bordeaux that Amar had placed in front of him.

They sat in silence for a while, him drinking his wine and her sipping what was left of her coffee. They didn’t touch or even look at each other. And yet Amanda felt his nearness on an almost mystical level. She could all but hear his thoughts.

Had she been a less rational person, she would have concluded they’d established a telepathic connection. But as it were, she told herself her peripheral vision was catching his contours and her sense of smell, his pheromones.

And, boy, those pheromones were scrumptious.

Rain drummed a steady beat above their heads and around them. It splattered puddle water onto their feet, muddying his fine loafers and her stylish ballerinas. This annoyed Amanda’s inner shoe fanatic to no end . . . yet not enough to push her to break the magic of the moment and seek shelter inside the bistro.