“So I open the bathroom door and peep in. I have my least favorite shoe in one hand and a dozen paper towels in the other.” Amanda paused for effect.

“And?” Manon leaned forward.

“It wasn’t there. The little voyeur was gone.”

“Good.” Manon sat back and drank from her cup.

It was ten-thirty in the morning—the quiet hour between the rushed breakfast grabbers and the boisterous lunch crowd. During this lull, the servers gravitated toward the coziest corner by the window for a coffee and a chat while Claude—the bistro’s legendary chef—did his magic in the kitchen.

Amanda’s mouth watered as she read the name of today’s special Jeanne had written on the chalkboard earlier in the morning: sea bass en papillote. Mmm. Another hour, and the staff could enjoy their complimentary serving before setting tables for the lunch guests.

Manon put her hand on her lower abdomen and pulled a face. “I hate having my period. And this one is heavy.”

“Too much information.” Amanda frowned before mellowing a little. “Tea is great for cramps. I can make you some if you want.”

“Really?” Manon gave her a big-eyed look, barely disguising her sarcasm. “You’d do that for me?”

“Oh, come on,” Jeanne said, sitting down across from Manon. “Amanda’s not as bad as she seems.”

Amanda turned away and surveyed the street. “What’s that weird building with the permanently shuttered windows?”

Jeanne followed Amanda’s gaze. “It’s a Freemasons’ lodge. It’s called Le Grand Orient.”

“Can you believe it?” Manon chimed in. “These guys didn’t allow the initiation of women up until a few years ago.”

“I have a rule,” Jeanne said, looking Manon in the eye. “Anyone who joins a secret society must step down from the headwaiter position and resign.”

Manon cocked her head. “You don’t mean it.”

“Oh yes, I do.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly itching to be initiated . . .” Manon pouted her pretty mouth. “But I did toy with the idea. Their mission is to serve humanity.”

“Sorry, hon, but rules are rules.” Jeanne shrugged. “You see, there’s a conflict of interest: you can’t serve humanity and La Bohème patrons at the same time.”

Amanda snorted. “What other rules do you have, Jeanne? I wouldn’t want to get fired over a gaffe.”

Jeanne took a deep breath before opening her mouth. “Let’s see. You can’t check your cell phone during the shift.”

“Unless you’re on your coffee break,” Manon added helpfully.

Jeanne nodded. “Right. What else? You can’t taste the guests’ wine, even when they’re offering.”

“The same applies to the food, naturally,” Manon said.

“Naturally.” Amanda pulled out her notebook and began to scribble, mumbling loudly enough for the other two women to hear. “Note to self . . . Stop swiping . . . customers’ fries . . . or else, guillotine.”

“She does this to me all the time.” Amar slumped next to Jeanne and turned to Amanda. “I never know if you’re actually trying to learn something or just laughing at me.”

Jeanne patted his hand. “She’s doing both, honey.”

“You think so?” Amar gave his boss a hopeful look.

“I know.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” Amanda waved her little notebook. “I use this for purely educational purposes. And for taking orders.”

“As you should.” Amar nodded in approval. “We all do—even Jeanne for complicated ones.” He paused before adding, a note of admiration in his voice, “Only Manon never writes anything down. She has a phenomenal memory.”

Amanda opened her mouth to say that so did Kes, but shut it without uttering a sound.

“Thank you.” Manon smiled at Amar and blushed a little.

Amar swallowed, his gaze shifting between Manon’s eyes and mouth. Then he blinked and looked down. “It’s the truth.”

“What’s the deal with you two?” Amanda asked.

Manon coughed. “What do you mean?”

“Are you guys seeing each other in secret because dating a coworker is against one of Jeanne’s many rules?”

“We aren’t seeing each other,” Manon and Amar said in unison.

Manon’s cheeks were now flaming red, and Amar looked like he wished he could disappear.

“Leave them alone,” Jeanne said to Amanda. “And, FYI, I don’t have a no-dating rule. I’m happily engaged.”

Amanda frowned. “How are those two facts connected?”

“I want everyone around me to find their happiness, too.” She surveyed her three employees. “Especially the people I care about.”

“How are the wedding preparations coming along?” Manon asked.

Jeanne faked pulling her hair out. “Thank God Mat’s mom is giving us a hand.” She wrinkled her brow. “No, actually, it’s us giving her a hand.”

“Isn’t she a professional event organizer?” Amar asked.

“She’s a PR consultant, so yes, she does organize lots of events.” Jeanne smiled. “She showed me the invitations this morning. They’re funky—you’ll see.”

Amar’s eyebrows rose. “Am I invited to your wedding?”

“Of course you are!” Jeanne narrowed her eyes. “I hope you guys have marked the date on your calendars because it’ll be here soon.”

“Who else is coming?” Amanda asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Our families and friends, some close colleagues of Mat’s. Let’s see . . . Daniela—you know, my next door neighbor who stops by with her kid sometimes?”

“Yes, I know Daniela,” Amanda said impatiently, “but what I really want to know is whether Lena and Rob confirmed they were coming.”

“They did.” Jeanne touched Amanda’s arm. “Honey, Rob is Mat’s best man and Lena is my bridesmaid.”

“You can’t expect Lena and me to be your bridesmaids at the same wedding.”

“I have no intention of getting married a second time, so yes, that’s what I expect.” Jeanne sighed. “I hope one day you’ll get over your animosity, and we can revive the old gang—”

Amanda’s gaze grew hard. “Not everyone shares your nostalgia, Jeanne.”

“Even so. Your history with Rob is ancient now,” Jeanne said. “Besides, you’ve told me you’re over him.”

“I am.”

“So, then? There’s no issue.” Jeanne stared into Amanda’s eyes. “I’m warning you, Amanda, as your friend and current boss—I’d be very, very upset if you didn’t show.”

“And I’d be very, very upset if I didn’t get an invitation,” a vaguely familiar voice said above their heads.

Amanda looked up. Next to their table stood a short, impeccably dressed man with hair and eyes almost as dark as Kes’s.

Jeanne sprang from her seat and bellowed, “You!”

She nearly strangled the poor fellow in a tight embrace.

Amanda struggled to place the object of Jeanne’s enthusiasm. She knew him from their student days . . . Somehow, he belonged here and yet he didn’t . . .

Pepe! The Spaniard who had worked at La Bohème and hung out with the “gang” four years ago. She’d never forget those days soaked in sunshine and possibility. She’d had even less money than now and lived with Vivienne. But she believed she and Rob were destined to form the most glamorous couple in Paris. She was happy . . . until he grew obsessed with Lena and pushed Dad to number two on her top-ten list of men who had let her down.