Chapter 11

An hour later, we sat at a cramped table in an even more cramped restaurant, staring at a menu without a word in English.

“Uh,” Jillian began. “Hunter, do you have a favorite dish here? Because I can’t understand a word of this.”

I stared at the menu, frowning. Not a single photo, and despite my years of French, I couldn’t understand much either. Only a word here and there.

“I’ve tried everything on this menu,” Hunter told her. “If you like fish, the Sole Meunière here is good—a favorite of Julia Child and King Louis XIV, actually. The Confit de Canard is also excellent if you like duck.”

I doubted Jillian had ever tried duck in her life, and since Mom didn’t like fish, we only tried it a few times.

Jillian closed the menu and set it aside. “Why don’t you surprise me? I’ll try anything you put in front of me if you think I’ll like it.”

Oh no. I could think of a million ways this could go wrong.

To my surprise, Hunter only nodded thoughtfully. “How about you, Alexis? Feeling brave tonight?”

“Absolutely not,” my sister said, making a sour face. “You put snails in front of me, and I’ll shove them in your face. Do they have pizza?”

We laughed.

“Not exactly,” Hunter said, “but if you trust me, I’ll order you something close. I know just the thing.”

“Only if you promise to eat what I don’t.”

Hunter chuckled. “That’s fair.”

Finally, he turned to me. His eyes took me in, sweeping my bare shoulders, low neckline, and loose waves. In that moment, I saw a glint of admiration. I knew it well, because I’d seen it twice before tonight.

The first time, we’d been alone in the desert on a warm summer night, looking up at the stars with my hand cupped in his.

The second time, I’d been leaning against his car when he moved in for the kiss that would change my life.

“Kennedy,” he said softly, pulling me back. “Are you feeling brave tonight?”

I was. My blood coursed through my veins like a fierce, raging river. In this dress, I felt as if I could conquer a country Napoleon-style. Jillian could be wrong about her little test. He’d choked on his water, after all, not ogled me. How could I possibly gauge interest when the guy couldn’t breathe?

Hunter’s eyes remained latched on me, waiting. Admiring, perhaps? Or thinking about someone else?

I had to ask the guy. It was the only way to know.

Alexis and Jillian, seated on either side of Hunter, exchanged meaningful looks.

“Fine,” I said quickly. “You can order for me. But nothing slithery or slimy.” That should take care of weird things, like snakes and snails .

“As you wish.” He waved the server over and ordered in French. I tried to overhear, but his accent was strong enough that my high school-level French just didn’t cut it.

Another wave of resentment squeezed my chest. All those years of studying French, preparing for a trip I hadn’t been able to take. Yet Hunter came here on a whim and now spoke the language as if he’d lived here his entire life.

I fell quiet as the others chatted, swirling my champagne in its glass and reminding myself not to drink too much. Champagne and I had an odd relationship that I’d learned to respect. I always regretted drinking too much of it, and I had no desire to experience its effects with Hunter watching. Not when I didn’t know the answer to Jillian’s question.

By the time the waiter brought our meals, I only wanted this evening to end. It was far from the dinner on my list between a couple in love who toasted each other and gazed into one another’s eyes the entire time and talked of their future. This didn’t count at all.

Jillian smiled widely when the waiter set her plate in front of her. “French onion soup! This is perfect. Good choice, Hunter.”

“Yesss,” Alexis said when the waiter placed what looked like a pizza covered with cheese and bits of pork in front of her. “Now we’re talking.”

“ Tarte Flambée ,” Hunter said. “An appetizer, actually. People usually share it.”

Alexis took a bite and groaned. “Not a chance.”

My heart warmed as my sisters happily dug into their food and Hunter watched with a contented smile. He almost seemed like a big brother at this moment. The fact that he knew my sisters well enough to make this a memorable experience for them eased my ill feelings toward him ever so slightly. I could imagine all of us at family dinners, my sisters with their own romantic interests seated next to them and Hunter next to me, his hand on my knee, whispering secret jokes as if we were the only two people on Earth.

Then the waiter set a plate in front of me, and I felt my stomach lurch violently.

A plate full of frog legs.

At least five frogs’ worth, including the, um, butts.

My sisters burst out laughing. Hunter covered a smile.

I stared at my plate in horror. Did this city sell pepper spray? Because I had a victim in mind.

“Nothing slithery or slimy, as requested,” Hunter said. “I figured amphibians were safe.”

I leveled my gaze at Hunter, which only made his smile broader.

“You have to at least try it,” Alexis said.

“Oh, I’m recording this for sure.” Jillian dug into her purse for her camera.

I ground my teeth, barely managing to hold back the curse words clamoring over each other to escape. Maybe I should release them and get us kicked out of the restaurant. Then I wouldn’t have to eat pond creatures for dinner.

This dinner was so not counting on my list.

“To be fair,” Hunter said, “they taste kind of like chicken wings. The bones are smaller, though, so be careful.”

I seriously considered dumping Hunter’s champagne into his lap before taking a hard look at my options. I could refuse and order something else, but then Hunter would have the upper hand and my sisters could continue their merciless teasing. Or I could rise above all this and behave as a true Parisian. Hunter tried them, after all, and he was the pickiest eater I knew .

I could do this.

Looking Hunter dead in the eye, I pinched a frog leg between my fingers and tipped it toward him as if in a toast.

My sisters fell silent. Jillian seemed to be focusing her camera.

I lifted the meat to my lips.

Tastes like chicken. Tastes like chicken.

I opened my mouth.

Chicken. Chicken.

My teeth closed over a bit of thigh meat and ripped a section free. I gave Hunter a determined smile and chewed it slowly, enjoying his eyes, which widened by the second.

This tasted nothing like chicken.

The meat rolled around in my mouth. My throat seized up, refusing to allow it passage to my stomach. Even my stomach roiled at the thought of accepting a piece of amphibian.

I groped around my lap for my napkin so I could spit it out, but the napkin seemed to have fallen to the floor.

Grimacing, I leaned over, straining in my tight dress, and felt around the floor to retrieve it. There. I caught a corner of it, but it wouldn’t pull free. A quick glance revealed a shiny black shoe on it.

“Well,” a deeply accented voice said from above me. “If it isn’t Miss Kennedy.”

As I came back up, I hit my head on the table. Rubbing it, I tried to focus on the man standing next to the table. “Claude?” I would have forced a smile, but I still had mashed frog between my teeth. I forced it down with a massive effort and rose to meet him.

Before I knew what happened, Claude leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. First on the right side, then the left .

A European custom, I reminded myself. Don’t get too excited.

“How charming finding you here.” His eyes skimmed my plate. “Most Americans cannot handle our delicacies. Do you enjoy it?”

Please don’t have frog in my teeth. “Very much. It’s far superior to ours.” I felt Hunter’s eyes bore into me and completely ignored him. “Do you have a table, Claude, or would you care to join us?”

“I have already finished my meal, but I would be pleased to join a beauty like you for champagne. I look forward to our date tomorrow.” He pulled out the chair across from me, sat down, and waved to the waiter to bring another glass.

Our date. I’d considered it a business chat, but when he put it that way, especially in front of Hunter . . .

At the moment, Hunter’s glare could burn a hole through the table. Good. Frogs, indeed.

“I meant to ask you. How long do you intend to stay in Paris when you return from your trip?” He pronounced Paris as “Par-ee,” which I found utterly charming. Everything about him, in fact, down to the carefully fitted tuxedo he wore. Had the man dressed up to eat here alone? Or had his companions already left?

“I’m not sure,” I said, wincing internally at being outed like this. I hadn’t told Hunter or my sisters yet about my plan to relocate here. “Six months, at least. I’ll decide after that.”

“A wise choice. See if you like, eh?” He entered the information in his phone, downed his glass of champagne, poured himself another, and downed that too. Finally, he stood. “I will see you tomorrow, then,” he said.

I stood again. “Do you have plans tonight?”

“I’m afraid so. Meeting with another client, though I would cancel to spend time with you if I dared.” He leaned in to whisper. “Royalty.” Then he gave me two quick cheek kisses in succession again before striding toward the door.

“Good luck,” I said stupidly as he left, touching my cheek. Had that just happened?

Our entire party stared after him.

“Well, he was interesting,” Alexis said. Then she turned back and looked at my hands folded on the table. “When were you going to tell us you’re moving here?”

Taking a seat and ignoring Jillian’s accusing gaze, I pretended to be interested in my food. “I haven’t quite decided. Figured I would see what’s out there.”

Hunter muttered something under his breath, his expression like concrete.

Just then, the waiter came back and set a baking dish in front of me before striding away. It looked almost like a potato casserole with a grated white cheese on top.

“My real selection for you,” Hunter said, though the light had fled his eyes. “ Gratin Dauphinois . I know how much you love potatoes. The first was a joke. I didn’t think you’d actually . . .”

My stomach released a protesting gurgle I quickly covered with a smile. I hadn’t been able to touch a frog in my life, but I’d just eaten part of one. Yet I managed to look Hunter in the eye. “A lot can change in four years.”

He blinked, holding my gaze for a long moment.

“Clearly,” he finally said.