Page 22 of Meet Me in Paris

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 soslightly. 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 wassonot counting on my list.

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