Page 19 of One Night in Paris

“I will.” Giving her one last grin, I headed out the door, locking it behind me.

Uncle Joe’s wasn’t that busy, thankfully. Normally, the lunch crowd in the middle of the week was minimal since the location was in the middle of the block. Unlike Carmine’s, there were no flashing lights or neon signs of any sort to draw people in.

Also unlike Carmine’s, the shift manager was sweet. Nancy, a woman who was about my mother’s age, always spoke kindly to us, unless we were super busy, in which case she might be a little more direct, but she was never rude. I wished they needed me full-time so I could quit Carmine’s and just work here, but I actually got a lot more hours at the other diner.

I’d just finished taking a refill of soda to a customer when Nancy came over to me. “Your friend Kylee is at table six, dear.” She patted my shoulder and headed over to check on another table for a waitress that was on her break.

Smiling, I rushed over to Kylee. “Hey! I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to see you. Seems like it’s been ages. How are you?” She had a menu in her hands, but I knew she’d get the grilled chicken salad. She always did.

“Good. I’m on my break in a few minutes. Want me to go get your salad and join you?”

Grinning, Kylee said, “That would be great,” and slid the menu back into place by the window.

A few minutes later, I returned with a salad and diet soda for her while I had a glass of tea. I’d already scarfed down a sandwich the cook had messed up a bit earlier and offered to me.

“So, how’s it going?” Kylee doused her salad with ranch before digging in. “Anything exciting going on? How’s Mom?”

“Mom’s okay,” I told her. Kylee had visited my mom’s house many times and was very fond of her. In answer to her first question, I found myself hesitating. But how could I keep this information from her? “You’ll never guess who came into Carmine’s this past weekend.”

Kylee froze with her fork poised above her plate. “Please tell me it was Nick fucking Jonas!”

I laughed so hard, people at a nearby table turned to look at me. “No, not him. But another hot guy.”

“Who?” Kylee’s eyes practically bulged from her head.

With a deep breath, I said, “Logan. The guy from Paris.”

“No fucking way!” Kylee was so loud, I had to shoosh her. We had kids in the diner after all.

“Yes effing way.” Shrugging, I tried to play it off. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Kylee’s voice was quieter this time. “Of course, it’s a big deal. You fucked this guy, Harper! He recognized you, right?”

“Yes, but you’ll recall I also lied to him, Kylee. So I just ignored him for the most part.” Explaining to her how we’d gone back and forth about the lies was too hard to get into. “Besides, he lied to me, too. He’s not a student. He’s some business guy.” I actually had no idea why he was in the newspaper. All I knew was he wasn’t who he claimed to be.

“Even better! Did you give him your number?” Kylee took another sip of her soda, but with as much energy as she had coursing through her, I thought she didn’t need any more caffeine.

Shaking my head, I told her, “No. I don’t have time to date.” My friend looked at me like I was out of my mind, so I felt compelled to add. “He gave me his number.”

“What? That’s awesome! Call him!” Kylee insisted.

“No, I’m not going to do that. I probably don’t even have it anymore.” Waving my hand at her, I prayed she’d just let it be.

“Harper, you have to call him! He’s a hot guy who’s into you. Hell, give me his number, and I’ll call him.”

Laughing, I shook my head. “I don’t have time to date right now, anyway.”

“You should make time for a guy like Logan.” The look on Kylee’s face was full of sympathy and instantly made me feel bad.

Shrugging, I said, “I don’t know, Kylee. We’ll see. I need to get back to work soon. What’s going on with you?”

As Kylee began to tell me what was going on, I stuck my hand into my apron, feeling around for Logan’s number—just in case I happened to change my mind.

Fate had intervened after all, or I had jinxed myself. My fingers roamed every inch of the apron, but it was empty.

I’d lost Logan’s number. It was gone.

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